Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
His mouth opens but, instead of answering me, he yawns. Yawns!
For a year, I believed that he would return to me one day and, instead, I’ve returned to him. I tell myself it must be fate. And instead of sharing in my excitement, he yawns.
“Do you remember me?” I ask, undaunted.
Nothing. As irritating and rude as it is, his ability to completely ignore me is impressive.
Hesitantly, I take two steps closer to him. The unique tattoo on his hand is visible, as is the strange, ragged, discolored skin of his other hand. I remember how those hands squeezed the throat of my captor after I dropped the rock onto his head to make him release the knife he was swinging. That knife and I were very familiar, and I have the scars to prove it. The paralyzing fear I felt in that moment, before I let the rock fall on his head, was intense. I made the choice of who would live or die that day.
“I’m the girl in the hole.” For all the times I hated being called that, here I am using it to introduce myself.
He nods his head slowly but still refuses to turn to face me or speak. I understand his silence, the fear of speaking words. Or hearing them. I felt that way for months after I was found.
“You don’t have to talk. I just wanted to say thank you. You saved my life. And you kept Poppy. I never thought I would see him again.” I hug my dog tighter, and he nuzzles his face into my neck just like he used to. “I had no idea what happened to him. I’ve missed him more than I can even say.”
Finally, he glances over at me and, wow, his eyes are a startling bright blue.
“You’re the Forest Santa?” I half ask and half state. “I love how you decorate the trees. My birthday is on Christmas Day, so I sorta have a thing for anything Christmassy. My parents even named me Holly.” My babbling is becoming embarrassing. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that it’s you. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
A faint smirk crosses his lips. It’s small, and not really a smile, but I saw it before it disappeared, and it’s enough to make me want to see a genuine smile from him. I have a feeling it would be the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
I shift nervously on my feet. “I should probably go, I have a driver waiting for me. Not like a chauffeur, I just don’t have a car. Or a license. I don’t even know how to drive.” One of his eyebrows rises, and I can tell he thinks I’m an idiot. “Can…can I take Poppy home with me? I really miss him. He’s my family.”
He shrugs and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans and lights one up. I’m not sure exactly what happened to him, but I remember the detective who questioned me in the hospital telling me Tyler was in a fire when he was younger. They asked me to describe his scars, but I didn’t remember them at all until the detective mentioned them. All I could remember were his eyes and how I wished I could walk right into them, like an ocean. He hadn’t frightened me the day he saved me. Not even a little. I was transfixed by him, grateful to him. Curious about him. And I still am. It’s odd to me that he would want to put a small stick of smoke and fire into his mouth after going through such a horrific accident.
I wait for him to do or say something—anything—but he just stares off into the distance, as if he hopes if he ignores me long enough I will just go away. A tactic I tried many times with my captor. I may be new to interacting with people, but I can definitely take a hint. “Okay,” I say awkwardly. “Thank you again for everything. Take care.”
Still holding Poppy, I turn and head back in the direction I came, expecting him to stop me and demand I leave the dog with him—or want to talk to me after all—but after I’ve walked for at least five minutes, it’s clear he’s not going to do anything of the sort. My heart sinks like an anchor that may never surface again.
For months, I daydreamed many different scenarios in which I saw him again, and not one of them was even close to what just happened. He was completely uninterested and borderline rude. How hard is it to say hello? Or you’re welcome? Or how are you? Or hey, take your dog and just go. Something. Disappointment seeps into the places in my heart that shut down a long time ago, and a dull ache sits in my chest as I walk back to the waiting car. For years, before the television was given to me, I sat on the dirty floor with my fairy-tale books, daydreaming of walking into a beautiful sunset with the man who would eventually come to save me. That’s where the happiness is supposed to happen. It’s in the books. The prince saves the princess, and they live happily ever after.