Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 133182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I know she’s a pure soul in a world of shit. I know that despite all the hurt and anger in her body right now, she’s still deep down the woman who will give her last dollar to some poor bum on the street.
She’s not the selfish type, even if she thinks she is.
Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’ve done way too much deep thinking and internal monologuing today. This is not like me. I don’t do all this thinking. I move and act, I don’t debate and ponder.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Fluffers looks at me when I look back down at the bed, and I can’t help but feel judged by the little ball of fur. She’s looking at me with those huge cat eyes, and I know she’s wondering why I give two shits about being a killer. She was born to kill, that’s a cat’s intended purpose.
She doesn’t apologize for what she is.
Should I?
Getting up from the bed, I make my way out of the bedroom and walk to the small office next door. I need to do something. I can’t just sit here and stew in my thoughts.
The laptop Simon set up for me sits on my desk, and as much as I know I want to be back in the bed with Sophia, I need to work. I need to get this shit resolved so I can get us back to some semblance of safety.
I need to figure out the who’s, what’s and why’s of it all.
Heading out of the office, I go down to the kitchen and set up a pot of coffee. I need something dark and bitter right now. But I also need to figure out what’s for breakfast. I could do another casserole bake, but I’m thinking more along the lines of pancakes, bacon, and eggs.
Maybe some spicy sausage so Sophia has a reminder of our night last night.
No.
No, I don’t think that would actually work out the way I’d want it to. She might not see the humor in it.
Shit.
Running upstairs, I head straight back into the office to grab the laptop and head right back down to the kitchen.
Opening up a search browser, I type in the words I never thought I’d see myself typing.
What do you feed pregnant women?
Shit.
What the fuck does folic acid have to do with anything?
No uncooked meats, no blue-veined cheeses, no high-mercury fish. Gotta watch her caffeine intake. Milk, fruit juice, and cheese all need to be pasteurized.
Fuck me.
I mean I can cook or do anything she needs, it doesn’t look too complicated. But I sure as fuck didn’t think it would be this many things to eat, not eat, or to watch out for.
“What the fuck was I thinking?” I ask myself and turn to my fridge. “Dick goes in hole, baby comes out. That’s all I thought.”
“What?” Sophia asks, sounding a little annoyed as she walks into the kitchen.
Fuck.
I was so wrapped up in my own shit I didn’t even hear her moving about the house.
That’s… That’s not good.
“Sit down,” I say and point over my shoulder to the stools in front of the kitchen island.
“What?” she repeats, and I can hear that tone again from yesterday. The same tone she had right before I got a coffee cup thrown at me.
Looking into the fridge, I start checking my fruit juice bottles to make sure they all say pasteurized on them.
“Orange juice or pineapple… Scratch the pineapple juice. Orange juice?” I ask.
“Coffee,” she grumbles as I hear her sit down behind me.
“Coffee’s not good for you,” I say and grab the bottle of orange juice from the fridge.
She stares at me like I’m stupid as fuck. “Then why are you making a pot?”
I shrug both shoulders and head to the cabinet to get a cup for her juice. “Because it’s not bad for me.”
Sighing so loudly I think the people in the international space station heard her, she says “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Setting the juice in front of her, I point at her flat-for-now tummy. “It’s not good for the baby.”
Red? Tomato? Nuclear fallout? Those words and more could be used to describe the look that comes over Sophia’s face the instant she realizes what I’m talking about.
“Give me a cup of coffee or I’ll stab your dick with a fork,” she growls before standing up and heading toward me.
“Look, I just want what’s—” I try to say before she passes by me and grabs a coffee mug down from the cabinet.
Pouring herself a big cup, she looks at me and says, “I doubt I’m pregnant, James. I know last night and the other time were… Look, I don’t think it’s happened. But I really do need to get my pills and take them.”