Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Then again, everything he’s done since he got here has been deliberate, so I don’t know why I expect this to be any different. I’m already wound up and have more emotions than I’ve felt all year. For some stupid reason, even though I know this will hurt, I stay put. Maybe to feed my emotional masochism more fucked up nutrients.
“Ask your questions.” I uncross my arms and wait for the onslaught.
“How often do you use it?”
I roll my eyes. “What difference does it make?”
“Just curious. Once a week? Once a month? Once a day?” His eyes get this merciless look with each question that makes my core rattle, but damn it, I try to keep my eyes on his.
“Is this the fucking Census?” I ask, bored. “Maybe four times a week.”
“Do you watch porn to get you off? Without the storyline, of course.”
I bite my lip and look down. I almost smile, but hearing our inside joke in that harsh tone actually stings a little. Fuck, I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just keep my eyes on his sneakers and shake my head.
“Do you think about anyone in particular when you use it?”
His scent engulfs me as he steps closer, invading my personal space. He's so close that the tips of his shoes are almost pressing against my toes. My heart jumps as I realize I could reach out and touch him right now, and he could do the same to me. I've imagined launching myself at him and wrapping my arms and legs around him for three years. His eyes, voice, lips, and body have been etched into my every waking dream. Three years of longing and for what? Nothing. Instead of having a meaningful conversation, he's playing these stupid little games that amuse him.
I wish so badly that I could. . .I don’t know, hug or kiss him, but I’m so afraid he’d push me away that I can’t bring myself to do it. I know he’d push me away. It happens in an instant. Tears start burning my eyes at the mere thought of it all. I know what comes next. He’s going to remind me that I could have had him, but instead chose to hide from him, as if I had a freaking option. I have to blink fast to keep from crying, but a fat tear lands on my foot anyway. I hope he doesn’t see it. I bite my lip harder and nod my head to answer his question. Yes, I think about someone, in particular, you fucking asshole.
“Does it live up to the real thing?”
A myriad of emotions hit me at once — sadness, anger, and humiliation. My intake of breath is sharp but shaky. Still, I force my head to shake no at the question. He takes a step back. I hear the thud as he slams it into the drawer. I keep my head down as I whirl around and dash out of the closet and the room, furiously wiping the tears from my face. I can't do this. I'm not strong enough. The truth in the realization brings tears to my eyes. Rage surges within me — at the fucking therapist who helped me through some of my trauma, but mostly at myself for allowing him to do this to me. No one can break you unless you give them the power to do so, and I gave him all of mine. It's why he's the only one capable of making me feel so intensely, to this day. This feels like a betrayal, and I hate him for using it against me. God, I need to stop caring. I know I can do it again. It hurts that the person making me build emotional walls is also the person who helped me tear them down.
I could ask him to leave. I could leave. Neither of those is a realistic option. I know he’d leave but he’d stay right outside. If I leave, he’ll follow me. The worst part of all is that as much as I hate him right now, I don’t want him to leave. I just got him back. God, this is so fucked up. A sob rakes through me, but I force it down. When I hear his footsteps growing closer, I open the fridge and practically dive into it. I reach for the strawberry yogurt and turn it in my hand, like I didn’t just buy it two days ago.
“I’ll be right back,” he says behind me.
I say nothing.
“Will the door lock when I leave?”
I shake my head.
He sighs heavily. “Will I be able to get back in?”
I nod.
He stays behind me for another moment. I put the yogurt back and study the container of strawberries. When I hear the door shut behind me, I take a step back, slam the fridge closed, and run to my bathroom so I can break down without having to worry about him seeing me. Fuck him for this. Seriously, fuck him. When I’m done crying, I splash cold water on my face and take a few breaths as I call Marissa.