Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
She nods, her eyes filling with more sadness, and she tells me what I suspected. “The main gist is hypothesizing on any similarities you have with your father. Your aggression in the league, the fact you don’t date and aren’t married, that you never give interviews. That sort of thing. Horseshit, really.”
I can’t even muster up any rage over this. Just a complete sense of helplessness that it’s out there in the open, and once again, I’m going to be scrutinized because of having that evil prick as my father. I can feel those parts of me I’d so boldly shared recently start receding behind my armor locking into place.
My own need for self-preservation causes my brain to start frantically searching for solutions; the most obvious is how I can avoid every single fucking person who knows about this story now.
After putting on my jeans, I don a long sleeved T-shirt and snag some socks from my bag. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I put them on, refusing to look at Simone, because I can’t stand the worry in her expression.
“What are we going to do?” she asks me, and I can feel her moving across the mattress closer to me.
I push off the bed quickly and walk across the room to sit in a chair. I act like it’s because that’s where my tennis shoes landed after I took them off yesterday.
After I put the first sneaker on, I look up to see Simone’s covered herself with the sheet, and that tells me she’s feeling vulnerable. That pisses me off, because I don’t have time to worry about her feelings right now.
“Van…what are we going to do?” she repeats, this time a little more firmly. Pushing at the wall I’m sure she can see rising back into place.
“We?” I ask her caustically. “Why is this a we thing? Last I heard, your dad was a prominent doctor, not a serial killer.”
“Van,” she chastises me.
“Listen,” I say with no small amount of frustration. “I need you to stay out of this. It’s hard enough to deal with the fallout of all this shit, but I don’t need to worry about you at the same time.”
It’s a copout and I know it is.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Simone replies.
“You see, but I will,” I tell her adamantly. “And fuck…it’s hard work just letting you in. I’m constantly judging my actions and trying to figure out if they measure up to what I think are acceptable standards for you. And while I’m worrying about that shit with you, I’ve now got to deal with the entire world knowing about my shame.”
I hadn’t meant to say that last part, but it totally slipped out.
Simone pounces. “Your shame?”
“Yes, my fucking shame,” I bark at her. “Do you know how dirty and disgusting this shit makes me feel? I’m swept up into his sickness just by association. How many people are looking at me and wondering is he like his father?”
My shame only increases when Simone looks at me with pure pity. What I fucking wouldn’t give for just one of her old-fashioned eye rolls to let me know that I’m being a dumbass, but fuck if that look on her face right now validates I’m a fucking pussy for even thinking this way.
“I’m getting out of here for a bit. Need some space.”
“Please don’t do this,” she says quietly. She’s shaking her head, looking at me with keen disappointment.
“Don’t push me away, Van,” she murmurs. “I know that might seem the easiest thing to do, but you should lean on me. I’ve got your back on this.”
I stare at her for a moment, the anger that had been oddly missing when I learned about the article starting to rise within me.
“You’ve got my back?” I ask with derision as I stand. Advancing across the room toward her, I ask again. “You’ve got my back?”
Simone stands from the bed, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders with the sheet draped around her. “I do.”
Coming to a stop just inches from her body, I sneer at her. “And just how do you have my back, Simone? Just how are you going to support me through this?”
“By standing beside you. By defending you. By telling and showing the world that you’re kind and generous and loving and—”
“I fuck you, Simone,” I tell her in a low rumble of a voice. My tone shocks her and her mouth drops open. “I give you orgasms. I laugh at your silliness. But I am not kind nor generous nor loving. So you’d essentially be lying on my behalf. Is that how you’ll support me?”
“You’re more than that,” she whispers, but she doesn’t sound so sure now.
“You know I’m not,” I say softly, but with such confidence she’s powerless to argue. “And besides that, do you think people are going to accept what you’re saying? I give a little interview with the media and proclaim I’m a good guy, but instead the media shows highlights of all my fights to speculate that I’m a violent person. I know how this shit plays out. It’s why it’s easier to keep people out.”