Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“I want to see.” With my arms folded, I stare her down, prepared to wait all day if I have to. “Your leg. I want to see your leg. Both of them, since you probably don’t stop at just one.”
“What are you talking about?” There she goes again, folding her arms over herself.
“Can you stop with this pointless bullshit?” Truly, it’s exhausting. “I know what I felt last night.”
“My hand against your face?” She has the nerve to look smug when she smiles. “Otherwise, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.” And I am sick to death of it. “There were scars all over your thigh. That’s what I touched. That’s why you stopped everything. You’re going to show them to me.”
It’s obvious at first she doesn’t believe me, eyelids fluttering, her head snapping back before a laugh bursts out of her. “What? This is stupid.”
“You’re a terrible liar, and you’re wasting your time. I know what I felt. Just like I know that’s why you’re wearing pants when everybody in their right mind is wearing as little as they can on a day like this. So, either you show me what you’re trying to hide, or I will show myself. And trust me,” I add when she scoffs, “it’ll be much easier if you do it yourself. You won’t like it if I’m the one who does it.”
“What gives you the right?”
That’s a good question. All it does is set my teeth on edge. “Who said anything about rights? But now that you mention it, it’s an interesting question. What gives anybody the right to do anything?”
I watch it happen in real time. The way she shuts down once she realizes she set her own trap, then stepped into it with her eyes wide open. I watch as the color drains from her face and the light from her eyes. She goes away, plain and simple, leaving a silent shell behind.
“You see,” I murmur while she shuts down, “some people would ask what gives a person the right to do something of their own free will and enjoy the hell out of it in the moment, then threaten to lie and say they didn’t. That it wasn’t their idea. I would have to ask what gives that person the right. Do you wanna talk about it some more?” I tip my head to the side. “Or are you going to drop your fucking pants and show me what I know is there?”
When she speaks, her voice is flat. Like all of the life has drained from it. I might as well be listening to a robot when she asks, “If you know it’s there, why do you need to see?”
“I know, right? It’s a real bitch, curiosity. Now do it before I do it myself.”
She has no choice. She knows I’m not fucking around. By the time she unbuttons her waistband, she’s silently resigned. She doesn’t say a word—I’m not sure she blinks once before bending at the waist to lower her jeans to her knees.
I didn’t know what to expect. I only know what I feel, and what I feel is nowhere near the extent of what exists on her legs. A spiderweb of crisscrossing scars marring her otherwise perfect skin. “Holy shit,” I mutter, staring with my mouth hanging open. I can’t look away. It’s ugly. I can’t understand why she would do it, but I can’t take my eyes off it.
Finally, I pry my gaze from the wreckage to look into her eyes. “Are you trying to make yourself as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside? Because you’re doing a pretty good job so far. What, you want the whole world to know what a freak you are?” I ask with a laugh before moving closer, bending a little to get a better look. “Fucking insane. I’m sure if you wanted somebody to hurt you, you wouldn’t have to look far. I can’t be the only person whose life you tried to fuck with.”
Goddamnit. Why won’t she say something? Anything, so long as I’m not talking to myself. “What happens when you run out of clean skin on your legs? Are you going to move onto your arms? Pretty soon, you’ll have to walk around in a snowsuit twelve months out of the year.”
All she does is take a deep breath, which she releases slowly before murmuring, “Are you finished? Or are there a few more childish insults you feel like throwing my way?”
“I’ll throw whatever the fuck I wanna throw your way.” Standing upright, I glare down at her, my fists clenching when all she does is stare blankly back. There’s no fear, no anger, no resentment. There’s nothing but emptiness.
And it’s unnerving as fuck. A chill runs down my spine, but I shake it off.