Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Whatever was going on between the guys and me, I could figure out later. I just needed to get the hell out of here.
My body was sending me clear signals in the fight or flight department. These guys could have their fucked-up little dynamic. I needed to go decompress, figure some shit out, and finish growing some babies.
Somewhere calm.
The woman smiled kindly and pointed to a kiosk I hadn’t seen because of people passing. But now that I saw it, it was obvious.
“Grazie,” I said, with a little wave.
I’d talk to the guys. Later. On the phone.
Where I wouldn’t be immediately intoxicated with their presence. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t tell what was lies and what was truth anymore. I couldn’t tell if I’d been manipulated into this situation, the way I used to see my dad do to Mom anytime she even thought about growing a backbone and spiting him.
Daddy was a genius manipulator. If Mama was upset about one of the many things he’d done that wasn’t fair, or taken without asking, he’d find something about the tone Mama used when she confronted him. Then he’d turn the fight into a discussion about how actually she was the one in the wrong, because she couldn’t speak sweet to him. And what he’d done wrong would never be mentioned again. He just kept turning it on her.
And she couldn’t see the pattern even though he did it over and over and over again.
I shook my head, striding towards one of the many desk kiosks to ask for information even as I reached for my wallet in my purse.
I always swore to myself I would never ever be my mama. Lies were red flags. They’d lied. And I knew I had no objectivity in my current situation because of the pregnancy. Hormones, not to mention the foolhardy hopes and dreams that had been blossoming the last couple months had blinded me and I’d been…
Foolish.
“Hi,” I said to a nice-looking young woman with a streak of pink in her hair standing behind the desk of the large sign that said acquistare il del treno and underneath in English, buy train tickets here.
I swallowed my tears and then infused my voice with as much strength as possible. “One-way train ticket to Milan.”