Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I just want to be left alone.
I bite the inside of my cheek and place the phone in my lap as Mason’s hand lands on my thigh.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes darting from me to the road.
“Take me home,” I say. I don’t bother to answer his question and and I lick my dry lips. My heart hurts too much.
“What’s wrong?” This time his voice is harder. The one he uses right before he turns me into a damn rag doll for his will and then magically fixes everything.
I’m done listening to men and I’m done rolling over for them.
“What’s wrong is that this isn’t working for me anymore,” I finally tell him, although I don’t know how, in an even tone that splits my heart right down the center. Guilt consumes the anger immediately. It slices through every emotion with the sharpest knife, the cut clean and quick, but the blood is pouring out and I know it’s not going to stop anytime soon.
I lean my head back against the headrest. “I want to go home.”
Mason’s quiet although his pissed-off expression reads loud and clear as he pushes down his turn signal.
The silence stretches between us and this awkward, horrific dread makes me squirm. I find myself going back to the screenshots. What’s really and truly messed up is that I feel safe and happy with Mason. If it were a different time, I could easily fall for him. I am easily falling for him. It’s as if I’m tumbling down a well in slow motion, giving me enough time as I fall to look up and admire the stonework before crashing to the black bottom of the abyss.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say, reaffirming myself and him. “I need to be on my own.”
He doesn’t look at me and a long moment passes before he says anything at all. Mason’s voice is low when he asks, “Because of an article?” He grips the leather steering wheel until his knuckles are white. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. I’m sure he could fix all my problems. He’s so good at that.
But I need to fix myself. I need to be whole before I can give myself so completely to someone.
“It’s not the article.” The words drop one by one and my eyes burn.
“Is it your prick of a former husband?” he asks with disgust so apparent, I hate him in this moment. I confided in him about my deceased husband and yes, he may have hurt me, cheated on me and lied to me, but that’s not for Mason to judge. I still don’t even know how to feel about it all. How dare he speak about him like that?
“That’s exactly why this needs to stop.” My heart rages in my chest, hating me for being so raw, but I can’t stop.
“I’m not okay,” I say, feeling a burn in my eyes dampened from tears, but I don’t care, let them fall. Let everyone see and call me whatever they want. “I haven’t been okay and I’ve been running from it. You can’t just fix me. I can’t fall into another man’s arms and forget about everything I’m going through.”
With shaking hands, I almost throw my phone when it pings again. The absurdity of my entire world crashing down around me feels too overwhelming. I’m too hot, too angry, too miserable.
“I just want to go home.” There’s a finality in the statement and it feels like razors at the back of my throat.
“Stop,” Mason commands me as he slows down at a crosswalk. “Just take it easy.” His entire demeanor changes to something placating, as if he’s talking to a wounded animal. It only makes me angrier.
“No, I won’t stop. What do you want from me, Mason?”
A part of me is hoping he really is my knight in shining armor. Part of me wants to be weak. I want him to solve all my problems and just crawl into his bed every night, moving on to a new life and leaving the old one in shattered pieces behind me.
I know it’s wrong. It’s giving in and denying my responsibilities. But God, I want it. My heart is suffocating, hoping for him to say just the right things to convince me to be his, to forget everything else. Just like he has from the first night I met him. “What is it that you want from me?” My voice shakes.
“Jules.” He says my name and looks at me with a gaze I don’t understand.
“Just tell me right now, what do you want?” I swallow the spikes growing in my throat, but they don’t move. They only grow larger and sharper and make the words scrape as they leave me. “I can’t give myself to you right now unless—”