Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
My deep inhales are silent, although the heavy rise and fall of my chest betrays me. If he notices, he doesn’t let on as he places his luggage by the front door. My own hands turn numb watching his.
Even if he is only wearing a pair of faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt, he’s still devilishly handsome. It’s his muscular physique and tanned, tattooed skin that let you know he’s a classic bad boy regardless of what he’s wearing. My heart beats slower as the seconds pass between us; it’s calming just to look at him. That’s how he got me in the beginning. The desire and attraction are undeniable despite what he’s done.
He’s the first to break our gaze as he runs his fingers through his dark brown hair and lets out an uneasy sigh. In response my lips curl into a sarcastic smile, mocking both me and my thoughts. I’m not the only one to fall for his charm and allure, but I should have learned my lesson by now. My fingers slip down the thin stem of the wineglass as I smile weakly and force back the sting in my eyes, pretending I’m not going to cry, pretending that I’ve made my decision final. Like I don’t already regret it.
“I have to go,” Evan states after a moment of uncomfortable silence, apart from the constant background hum of traffic.
My blood rushes and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. I focus on the wine, the dark red liquid pooling in the base of the glass. I try to swirl it, but it doesn’t move; there’s so little left.
“Is she going to be there?” I ask him, staring straight ahead at a black and white photo of the two of us taken years ago on vacation in Mexico.
Why? Why even bother? Why did I let it slip out? I’d planned to just say goodbye. Just end this suffering already.
As he answers, I continue to stare at the genuine smile on my face and then to where his arm is wrapped possessively around my waist in the photograph.
I hate that I asked. It’s my insecurity, my hate. My envy even.
“No, she’s not. And I already told you it doesn’t matter.” Any trace of a smile or even of disinterest leaves me. I can’t hide what it does to me, what his lie has done to me.
It doesn’t matter. Let it go. They’re all nonanswers. They’re words to hide the truth and we both know it.
My elbow is planted on the table as I rest my chin in my hand and try to cover up how much it hurts. To keep it from him just like he’s keeping the truth from me, even if I sniff a little too loud. I speak low as I stare straight ahead at nothing in particular. “You told me it’s not true, but you didn’t deny it to the press,” I tell him and finally look him in the eye. “You didn’t deny it to anyone but me, and I know you’re lying.” My words crack at the end and I have to tear my gaze away. “It’s been different since you came home.” My last statement is drawn out and practically a whisper. It’s been difficult between us over the past year, but the last two weeks … The tension between us changed the second he came home. I knew something bad had happened. I knew it.
Everyone told me to be careful and warned me about Evan six years ago when I first started seeing him. I knew what I was doing when I first said yes to a date with him, when I gave myself to him and let myself fall for someone like him. I’m a fool.
“I told you, Kat, it’s not what it looks like,” he says and his voice is soft, like he’s afraid to say the words louder.
“Then why not tell them?” I ask, staring into his pleading expression. “Why let the world believe you’ve cheated on me? What could you possibly gain?” Each question gets louder as the words rush out of my mouth. I’m ashamed of how much passion there is in my voice. How much of my pain is on display.
In stark contrast is how little pain he shows and I don’t miss how he hasn’t budged. He hasn’t made a single move to come to me. So I stay planted in my seat as well.
I know why he doesn’t deny it, and it’s because it’s true. Years of just the two of us have shown me who he is and I know he’s not a liar, but he’s lying to me now. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. “It’s been weeks, hasn’t it?” I say, forcing out the words from between clenched teeth. This morning I couldn’t talk without screaming. Without slamming my fists into the table, making it shake and causing a glass of water to fall and shatter on the hardwood floors.