Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
“I can wait,” I say but she only shakes her head in response, tossing her phone onto the nightstand with a heavy breath and tired eyes.
Something is killing her inside. And it fucking hurts that she’s hiding it from me still.
“What is it you wanted to ask?” she says with a soft and kind voice, one that begs for mercy. Our eyes lock and there’s a shift between us. One of vulnerability. One seeking refuge in me.
“I just don’t want you to ever lie to me.” I don’t know why that’s what comes out. But it’s all I’ve got for her. “You don’t have to tell me shit,” I begin but pause when her expression falls and she fails to hide the sadness there. “You don’t have to tell me shit, but don’t lie to me.”
She nods once and then agrees in a small voice, “That’s not really a question but … No lying. Can do.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah,” she says but doesn’t look me in the eyes as she pulls the covers back.
“And that’s the truth?” I ask her, reminding her of the assurance she just made.
“As all right as I can be,” she says and then slowly raises her eyes to mine. “Just a lot of things happened when I was younger, and something reminded me of a promise I made but almost broke.”
“What promise?”
“Can we just eat and go to sleep?” she asks in return and chances a quick glance at me, again picking at some nonexistent fuzz on her pants.
“It’s not that late,” I tell her out of impulse. It can’t be any later than nine.
“How about we just cuddle and watch something funny?” she asks, and her voice is stronger, more hopeful.
“A comedy? I’m always down for that.”
Crawling into bed beside her feels right. Like that’s what I’m supposed to do right now. Before I even have a chance to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into me, she’s already nestling her ass into my crotch and getting comfortable.
She reaches behind her, looking back at me and takes the remote off the nightstand. Before getting back into position she gives me a quick peck and then picks up my hand in both of hers.
“Your hands are so small,” I say absently as she traces the lines on my hand with the tip of her finger. It’s soothing and gentle, but it stops when she kisses the tips of my fingers like I did with hers.
“I wish things were different,” she whispers. There’s a sincerity there, a fear too.
“Like what? My mom?”
She shakes her head and settles her back against me, letting my hand fall to her waist.
“Just circumstances,” she says without looking back.
With the remote in hand, she searches the channels while I watch her. The light from the television brightens her face.
I see every detail. There are moments in time that don’t seem like they mean anything at all when they happen. Moments that hold no significance at the time.
But later, those moments are burned into your memory.
The way the light hits her hair, the way she blinks away the tears that threaten to fall. The way she smiles up at me with the sound of some movie playing on the television in the background. Some moments are burned into your memory forever, and maybe it’s because deep inside we wish it could stay like this. With her nestled in my arms, knowing she’s safe and that nothing bad is going to happen tonight.
THERE ARE TIMES IN LIFE
There are times in life when you run toward something.
And there are times you run away.
Neither choice is shameful.
But either way, you’re running.
ALLISON
“Sam?” I call out her name again and my voice echoes in the empty hallway.
There’s no one else around. The deserted halls of the school mock me as I move from room to room looking for her. “Sam,” I barely whisper her name.
It feels odd as I open the doors. Almost like they’re expecting me, since they open so easily. They creak open slowly though, making me wait as I hold my breath.
Each room gives me nothing. They’re all empty and dark and every time it scares me to move beyond the doorframe. So, I just look in and whisper her name. Quietly, praying she’ll hear me.
Door after door, I keep moving through the hall. Waiting to see her. I can picture how she used to sit on top of her desk, cross-legged with her book in her lap. I keep waiting to see her there smiling back at me. But there’s nothing. Just empty rooms, each one darker than the next. The halls grow cold and I forget why I need her.
I thought I was following her. I swear I heard her call for me.
She needs my help. The reminder makes my body freeze as a chill flows over me and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I can feel it. Deep down in my gut, the pain twists and turns, writhing into a coil that crawls up my spine.