Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Whose voice is that? Mine? I don’t know. How did the strands of his hair get wrapped around my fingers? I’m moaning and writhing, and I don’t know myself anymore and I love that. I’m free. I’m overcome by heightening pain that transforms into wet, shuddering, convulsive joy that tears a scream of his name from my throat.
I’m swallowed by the light.
I see his worshipful face above me.
And I slip into the deepest sleep of my life.
CHAPTER
SIX
Theo
I need to force myself to leave July’s apartment.
That’s my last rational thought before hell finds me.
Everything is so soft. She’s so soft. So perfect and trusting in her sleep, her hand curled against my chest, as if we’ve slept like this a thousand times before. But my heart begins to pound wildly around three thirty in the morning and that’s when I get confused.
Am I asleep or awake?
My mouth begins to taste like dust, my eyes become crusted with grit.
Every time I let my guard down, I hear the spray of machine gun fire.
That must mean I’m awake, right? I feel the heat of the sun. It can’t be a dream.
Why is July in the prison with me? How did she get here?
I shield her in my embrace, protectively, scanning the room to find out which direction the threat is coming from. The shrapnel buried in my back begins to heat, cool, heat and…I need to get her down on the floor. We’re too exposed here on the bed.
Looking down at my torso, I realize I’m covered in sweat, my chest puffing up and down. I’m going to get my sweat all over July. The gunfire has stopped for now and she looks so sweet, so serene.
Oh Jesus, what if she’s already dead?
Was she hit by a stray bullet and I didn’t even realize it?
Wheezing, I snatch up her wrist and feel for a pulse, a deluge of relief coursing through me when I feel the beat. She’s alive. She’s alive. But for how long—
“Theo,” she murmurs, lacing her fingers with mine and yawning without opening her eyes. “Is it time to get up?”
No. It’s time to get down on the floor.
My vocal cords ache from restraining the shout.
But something new happens. As soon as I hear her husky voice, the prison wavers around us and I’m now in her bedroom. In Chicago. Baby blue sheets are pulled up around my waist, the glow of a streetlight percolating through the slats of her blinds. It’s silent, except for the whoosh of traffic and my shallow breathing.
“No, baby. It’s still nighttime,” I say, kissing her temple, feeling…broken. Like a broken toy that has been put back on the shelf and sold to an unsuspecting customer who has no idea of the defects. I have to get out of here. Next time I fall asleep, I could wake up fully entrenched in the memories and do something to hurt her, like tackling her down to save her life from nothing. There’s nothing here. No threats. Why can’t my brain believe it?
Having to get up and leave her when she is pure paradise…it’s hell.
My chest is yawning open as I look down at July, while pulling on my shirt. I reach down and trace the smooth line of her bare outer thigh, all the way to her hip, swallowing a wrench when she shivers from the cold. Because I’m no longer holding her?
I make a miserable sound in the quiet bedroom, pacing for long moments.
This is where I want to be, but I haven’t stopped to ask myself if I’m good for her.
In the unforgiving darkness of the night, I examine how I got here. Through the lens of a sane human being. I stalked and followed her. Just hours ago, I had to physically restrain myself from taking her virginity on the couch, even though she wasn’t ready. Now, I’m ebbing and flowing in and out of a PTSD nightmare. If she hadn’t snapped me out of it, I might have barricaded us in the bathroom and terrified the shit out of her.
I continue pacing, punching myself in the head once, twice.
I’m so fucked up.
There’s no way in hell I can leave July alone, but shouldn’t I save her from the worst of me? The nighttime me who can’t sleep without being attacked by demons? If I physically hurt this fragile girl, I’d never forgive myself. And God, I don’t want her to see me in the throes of some mental war.
Go.
You don’t belong here.
Go.
I reach for her softness one more time, but don’t allow my fingertips the satisfaction of touching her, curling my fist into a ball until it’s shaking. Taking a heavy gulp of her scent, I leave the bedroom, the air conditioning drying the sweat on my skin. I scrawl out a note and leave it on the small kitchen table, barely aware of what I’m writing, I’m so focused on removing myself from her peace, before I shatter it.