Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“It isn’t.” Does she honestly think she’s lost everything there is to lose? I can’t ask that question. It would be cruel. “I will fix this.”
It’s sort of a relief when she sits up, her back to me. I don’t have to exist under the heat of her stare. “You were supposed to do something about it, weren’t you?” she asks in a tired, weak voice. “You told me you would.”
She’s right. I did. “I know. I’m going to come through this time.”
She’s silent. That’s fine. She doesn’t have to speak. I hear everything through her body language, flinching when I get up and sit next to her on the edge of the bed. She’s guarded. Disappointed. Blaming me, too. We’re back to square one. We lost everything we built together, little as it was. It’s gone. And I don’t know if there’s any coming back from it.
No, there has to be. I refuse to believe this is over. “Trust me this one more time. Can you do that?”
I know the answer when she lowers her head, sighing deep, shuddering and flinching away when I try to touch her. “Don’t, okay? I can’t. I feel like I’m falling apart.” She covers her head with her hands, lacing her fingers together, rocking a little. Trying to give herself the comfort I want to give her, but then, I’m the reason she needs it.
“I only want to help.”
“Help?” Is it a laugh or a sob I hear? “How can you help me now when every time you touch me, I think of…”
“You don’t have to say it.”
“Just give me some time, would you?” Her arms drop into her lap, but she stares at the floor between her feet. “A few days. Just give me a few days. I need to not see you for a little while. Because all I do is remember…”
That’s all I can give her. My absence. It’s a pretty fucking grim reality to come to terms with, but I don’t have a choice. “Whatever you need.” My arms ache to hold her, but the only thing I can do is leave her alone. My touch is too much like torture.
And for me, the torture comes in not touching her. But unlike her, I deserve it.
Somehow, I manage to lock my boiling, seething rage away until I’m in the truck, slamming my hands again and again on the dashboard. “Stupid fucker! You fucking asshole!”
I could’ve stopped it. I didn’t. I had every reason in the world in the moment, but none of them matter now. Not when compared to her pain.
There has to be a way I can fix this. There is one idea I keep coming back to, but I can’t figure a way to make it work. Nobody can hurt her if she’s far away from here. Could I get her out of town? Where would she go? How long would she have to stay? These are questions she would want to know the answers to, obviously. I should have something in mind when she asks them.
I guess I have a few days to figure it out. She won’t want to see me for a while, like she said. I have time to put a plan together, but not very much.
In the meantime, there’s nowhere to go but home. The morning dawned sunny and bright, and I can’t help wondering as I turn down my street how many mornings have dawned like this after horrors like last night took place. Someone who grew up like I did, who has lived the way I have, shouldn’t only now be asking himself that question. I know all about horror. I’ve participated in more than my share.
It’s just I never thought about it before.
What a shame I can’t go back to the way things used to be. I can vaguely remember that version of my life as I get out of the truck and jog up the front steps. I almost wish I could turn back the clock to when I didn’t give my work much thought beyond how I resented being forced into it. Otherwise, people made their choices, and I helped dispense justice. The end. Now it’s like I have a conscience.
But going back would mean missing all of the time I’ve had with Tamson. I don’t know that it would be worth the sacrifice.
Inside, I’m greeted by the sight of my father walking in my direction on his way to his study. He’s carrying a steaming mug in one hand, a muffin in the other, and he’s in a good mood. There I was, thinking he’d be pissed. He didn’t get his full amount last night, but I guess he wasn’t really expecting it.
“I wanna talk to you.” He jerks his head, motioning for me to join him as he rounds the doorway into his study, just assuming I’ll come running. Why wouldn’t he? I always do.