Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 73153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Some people just take shit for granted, and Tracey is one of those people.
Of course, Kaleb's brainiac ass could do better than that, but still, there were some ideas to go off of. So, how could he not write a paper? It wasn't complicated at all. I just threw some ideas down right there within just a few seconds.
"Favorite subject?" His sudden question jerked me from my thoughts.
I stared down at my desk. “Don't have one.” That was mostly honest at least. I hated school with a fucking passion, and I wouldn’t even bother coming anymore if not for my dad breathing down my neck about it all of the time to keep social services off his ass.
I heard him sigh, but he didn't comment on my answer. "Worst subject?"
"All of them.” Again, a mostly honest answer.
He blew out a harsh breath, but he still didn't comment on my answer. "Okay, Tracey, why are you such a bitch?"
I swung my head to the side to look at him, my eyes wide with alarm. Had he really just asked me that question so bluntly? I thought the good ole' golden boy, Kaleb, was expected to be nicer than that.
"I choose to be.” The first completely real, honest answer I had given him fell from my lips. "I don't like people. No one wants to be around a total bitch."
"Finally, a real answer. I thought you were going to continue giving me answers that I can't do anything with."
His comment set me on edge, sending my guard right back up again. “Ask me some real questions."
"I have been." He narrowed his eyes, making fear spike in my veins. "You just don't give real answers."
The problem with his questions was that he was asking ones that I couldn't give real, straight answers to. I couldn't let anyone know what was going on in my life. I couldn't express my feelings. I had to keep it all bottled up inside.
The answers he wanted to hear were never going to come.
"Alright, next question. How do you feel about being an only child?"
I thought it was fine. I didn't want siblings. They would only get hurt, too.
"I like being an only child just fine.” I shrugged. “As I said, I don't like people.” I didn’t want him looking too deep into something.
But why the fuck was I answering his questions now instead of arguing with him?
Oh yeah, because I wanted him to leave me the hell alone so I could go on about my life without worrying that he would get too nosey and try to interfere in anything that really wasn't his business.
The bell rang, and I sighed in relief. Finally, some peace. I could go to my other three classes, eat lunch, and not have to worry about anyone bothering me. No one would notice me.
That was what I had hoped for, at least.
Chapter Three
As soon as I walked into my house after I got home from school, I could tell that something was wrong. I quietly shut the front door behind me, taking in the silence, hoping to God that the instinct in my stomach was wrong and that no one was home.
Then, I heard my mother's scream of pain.
I winced, my heart pounding erratically in my chest. I knew exactly what he was doing to her, and I knew just how much it hurt.
I tiptoed down the hall to my room and gently set my school bag on the floor, praying and hoping that he wouldn't realize I was at home yet. Sighing softly, I looked at the blood stains on my floor.
Some things you just couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard and long you scrubbed at them.
No matter how many times I scrubbed myself until my skin was blood red, I couldn't get rid of the feeling of his hands on me, just like I couldn't get the blood stains out of my carpet, no matter how long and hard I scrubbed at them.
I sat on my bed and dropped my head into my hands, listening to my mother sob and cry in the other room, begging him to stop hurting her. I hated the life that I was forced to live. I just wanted out of it, but I knew that my mother had a second sense for when I was trying to commit suicide, and she would only come to stop the process.
My heart pounded in my chest, nausea swirling in my stomach when I heard my parent's bedroom door open. I tensed up, holding my breath—terrified. My dad stepped into my room—naked. I quickly looked away from him, swallowing down the vomit that rose in the back of my throat.
His footsteps echoed off the walls as he walked toward me, shoving me backward on my bed. "No!" My voice hurt from screaming at him, my throat sore. Tears streaked down my cheeks.