Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Instead of holding on to her so I could ensure that she didn’t float into that horrible memory, I’d listened. I’d digested everything she told me. She bled in her apartment on her own then stitched herself up. And that asshole, Jasper, the one she had a relationship with that I both didn’t understand and hated with every fiber of my being, had known about it. He’d known that she was beaten and bloody and alone, and he hadn’t done a fucking thing.
I knew which was worse, theoretically. A man who put his hands on a woman, on Calliope, that man was worse than scum. Yet a part of me thought it was somehow worse that that man, that sinister character, that scumbag, let Calliope be alone because he thought she could survive without him.
Yes, Calliope could survive anything and everything without a man to be her savior. She could get through it alone.
But she didn’t deserve to. Shouldn’t have had to.
She needed someone to be there for her.
She hid her needs underneath her façade, beneath her shield, but Calliope needed it. Even if she would’ve rather died than admitted it.
Twenty-Four
The Parting Glass — Hozier
CALLIOPE
We were babysitting on Elliot’s and my last night.
He didn’t know it was the last night. Our last night together. Precisely how it should’ve been. Shocking him so he couldn’t do anything about it. Blindsiding him.
Cruel but necessary.
I thought I’d be greedy for time alone together, to soak up the last touches, moments, as if I could imprint him onto my soul.
But being alone with him, lying to him felt like breathing in toxic waste. It felt fatal.
Clara was the ultimate distraction. And despite my thorny, melancholy feelings, she made it difficult to be completely miserable.
The little girl was happiness in black combat boots. You would never have known how sick she was just a few months before.
Her prognosis was officially cautiously optimistic. Hence Beau being back at work and the nanny having a night off, Clara out of his sight for small amounts of time.
Like my time with my nieces, I liked being with Clara. And I loved seeing Elliot with her.
“Can Aunt Loppie put me to bed, please?” Clara asked with the impeccable manners her father had instilled in her without actually possessing them himself.
Elliot’s face became warm and melty when he looked at me, his smile so full of love it crushed my lungs.
“Yes, she may.” Elliot kissed his niece’s head.
I avoided eye contact as I busied myself with getting Clara into her room, her instructing me on how to get her projector set up before turning the lights off.
I laid beside her in her bed, also at her request. She didn’t want a story; she wanted to weave her small fingers in mine then point out all the stars in the solar system projected on her ceiling.
“The ones that are red and big are red supergiants,” she told me. “They’re really big, but they’re big because they’re about to die. In a big explosion called a supernova.” I listened to the little girl expel information that I didn’t even comprehend. “It’s a big event in space. They grow huge and explode. They’re the biggest and prettiest before they destroy everything.”
I nodded, no longer surprised by the immense number of facts that a four-year-old was able to retain. She was something special.
I found it difficult not to see the parallels between me and those red giants. Getting bigger and bigger before eventually exploding and leaving wreckage in my wake.
After she was done educating me on stars, her voice sounding more and more sleepy, I blinked up at the ceiling.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I whispered.
“I love secrets.” She suddenly sounded more awake than before.
“I love your uncle Elliot.” I had to say it out loud, letting it out somewhere before I smashed everything to pieces.
Clara let out a snort. “That’s not a secret, everyone knows that.”
I turned my head to regard her profile. “Everyone?”
She nodded. “You kiss, you have sleepovers, your face loses all of its edges when you look at him.”
“My … edges?” I was incredibly impressed by how perceptive she was.
“Yes.” She nodded, not explaining more, as if I should know exactly what she was talking about.
Which I kind of did.
I had edges. I’d ensured that once I moved to New York, I worked on sharpening all my edges so a man couldn’t cut me. So I could cut. Be a weapon.
I didn’t need edges with Elliot. His family. Or mine.
But it was past time for me to figure out a way to bring them back, sharper than ever. Because the soft version of Calliope was never going to survive what was to come.
“You know, you’re the reason we’re together.” I continued the conversation even though getting her to sleep was supposed to be the goal. I couldn’t handle more alone time with Elliot. I feared it might kill me.