Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Another large bang had me jumping out of bed. I didn’t know who it could be making all the noise. I hated how my heart was racing, but I rushed toward the door. I didn’t have a weapon on hand.
“Niamh, open up.”
I frowned. That sounded like Peter.
It didn’t surprise me that he was able to get to my apartment through the supposed security on the main door. The apartments were so cheap that only one of the elevators worked, and according to several people living in this building, that elevator had stopped going to the top floors years ago. Everyone tended to take the stairs.
Opening the door, there was Peter at my door, and he looked drunk.
To stop him from touching me, I had no choice but to stand out of the way while he stumbled into my apartment. This is not what I wanted to deal with. Not on a Sunday night. I was quite happy to be bored.
“Peter?” I asked, and quickly closed the door behind him, locking it.
I knew I was going to have to start considering moving on. I’d been in one place for too long, not that I was an expert in running away and not being found, but something told me I had to keep moving. This was all dependent on whether my father gave a shit about what happened to me.
With the locks all placed—not that I was under any illusion of them working—I turned to find Peter had stumbled a little too close.
He squinted at me and I couldn’t help but wonder if he even realized he’d made it to my apartment. There was alcohol on his breath. I wasn’t even sure if it was on his breath, but he did reek of the stuff.
“Hello, Niamh,” he said.
“Hi, Peter, enjoying the liquor?” I asked.
This made him laugh. It was such an odd sound, and that was when it suddenly occurred to me, I’d never heard Peter laugh. He was always so serious.
He held his fingers together and seemed to sway a little. His other hand went to my shoulder, and he held onto me, trying not to fall. “Little bit.”
“You and I both know you’ve had more than a little bit.” At least he wasn’t banging at my door. I didn’t want the cops being called, not that I’d seen them around these parts, even when fights did break out.
Peter didn’t let me go, and I think he was using me to stay upright. I still forced a smile to my lips. Alcohol and men, I didn’t like. I’d seen my mom drunk plenty of times. Sober she could be mean, but with beer or whatever drink she wanted, she turned cruel.
He held a finger against his lips. “It’s a very important day. Don’t tell anyone. This is the day my father died … a long time ago,” Peter said.
Just because I didn’t have any love for my parents, and if my parents did die, it would honestly be a relief to me. For a split-second, I wondered if I would be upset. Was it a built-in response to mourn your family, even parents you couldn’t stand?
I didn’t know the answer to that, and I was afraid of it. The last thing I wanted to do was miss my parents. I hated my parents. It would be cruel to miss people who treated you like shit.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“I know. I shouldn’t have been alone, but I can’t remember your number, and I don’t even know if you want my company.” He still held onto me as he ran a hand down his face. “I know there are a lot of women who would like my company, but the only person I wanted to be around was you, Niamh.” He smiled and I’m not going to lie, this man should attempt to smile more often.
He stopped looking like a killer, and transformed into a heartthrob. I didn’t know if that was possible with all the ink and the deadly intent in his eyes. For several seconds I didn’t know what to do or say. I could only stand still and wait.
“Does that shock you?” he asked.
“I think the alcohol is making you a little … strange,” I said. There was no way I was going to believe it, although some of the things my mom said when drunk, she’d claim to be lies, but deep down I knew it was the truth. One time, my mother admitted that she had even considered killing me. She’d held a pillow in her hand, stared down at me as a baby, and wanted to kill me. I’d been a baby girl, not something of any value to her or Finn Byrne. She wanted the problem gone.
What had stopped her? My father showed up and showered her with attention, at least that’s how the story went. Either way, she kept me and didn’t do a great job in raising me. Or maybe she did an amazing job, and I just didn’t see it. I don’t know.