Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Margot, that’s the bare minimum.”
“I know.”
“Adult or not, you deserve to be cherished.” He entwines his fingers with mine and pure affection flows through the simple gesture. I can’t bring myself to agree with his statement, though.
“Once we were engaged, he ramped up the complaints. Suddenly, I needed to lose weight, my breasts were too squishy and big, my thighs too jiggly.” Humiliation rains down over me as I list each small insult that, over time, added up to a mountain of pain.
He squeezes my hand. “None of those things are true. You’re perfect the way you are.”
I duck my head, allowing my hair to cover my face. “I mean, I know I’m not tiny. I’m not blind. But I started to feel really awful.” I peek up at him through my hair. “I think you already know the sex was bad.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“It had never been great for me.” I scoff. “Another thing I thought was just reality versus fiction.” Heat blooms over my face but I’ve told him this much, I might as well give him the whole story. “I bought some books. Did some reading about how to…I thought maybe it was his lack of experience too. So one time I asked if we could explore doing something to make it last…longer. So maybe I could, you know, enjoy it too.”
I risk a glance at Jigsaw, expecting to find him laughing or smug. But his face is stone-cold serious. “Go on.”
“He was…angry. Really angry.” I press my hands to my face. “His cheeks got so red, I thought he might explode. He said it was my fault that our sex life was so bad.”
He snorts a humorless laugh. “How so?”
Just say it. Get the words out. “He said I was as exciting in bed as a corpse. How working around dead people must’ve rubbed off on me because I was cold and boring…There was more, but I stopped listening. It wasn’t just what he said. It was how he said it. So hateful and vicious when he supposedly loved me.”
Tears of anger and humiliation burn my eyelids, but I blink them away. How did I allow someone like that into my life for so long?
“I will kill that piece of shit if I ever see him again,” Jigsaw swears. He squeezes my hands again. “None of that is true. None.”
He’s the reason I know that now, but that sounds really pathetic and I’m already feeling low enough. “Since my prior experiences hadn’t been stellar, I felt like the common denominator had to be me. And maybe he was the only one with the spine to say it.”
“Bullshit. There are just a lot of shitty guys out there who don’t know—or care to learn—how to please a woman,” he protests. “That’s not your fault.”
I study his face, feeling all the shame and doubt bubble up again, waiting for a hint of doubt in his expression.
Nothing. He’s serious and waiting for me to continue.
“The corpse comment hurt,” I admit. “I’d told him how kids made fun of me for growing up in the funeral home. So, he kind of knew that was a sore point and used it against me.” I let out a deep sigh. “That was it for me. I tugged the ring off my finger, left it on his kitchen counter, picked up my purse, and left.”
He blows out a relieved breath. “Good.”
“And I was afraid to get involved with anyone again until I ‘fixed’ myself.”
“There is nothing about you that needs fixing,” he says with venom in his tone. “I want to strangle this fucker for hurting you that way.”
Jigsaw
Strangle is the polite way to put what I want to do to her ex. Mutilate. Dismember. Butcher. Those are all better words to describe what I want to do to him.
At the very least, cut out his tongue. A poetic punishment for his crime of using it to destroy Margot’s confidence. And it would have the added bonus of stopping him from hurting anyone else in the future. A gift to the world. One less asshole offering his worthless opinions to a woman he claims to care about.
“Jensen.” Margot’s low, scolding tone halts the violent storm brewing in my chest. “You’re looking murdery. Whatever you’re thinking—stop. He’s not worth it.”
“You’re worth everything.”
She tilts her head. “If I wanted him dead, I could’ve done it myself.”
Now why’d she immediately assume I jumped straight to murder? “I’m not plotting to kill him.”
She studies me for a few more seconds, but I keep my face blank and un-murdery. Or at least I try to.
“Words aren’t enough to take someone’s life.” She squints at me. “Or permanently disfigure them.”
She knows me so well.
“Disagree. You spent, what? Three years doubting yourself because of this asshole? He deserves at least a few punches to the face, don’t you think?” I fucking hate that he ever had any piece of Margot’s heart—he’s not worthy to breathe her air, let alone touch her or hear her voice.