Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“Mrs. Jenkins,” Archer politely begins again, “I don’t have a job. I apply. No one responds. I apply again. And I’ll keep applying until someone takes a chance on me the way your daughter did. And in the meantime, I will continue to renovate our house.”
“You’ve done a great job, Cox.”
“Thank you, sir.” He nods at Dad and looks back at Mom. “I will continue to cook. Clean. Help out neighbors when they need it. Take notes at the stupid HOA meetings.”
“You take notes at those things?” Dad thoughtlessly gags. “You deserve a medal.”
His smile is pushed away to proceed with his speech. “While I don’t bring anything financially to this relationship yet, I can guarantee you that no one – and I mean fucking no one – has loved or will love your daughter as deeply as I do.”
“You didn’t know him! You don’t know how he loved her!”
“I can tell you that he didn’t.”
The bluntness to the statement causes my father to wince.
“No man who truly loves the woman he’s with would force her to hide away her favorite books because they clashed with his shit. No man who truly loves the woman he’s with would reject a thoughtful gift like pajamas. No man who truly loves the woman he’s with would spend so much time critiquing her choices instead of appreciating her uniqueness.”
Both of my parents glance my direction in bewilderment, yet it’s Dad who ponders, “Did he really do that type of shit to you? I mean I never really liked the guy but-”
“Don’t say that, Charles!”
“Why?” my father casually brushes off. “It’s the truth. Chris was a pretentious shit. Even his own parents thought so. And more importantly, if he treated our daughter like garbage, Mags, then fuck him. He didn’t deserve the tolerance I had to exude because I made the mistake of believing our daughter was happy.”
“She was happy!”
“She just said she wasn’t!”
“She’s clearly lying!”
“Why would she lie?!”
“He-he-he brain washed her!”
“Voices,” gingerly leaves my lips.
“I’ve seen this type of shit before.” Mom hastily nods to herself. “There are at least ten Netflix documentaries about men like him. Cult leaders. Preying on poor, innocent, defenseless, naïve women.”
“I am not naïve.” I viciously bite on a small pound to the table. “And I damn sure am not defenseless. I knew exactly what I was doing. I know exactly what I’m doing, and I know who I’m doing it with.”
“You shouldn’t be-” is the start of the sentence that gets cut off due to Archer’s sudden slight twitches.
Seeing the start of an episode has me instantly looking around for the trigger only to realize the flash fire in the kitchen must’ve caught him poorly.
Mom huffs her outrage. “What in the hell-”
“Sweetheart is now,” he quietly whispers to himself while slightly rocking. “Steak is now.” More rocking. More reminders. “Lieutenant… Lieutenant…Where’s our-”
“Charles is now,” I remind and inhale deeply, to indicate he should do the same.
Archer sucks in a gulp of air prior to whispering, “Sweetheart is now.”
“I am now,” the cooed response assists in settling his shoulders. “You are safe now.” His grasp on my leg loosens. “You are loved now.”
He slowly nods and lets his hazy green gaze find my brown. “I am loved now.”
My hand gently lands on his cheek at the same time I question, “Are you with me?”
A faint hit of red hits his cheeks as he nods. “I’m here.”
“Where?”
“Silver’s Steakhouse.”
“With?”
“You.” His fingers give mine a small tap to release him, so I do. “And your dad.” Another long breath is expelled. “And your mother.”
“Who does not want her daughter dating a junkie!” Mom shrieks just about above a whisper. “I know your type.” Her eyes narrow the hardest they possibly can. “You’re not really a veteran. You’re a disgraceful junkie who developed a coke habit or a meth habit that got his ass thrown out on the streets! I see your kind all the time in the hospital. Pretending they have every illness on God’s green earth just to get another hit!”
“Ma’am, I am not a junkie.”
“Then how do you explain all this?” her hand waves around at the same time I shake my head at the waiter to not come over.
“I suffer from PTSD.” While making the announcement is more frequent for him, it’s no less difficult. “I…occasionally…have moments where…I’m triggered by something in my environment.”
“Do you know your triggers?” Dad cautiously inquires. “Is my daughter at risk?”
“Of course she’s at fucking risk, Charles!”
“No, sir, she is not,” he promptly reassures. “And I do know my trigger. And I am getting help in the form of therapy as well as medication. The episodes have always been sporadic; however, they are becoming shorter in length and on the occasion, I can catch them before they even start. This is thanks to the medication and techniques taught to myself and supported by Jaye.”