Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
That’s what I’m gonna fucking do.
No matter what it takes.
18
Violet
“Be there tomorrow. Six thirty,” he says, like it’s a demand with a warning, like I’m the one who has done something wrong.
He then closes my car door and while I start it up, I can’t tear my gaze away from his for a long moment. There’s anger brewing in those eyes and I’m not sure if I should be afraid or not.
I think I am.
Afraid.
I can’t pinpoint the type of fear, because it’s not the kind of fear I’d expect. More like fear for my heart than my safety. But to say the look in his eyes is intense is an understatement.
Finally, I manage to focus on my mirrors, but note from my periphery that he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
***
I’m trembling all the way back to my grandfather’s house.
I didn’t want to confront Dad and Killian; seeing Killian was the last thing I wanted to do, but since Dad ignored my request to cancel his meeting with Killian and since Killian responded that he was going despite me asking him to ignore my dad, I felt like I had no choice. And as hard as I figured it’d be, it was even worse than that.
I’m trying to manufacture inner strength. And I told myself I should march in there and tell Dad to mind his own business and completely ignore Killian’s presence, just leave. But then I saw him and all my bravado melted.
I saw those piercing green eyes, got locked by them without avoiding reading what was in them. How he assessed me. And God, how it felt when he touched me, guided me to sit, when he held my hands, his wedding ring clinking with mine, making just a small noise that sounded like a gong in my brain.
I felt weak sitting there. Ready to crumble into dust. So much for going in there because I was strong. I walked toward that pub determined to be strong, but now I can’t stop shaking, driving back to Grampa’s weak and heartsick.
When I showed up at Grampa’s, letting myself in with the key I was given when I started helping with the cooking, cleaning, and shopping before we left for Las Vegas, I startled him.
I asked if I could stay for a little while. I asked it with a trembling voice and shaky body. He gave me a panicked look and then it was like he read me, knew what I needed. Space. Solitude with the option to have company.
He offered, “Here if you wanna talk, kiddo. And here if you don’t.”
He didn’t give me the third degree. I knew that his place was the best location for me to get some space. I couldn’t fathom going to Susanna’s and getting the space I needed. She would’ve been the exact opposite to what Grampa was.
And this way, I get the benefit of getting to spend time with him, too. I felt a little guilty for it because it was obvious by the way things went that he would’ve taken me in at any point during my relationship with Ray. If I could’ve been strong and taken that step, it would’ve meant very different things for me. And maybe even for his health. But looking back with remorse over what I should have done ages ago doesn’t serve much. Though I can’t help but replay so many things in my mind. My memories haunt me all day long, and taunt especially at night when I’m alone, without distractions.
Grampa told me to go ahead and sleep in whichever guest room I wanted. But he knew I’d pick Grandma’s doll room.
The house has three bedrooms and her doll room was always my favorite as a little girl. It has a pretty purple bedspread, my grandmother’s doll collection, and floral wallpaper.
It was also perfect because it was the furthest room away from Grampa’s, so he wouldn’t hear me crying myself to sleep every night.
That’s what I’ve done. I’m no closer to answers. I’m just numb.
And despite being busy at work during the day, it’s like Shara’s made it her goal to torture me. Shara has been icy, but worse, she’s micromanaging me, at my cubicle five times a day with questions, with second-guessing me. And I’m doing a terrible job of hiding that my life is falling apart. It’s like she knows and is taking great pleasure in watching me fight to get sentences out without crying.
When I got back from Italy, the girls in the office had a mini shower for me with a cake and a gift card that everyone chipped in on for a housewares store. She wasn’t there for more than a minute, eyes on me like she was angry. After I took the two days off when I found out Killian’s secrets, it got worse. She grilled me about a particular order with a supply problem extra-hard. Like I’m the reason the manufacturer has the products on limited allocation. It feels like she’s putting me through my paces, second-guessing stuff, and giving me dirty looks whenever we pass one another in the office.