Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
This is all wrong. We were supposed to be happy. How fucking idiotic can I be, imagining she would want to take me for a ride, maybe show off a little? I feel like all I can do is throw darts at a board, and every shot misses the mark.
It’s like she has to force every word from her mouth one at a time. “It makes me wonder... if you think you have to... like, buy my affection or my trust.”
Why not come out and kick me in the stomach? All the breath rushes out of me the way it would have if she hit me. “Are you serious? Is that how little you think of me?”
Color floods her face until she’s as red as her hair before she snaps, “Don’t make it about that! Why are you putting words in my mouth?”
“It’s really not that hard when you basically just accused me of trying to buy your love.”
“That’s not how I meant it.”
“How the hell could you have meant it?” Folding my arms to mirror her posture, I sneer, “Really, tell me.”
She tosses her head. “Not if you’re going to be childish like this. You’re not interested in listening to anything I have to say.”
“I was only trying to do something nice for you.”
But was I, really? Maybe I’m pissed off because she saw through me so easily. Because yeah, I do have another reason for going out of my way to buy her this car.
There is so much I have to make up for, so much we did to her, so many ways we hurt her and broke her down. This is the least I can do. This is nothing compared to what she suffered thanks to Nix and me—and Dad, always Dad, the one pulling the strings and calling the shots.
There’s a large part of me that feels like I have to repay that debt, and I don’t have the first clue how to do it.
What’s worse is, she doesn’t expect me to. How is that even possible?
“Well, if that’s all it really is, thank you, but it’s too much. I don’t even think I feel comfortable with the idea of driving it, to be honest with you. You didn’t have to spend all this money.”
“Would you stop worrying about the fucking money?” I snap, and God help me, it feels good to watch her head snap back while fear darkens her eyes. I’m a weak, pathetic shit, taking strength from her fear, feeling gratified because of it. I’m basically a slug crawling on the ground, leaving slime wherever I go.
“You know what? I don’t need to be here right now. This is not a conversation we need to have when we’re both feeling tense.”
Before I know it, she’s on her way inside again, and I have no choice but to follow her, my feet pounding on the stairs. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“I’m not walking away from you,” she calls back over her shoulder. “I’m walking away from a fight. That’s what grown-ups do.”
“Oh, don’t start that shit with me.”
“Well then, maybe don’t be so immature just because I didn’t fall all over the place thanking you for something I didn’t ask for.” She’s already in the apartment with me right behind her, grabbing her keys and shoving them in the pocket of her hoodie. “Thank you for the gesture, seriously, but I can’t spend our entire relationship trying to convince you I’m with you because I want to be. You don’t have to buy my love. There’s no score to settle.”
I can’t even tell her she’s wrong, or that I wasn’t coming from exactly the place she just described. Because that’s exactly why I bought the car. A wild shot at making it up to her. Telling her how sorry I am for hurting her. How grateful I am that she would ever even look at me, much less say she loves me.
I mean, how can I possibly deserve it?
“I’m going for a walk. I need to clear my head.” She barely looks at me as she’s leaving, her gaze grazing the floor as she makes her way back to the door.
Should I stop her? Would it be selfish if I did?
Who am I kidding? I would only end up saying something stupid again and making things worse. It’s easier and better for both of us if I let her go, so I do, standing aside while she walks out with her hands jammed in her pockets.
Once the door is closed, I pick up the closest thing—a throw pillow on the sofa—and hurl it at the wall. Right, like that’s going to do anything to make me feel calmer, less… wrong. Less broken and fucked up and completely undeserving of love and understanding.
Standing in the middle of the living room, fists clenched at my sides, I spend a long time breathing heavily, my chest heaving, shoulders rising and falling. There’s a ringing in my ears, and the world is red, and I really want to hurt something—or someone.