Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Terrance blows a breath out of his nose. No smile. “The goal is to make this automatic. And eventually, you might notice less and less of these negative thoughts. You can also try guided meditation at night. Or you can take a dopamine blocker.”
“I’m not taking antipsychotic drugs again.”
He nods. “I understand.” He glances at his watch. “Time’s up.”
On my way home, Colten calls me.
“How was therapy?”
“How did you know I was at therapy?”
“I’m tracking your phone. I set that up when I set up your ringtone. I can’t get you to the altar if I can’t find you.”
“Mmm … I don’t know if I buy that.”
“So what did Dr. Birdie say?”
“Dr. Byrd. And he said I need to have more sex and think about it as often as possible. I realize you have a demanding job, so I might have to recruit some help.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Me neither. I hate those dating apps, but if I just stick to random hookups and don’t fret over meeting for dinner first, it will be easier.”
“Still not laughing.”
“Really? That one was a little funny. Where are you?”
“I just got home.”
“Helping your mom make dinner?”
“My mom took Reagan to a movie.”
“My mom left this morning.”
“Uh-huh.” He seems a little distracted.
“You’re not inviting me over?”
“I’m working on my car.”
“Which one?”
“Samantha.”
I laugh. “Samantha?”
“I named my cars after the first woman I fucked in them.”
What the hell?
“How original.” I skip my exit. “Well, I’ll see you around.”
“Okay. Night.” He disconnects the call.
I floor it, speeding past my exit. Who says that to their fiancée? I have no desire to get into any of his cars ever again. Who the hell did he fuck in my dad’s Chevelle? He’s a grown adult. Why is he screwing women in his cars?
As soon as I pull into his driveway, I march to his garage, opening the access door and slamming it behind me.
“Watts,” he says from the pit under his car, country music blaring from the speaker. He peeks his head out, his blue tee clinging to his chest, grease on his face and arms. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight.”
“What’s the Chevelle’s name? What’s your work car’s name? Do you have names for each of the rooms in your house?” I park my hands on my hips.
He hops out of the pit and grabs a towel, wiping his hands. “Are you hooking up on dating apps?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not.”
“You’re losing your edge. Not gonna lie … I’m a little disappointed.” Tossing the towel aside, he takes a swig of cola from the can on his workbench.
“Are you bullshitting me? Did you lie to me about naming your cars after skanks?”
“Skanks?” He coughs after taking a swig. “Why do the women I date have to be skanks?”
“If grown women are fucking you in your cars, then they’re skanks.”
“I love you, Josephine Watts. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.” He saunters toward me. “But if you joke about hooking up with men from your stupid little dating apps, then I’m going to get even. Now, we’re even.” His black boots hit the toes of my white sneakers.
“Your Corvette’s name isn’t Samantha.” It’s not a question. It’s … a confession of my gullibility.
He smirks.
I nod slowly, looking just past his shoulder as I unbutton my jeans.
“What are you doing?”
After toeing off my shoes, I shimmy out of the jeans and shrug off my tee, standing in front of him in my bra and panties. “I want you to name her Josie.”
Excitement spreads along his face as his smirk explodes into a full, ear-reaching smile. “Which one?”
My hands twist behind my back to unhook my bra. “All of them.”
“You’re a temptress. The devil in disguise.” He leans down to kiss me.
“You’re the devil! Murderer!”
I lean to the side, holding my hand up to stop him while pinching my eyes shut.
“What is it?” he asks.
I shake my head. “It’s …”
A voice. It’s the first time I’ve heard a voice in my head. So clear. So close. No vision. Just a voice. A girl screaming those words. A young girl.
“You’re the devil! Murderer!”
It’s so loud I can’t hear Colten. His lips move, but I can’t hear him. Again, I close my eyes. My hands press to the side of my head over my ears.
He cuffs my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. “Josie!”
And then it’s silent in my head.
“Baby, look at me.” It’s barely an echo, but I hear Colten. “Tell me what’s happening.”
I shake my head.
“No. Don’t do that. Tell. Me. Tell me what you saw.”
I continue to shake my head. “I … I didn’t see. I … I heard a voice.”
“Whose voice?”
My gaze flits around the garage; I can’t focus. It’s nauseating. The voice. The young girl. What she screamed … it’s all nauseating.