Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
My lack of freedom.
The only reason they allow me to date Jasper is because his father is the Chief of Police. Thomas Johnson wants to have a connection in every corner of the state, maybe every corner of the damn country. Me dating Jasper benefits my dad, therefore, for once, I’m doing something right in my life.
Something beneficial for the family, as my mother would put it. That’s the responsibility of a Johnson, as the only child of my parents: to be of use to them.
So, here I am.
Giving Jasper the one thing he has been after since we started dating.
My virginity.
To please him, to keep him around — so I can please my parents.
“My mom is practically my manager. I’m a busy girl, what can I say?” I give Jasper my best pageant smile and my face almost cracks under the weight of it. “You will soon be dating Miss New York Teen USA. Having me as your girlfriend has its perks, doesn’t it?”
Jasper makes a show of looking me up and down, but by his expression, I’m not sure if he is liking what he sees, or if he’s judging my body. Does he see my imperfections the way I do? “You’re so sure you’ll win?”
“Of course I will.”
I always win. It’s not arrogance; it's merely a fact.
I have never lost any pageant, since I was one year old. My mother was a pageant queen, turned actress, and now a politician’s wife. She was the definition of a trophy wife when she got married to my father. Nora Johnson is obsessed with beauty and being the center of attention.
When she started to lose the fame that came along with her beauty — I became the avenue to her obsession.
I rub my temple, where a headache is forming. “Are you going to drive me home or not?”
“It’s not like I have a choice,” he grumbles under his breath. “You’re coming to the party tomorrow night, right? Don’t be a bore and cancel on me, Riley.”
A birthday party that Jasper is throwing for me. Because his parents are out of town and he has the house to himself. The perfect opportunity to have a party.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I affirm, my voice filled with fake excitement. The smile is still plastered firmly on my face, and I worry it will crack any second now. The pain between my legs throbs insistently. “Let’s go?”
***
I wave at Jasper as he drives away, and the moment he is out of sight, I practically run inside. They say the person you love is supposed to bring you comfort, make you feel good and safe. But right now, I just want to wash him off my skin.
His smell invades my nose and I want to gag.
So I guess this confirms it.
I don’t love Jasper. I never did.
Sure, I “liked” him enough to date him, but this can’t be love. This is not what I read in my books — the great feeling of love and adoration, and today confirmed it.
I don’t know if it was his lack of care toward me today, or him fulfilling his selfish needs, without making sure I was okay. But today has left me with more than one uncomfortable feeling. Jasper isn’t always attentive, but he is usually sweet.
The Jasper in the cabin was different. He was being extra-convincing, but the actions accompanying his words were completely different. Careless and unpleasant. Insensitive.
“Riley, your dinner is ready,” Miss Miller calls out from behind me, as I run up the stairs.
Pausing on the last step, I turn around to face the housekeeper. “My parents—
“They will be home late,” she answers stoically before I can even finish my sentence. Olivia Miller is a tall, middle-aged woman. Her reddish hair is piled up on top of her head, in a tight, sleek bun and her dress has no wrinkles. She is the perfect image of immaculate and flawless. She was forty-five when she first started working for us, and at first glance, I thought she was a sweet, kind woman. That impression barely lasted a week. Now, ten years later, I can reaffirm that Miss Miller is simply my mother’s shadow. Her smile is sweet, yet empty, but her eyes — it’s always been her eyes. They have no trace of warmth in them.
I nod. “I’ll have dinner in my room then.”
I don’t wait for her answer before walking away. Once I'm in my room, I rush to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I practically tear off my clothes, and in my haste, I stumble into the shower. The water is almost scolding, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Scrubbing myself with urgency, I don’t stop until my skin is red and sensitive to touch. Then I wash between my legs, where I’m still sore and hurting. I stay under the spraying water until it turns cold, and only then do I shut it off and exit.