Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
But not so important a part that I deserve to hear the details.
I wish I understood it. I wish I understood him.
He hardly notices when I emerge from the bedroom. It’s chilly—there’s no fire in the oven to warm the cabin. Does he feel it? I doubt it. He’s consumed by whatever he’s doing, still listening to music while leaning in close to his screen. He’s almost squinting, studying something.
I know better than to get too close. His energy is so intense it’s like a brick wall around him. Rather than make the mistake of disturbing him, I go to the stove and open the oven door before pulling a few pieces of wood from the pile in the corner and placing them inside.
If he’s not going to take care of himself, I guess it’s up to me. Not that I mind. I want to take care of him and be a vital part of his life. I only wish there wasn’t this feeling of dread, like I need to tiptoe around.
It doesn’t take long for me to get the coffee maker working and boil water for oatmeal. We’ll need to go out for supplies soon. The idea sparks hope in my heart. It would be nice to feel like we were doing something normal.
Without a word, I set his bowl and a cup of coffee on the table, then leave mine to cool while I wash up in the bathroom. What happens if he doesn’t eat? Should I say something? Will I regret it?
Are those my eyes in the mirror over the sink? They look haunted. Pained. All I’ve wanted all this time is to be with him, and now that I am, I’m walking on eggshells, almost afraid to breathe too hard.
This is Ren. He’s the same person I’ve always known. I need to draw him out. Somehow.
It gives me hope to step out of the bathroom and find him eating like he is half-starved. “I didn’t notice how hungry I was,” he tells me before shoveling more into his mouth. My heart swells as I take my seat and begin eating, which is a lot easier to do now that I know he’s in a good mood.
Rather than ask whether he slept, I say, “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I figured you’d need to eat.”
“Thank you.” His smile softens what’s left of my uneasiness. “Sorry to be so busy, but it’s worth it. I found what looks like a compound outside of Reno.”
“Oh? That’s good.” I don’t know whether it’s good or not, but he seems happy about it.
“My eyes are burning, though.” He rubs both fists over his eyes, then picks up the coffee and drinks deeply.
“You look tired,” I murmur, careful not to say too much.
“Yeah, but it’ll be worth it.” He sets down the cup and finally takes a good look at me. “How are you? Did you sleep okay?”
“Just fine. I had the whole bed to myself.”
He offers a sheepish grin that threatens to break my heart. There’s my Ren, looking at me from across the table. “Sorry. I was too wrapped up to sleep. But we’re coming close to the end, angel. I feel it.”
“I hope so,” I tell him, and I mean it. Do I ever.
“I need you by my side. I can’t do this without you.” He stands up, stretching and groaning like he hasn’t been out of the chair in hours.
“And you don’t have to. You never do. I’m always here.”
He turns away toward the window, and even now, I can’t help but get lost in the sight of him. The sunlight plays perfectly off his features, highlighting his profile, the planes of his cheeks, and the sharpness of his jaw. His dark beauty brings to mind an angel.
An avenging angel, weapons in hand, prepared to wreak destruction on all those who cause him pain.
I want to help him. I do. I just don’t understand what he’s talking about or why my assurances aren’t enough. Am I not using the right words? Which words can I use, then? Do they exist, the magic combination of syllables that will somehow convince him of my devotion?
He’s still so far away. That’s a part of the problem. Maybe a big part of it. The separation that’s sprung up between us. The way it seems like he’s holding himself back, apart from me. Is it because I now know his secrets? That could be it. Like he’s ashamed somehow or afraid I’ll use his vulnerability as a weapon against him.
As if I ever could—but he has no way of knowing that. I’m the only person he’s ever trusted enough to tell about that terrible time in his life. It has to be scary, even if I doubt he’d ever admit it. Eventually, he’ll realize I’m not going to hurt him. He’s safe with me.