Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
The night I met him, my brother had been arrested on assault charges, and while Brody sat there as Law’s lawyer, telling me about everything that happened, all I could do was watch his mouth. His lips. I was mesmerized from the minute I met him. But I’ve always known if I got too close, it’d be a disaster.
And look at us. Brody has a shiner because he tried to wake me from a nightmare. I’m sporting a burnt leg.
Yet, I can’t stop thinking about him kissing me. Or rather … me kissing him. Because it was definitely me.
I couldn’t not kiss him. One minute he’s on his knees, and I’m imagining other things he could’ve been doing while he was down there, and then the next, his face was right in front of me. Only an inch away. I had the opportunity, and I didn’t hesitate to take it.
I don’t know if this is a breakthrough or a huge mistake, but considering we’re entering the one apartment building, riding the same elevator to the twelfth floor, and going into the same flat, I’m gonna go with mistake. I’m roommates with the guy, so there’s no easy escape when I ultimately want to bug out.
Being honest with myself is important according to my therapist, but right now the truth looks like a whole lot of ugly.
Kissing could lead to more which could cause my one-month timeline to kick in. It’s always a month. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but it takes thirty days for the unbearable I need to run away mode to take over.
I have no lock on my bedroom door, Brody and I haven’t said a word about mauling each other in the kitchen before going to the late-night clinic, and now everything is awkward and even more strained than before.
Way to fuck things up, Anders.
We hit the living room and pause while the silence drags on.
“Uh, thanks for taking me,” I say.
“Even if it was a waste of time?” Brody chuckles.
“I told you I was fine.”
“In my defence, it looked really bad.”
I nod. “Well, thanks. For caring about me enough to be sure.” I turn on my heel, but Brody stops me.
“Wait, you thought I wouldn’t care? After I give you a place to stay when you didn’t have anywhere, and after—”
“It’s not that. It’s …” I don’t know how to explain it. If something like that had happened when I was with Kyle, he would’ve told me to shake it off. It’s like being gay meant he had to overcompensate his masculinity. He’d always tell me to “man up” even though I’m almost the furthest thing from effeminate. “I figured you’d think I should just deal with it.”
“Well, that’s a stupid way to think. If you’re hurt, you get help. Pretty simple, right?”
“Right.”
My head wants to believe in the things he’s saying—my head wants a lot of things—but there’s still that voice, no matter how small it may be now, telling me that Brody’s words are a trick. A trick to get me to trust him to the point it’ll be hard for me to walk away when red flags start popping up.
Brody steps forward, crossing into personal-space territory. “Are we going to talk about that kiss?”
“Kiss?” I play dumb. “What kiss?”
Brody huffs. “Guess I have my answer. We can forget about it. No worries.”
Dammit. Why does he have to be understanding? And simple. And easygoing.
I look at the ceiling as if asking a higher deity to send me some red flags so I can at least justify my hesitance. There are obvious reasons I’m hesitating: he’s my roommate, I haven’t dated someone like him in over five years, I still feel the need to lock my bedroom door, and I’m a fucking mess, but clearly these reasons aren’t working if I’m shoving my tongue down his throat.
I need to make a therapy appointment.
“I’m gonna go to bed,” I say.
“I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
Fuck. The mess in the kitchen. “I’ll help.”
“No, it’s okay. You look wrecked. Did you sleep at all last night after …?”
I shake my head.
“Then go. I’ve got this. And you did cook me dinner even if we didn’t get to eat it.”
“Thanks.”
I should stay up and help, but I’m exhausted. Even my bones are tired. Yet, I have no expectation of sleep.
This becomes more evident when I hit my room.
“What the ever-loving fuck!” I yell.
Red. Everywhere. All over my bed, by my feet, and a trail leading out the door I’m only now noticing. Looks like a fucking bloodbath. In the middle of it? A cat licking her paws like she’s cleaning herself after a job well done.
Brody’s heavy footsteps pound, and he skids to a stop when he reaches me. “What’s wrong?” He’s breathing heavy, and I’ve probably knocked five years off his life. “Whoa.”