Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
He worked out, ate what he wanted, and tried to get all strong looking, but that just wasn’t what was in store for Joseph. He was destined to be tall and skinny like his father and mother.
He hated that he couldn’t put on muscle, and in response, he tried to eat as much as he could.
Even if it was my food.
“What are you eating?” he asked as he watched me pull my food out of the microwave.
“Breakfast. You’ve already had yours,” I pointed out.
He watched me take a bite of the egg/cheese/sausage mixture and his eyes gleamed.
I sat down at the table and went back for a cup of water.
“Can I have some?” he asked.
I shook my head and said, “No. You’ve already had yours. This is mine.”
“But I want some,” he said.
“No, Joseph.” I shook my head. “I’m starving now, and if you want me to sit in a car until we make it to that eatery you want to go to in Amarillo, then you’re going to have to let me eat.”
Joseph didn’t stop for snacks unless he wanted to, and since he was on a health kick lately, we wouldn’t be able to stop at a gas station and get food. He’d throw a fit if I ate it in his new car, too.
It was easier to just let him have his way.
But I had to eat to do that.
“Just a small bite.” He reached for my fork.
“I said no!” I pulled it away from him.
That’s when he got mad.
Joseph did that a lot.
“You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. It’s just a bite!” he snarled.
“I already gave you a much bigger portion than mine. I want all of my food.” I started to take a bite, which he took offense to.
In a blinding fast movement, he bent down and spit in my food.
I looked at the huge wad of spit—which he fucking knew that I couldn’t stand—and nearly threw up.
I had a thing about spit/phlegm/mouth germs.
I had it since I was young.
Nothing overtly stood out to me as to what had caused me to not like it—even kissing grossed me out—but it was a known issue that he laughed about.
A lot.
But he always used it to his advantage.
Like now.
He spit in it, knowing I wouldn’t want to eat it now.
I stood up stiffly, took my food to the sink, and dumped it down the disposal.
“Fuckin’ bitch, Bindi!” he cried out. “What the fuck was that for?”
“What do you mean, what was that for?” I asked him with narrowed eyes as I turned the disposal on. “You fucking spit in my food. You knew I wouldn’t eat it after that.”
“Yeah,” he told me like I was dumb. “But I expected you to give it to me!”
I shut the water off and turned, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fuck you, Joseph. Fuck you.”
The ride to Colorado was terrible.
By the time we got to the trailhead later that afternoon, I was tired, hungry, and didn’t want to go freakin’ anywhere.
Yet, there I was, ready to hike with his asshole family, despite my mood.
“Hello, Lea.”
I looked at Margaret.
I hated that she called me Lea.
She hated my first name—Bindi.
Needless to say, when she started calling me Lea, my middle name, at first I’d chosen not to respond. But over time, I realized that I either dealt with her disgusting attitude or I left Joseph. And despite his actions that morning, I loved him for some stupid reason.
Though, I was beginning to realize after this morning that the line between love and hate was very fine, and I was starting to lean more toward the hate side.
I’d spent the entire trip to Colorado going over my life.
If I broke up with him, he’d have to find a new apartment. That apartment was in my name, and I’d lucked out with the landlord I had, giving me a great deal on it.
Being in the middle of downtown Albuquerque, it really should be about ten times the rent. But my landlord’s mother, who’d lived in it before me, had passed away. And since he hadn’t wanted to deal with the apartment, he’d let the first person to ask move into it for a song.
It was even stuck-up Harris approved, which was why Joseph was living with me, and not the other way around.
If I left him, he’d have to move out, and he’d try to fight me on it—the location was prime. Near his job, near nightlife, and prestigious enough that people knew he had money when he told them where he lived.
I’d also have to find a way to pay for everything again.
He made way more than me, but it was me who paid the rent and utilities. He was the one who usually paid the extras, like groceries, going out to eat, and the fun stuff. I’d have to go back to paying for that myself.