Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
The air turned cold as he pushed away from me, turned on his heel, and left, along with the elephant left the room. And yet it still felt so full I couldn’t breathe.
I stayed longer than two days.
Almost two weeks, in fact. It wasn’t just Lucky’s huge admission that had me reluctant to leave, though it was a huge fucking factor. It was the peace.
I’d never had it before.
Peace. Quiet.
Since birth, my entire life had been chaos, had been loud. It had been constant motion. Stopping meant destruction. Quiet usually meant that something, somewhere, was gearing up to strike.
But not there. Not in that little cabin with the biker I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let in.
I let him in.
Not literally, though I craved that on about the same level as the junk. Actually more because there in the peace, the craving slithered away. Not completely, of course; it would always be there, present, taunting, tempting. But enough so I could take a breath without pain.
I guess you could say I wasn’t really recovering, just replacing one addiction with another, but whatever.
Not that Lucky was making any moves. The opposite, in fact. He still cooked me breakfast, told stupid jokes, and treated me to my daily ab show when he went surfing, but no funny business. I didn’t normally wait for something; if I wanted it, I went out and got it. Even with guys. Especially with guys. I didn’t believe in gentlemen making the first move, mostly because I had no experience with gentlemen, but still.
But it was different with him. Every fucking thing was different with him.
I talked to him. Actually talked to him.
I didn’t talk to anyone except Lily. And, more recently, Rosie.
But even with them I didn’t share like I did with him. Sometimes it was easy, just stupid surface stuff. Mostly bickering and me insulting him for liking Nickelback. But other times it wasn’t surface.
“What made you do it?” he asked suddenly, making me look up from my book.
It was after dinner, another great one he’d cooked and I actually ate.
“Do what?”
He gave me a serious look, one that said exactly what he was asking.
I sighed and put my book down. I should have told him to fuck off. Mind his own business. Or even walked out of the room. That’s what the old Bex would have done to anyone else. Heck, that’s what this new, clean Bex would still do to anyone else. But he wasn’t anyone else.
“Why does anyone do anything that threatens destruction and yet promises escape?” I looked anywhere but him. “Because I was willing to risk it all just for a moment of escape. And then I couldn’t stop.” I shrugged.
I felt his presence more than saw it. But I couldn’t avoid his gaze anymore when his hand came to my jaw, bringing it down to meet his eyes. He was close, bent down in front of me. Inescapable.
“What’s so bad that you needed to escape, Becky?”
I laughed nervously. “Um, in case you hadn’t noticed, I wasn’t exactly living the dream. I was—no, wait, am—a medical school dropout who took her clothes off for money. Though, now I’m a medical school dropout, unemployed stripper, and ex-junkie. I was wrong. I’m totally living the dream.”
Lucky searched my face. “Why did you drop out? Of medical school? Really tell me, none of the ‘I just didn’t belong’ crap.”
I shrugged. “I realized it was never going to work out. That I was never going to work out. It had been a dream, trying to be something better than I was born to be. Seriously, me? A doctor? Could you actually see me doing that? Saving lives? I can barely save my own. Actually, I wasn’t even the one who did that,” I said quietly, remembering waking up in that hospital bed.
Lucky grasped my neck. “I can see you doing that,” he argued. “I can see you doing anything that you fuckin’ want to do. The only thing that doesn’t suit you, no matter how fuckin’ good you look doin’ it, is taking your clothes off in some shithole for a bunch of perverts. Only thing you’re not born to be is someone who lives in the shadows.”
I swallowed the tears that he seemed to fish out with his words. “You don’t know that. Can’t say that. I was born for the shadows. You don’t know where I come from,” I whispered.
“Don’t need to know that. I want to, one day, when you feel like tellin’ me. But for now, I don’t need to know where you come from to know you deserve more than the scraps of life you give yourself. I know that where you are, what you are, means you deserve more.”
We were at that moment again, that moment when his face lingered inches away from mine and his lips were as intoxicating as any substance, chemical or natural.