Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Luckily for me I’ve had a lot of practice at this.
That’s why most of my shit is easily replaceable and readily packed to flee.
I start the water, making sure to turn up the heat in order to create an eventual smoke screen of steam. Next, I begin playing music from my phone to further present the illusion of the lie I’m trying to sell. “You’re All I Need to Get By” blares from the tiny speakers not only pulling a death glare out of me but a flashing of my middle finger over having to sing along with the lines being crooned at me.
Post grabbing a pair of black yoga pants and an old, oversized dark gray sweatshirt that belongs to Nolan – one I will always remember him by – I position myself near the door and sing, knowing if The Kid randomly hears me, he’ll stay calm, convince himself that I’m fine, and happily drift back asleep long enough to buy me the small window for a swift exit.
Once I’m dressed, I stuff my backpack with my laptop. I instinctively grab an extra bra and pair of panties without care or concern if they match. Lastly, I toss in my wallet, after making sure my favorite Disney pen gets safely tucked into my bun beside the other and zip it up. I grab my beat-up sneakers with plans to put them on outside not wanting to risk being heard before then.
Impatiently, I wait until “How Sweet It Is to Be Loved By You”, gets to the easy singalong chorus and belt it a bit louder in tandem with slipping out of Nolan’s room.
Like I predicted the pause in Kipp’s breathing ceases and the snoring resumes as if he’s literally staying passed out in love song increments.
I quickly cross the other side of the apartment and quietly undo the lock, knowing I don’t need my phone.
It’s a burner.
Plus, the damn thing is clearly haunted by ghosts who just adore emotional love song torture.
There’s no hesitation to hustle down the stairs the instant I’m successfully on the other side. Hell, stopping to put on my shoes doesn’t even register to be done until I accidentally step on the edge of a tool The Kid left out. “Sonofa-” Clamping down harshly on my own tongue near the piece of jewelry in it stops the statement from continuing while reminding me that I still need to be quiet.
Afterall…I’m not out of the woodwork yet.
Bracing myself against the passenger door of the car that I’m also leaving behind, I hastily wiggle on one shoe; however, the second I begin to repeat the action with the other, tears return to the rims of my eyes.
Fuck.
If I walk out that door, all this is really over.
Everything we’ve managed to build together…our own little piece of weird, protected paradise…no longer available.
But if I stay…it’ll eventually get ruined.
Destroyed.
Fucking. Obliterated. Until there isn’t even an ash to remember it by.
He’ll find me.
Us.
Kill them.
Me.
No.
No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I wanna believe the side of the spreadsheet in my brain that says now is the time for fight, not flight, I can’t.
I can’t risk anything happening to the only two people I care about living more than I do myself.
I have to go.
They will not die because of me.
Getting my other shoe on with bleary vision is difficult but not impossible.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, swallow the next round of tears, and move towards the side door. Unfortunately for me, two steps from it, the object swings open putting me face to face with the man I was hoping to avoid.
Shit.
I thought he’d be gone longer.
I thought I had more time, so I wouldn’t have to say goodbye.
Nolan’s dark gaze slowly drags itself over my frame, wordlessly evaluating everything he sees.
Rather than back down or rush to explain or make an excuse, I simply stand still.
Stare.
Drink in all that I’ll be dreaming about for the rest of what remains of my short life.
It’s not like I have pictures of them to take with me.
This is all I get.
The memories, the sweatshirt, and the pen.
Mutt curls his arms across his broad work shirt covered chest to the same agonizing speed he let his eyes sweep over my frame. “Goin’ somewhere?”
My bottom lip trembles.
Begs to open.
To release more than air.
But I don’t.
I merely let his glare hold mine hostage at the same time he nods. “Well, silence is better than a lie.”
“Fuck you,” tearily flies off my quivering lips.
“For?”
“Acting like this shit is easy for me.”
“Looks it.”
“Does it, asshole?” Sniffles savagely interject themselves into the conversation. “Is that what the tears in my eyes and the fact I can’t stop shaking tells you?!”
“That tells me you know damn well you shouldn’t be fucking going anywhere.”
“I have to go, Nolan.”