Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
"I understand," he says.
My jaw has to be a mere inch from the ground.
I understand?
What does that even mean?
Is it respect for my thoughts and admission?
If so, who has that level of respect for someone else?
I hate even comparing this man to Graham, but Graham was all I ever knew. We burned hot and fast. Being a few years older, he had more experience, and in hindsight, I know he coerced me through every first, never relenting until I gave him what he wanted.
This conversation doesn't seem like that, though. His comment and silence don't have an expectant edge to them. I don't feel like he's waiting for me to say more or thinking of a response that bends things in his favor.
Maybe I'm reading too much into all of it, but I also can't seem to stop.
Is he agreeing with me?
Is the ball in my court?
Did he even enjoy it himself?
Why does it even bother me at all?
"Okay," I say, because I can't think of anything else that would sound right.
We finish eating without speaking again. He doesn't stand from the table until I do.
He resumes pacing as I wash dishes and clean the kitchen.
"It's getting late," I tell him once I'm done.
"I'll be outside while you shower," he says, heading toward the front door. "Lock this behind me."
And then he's gone, leaving me standing in the kitchen feeling like I might've done or said something wrong.
I don't know if it's a stain on my psyche left behind by Graham and the way he would manipulate me with such ease.
I stare at the closed door, my mind working overtime. I can't figure out whether it's a red flag or if I'm just making things up in my own mind. I trusted my own judgment on situations long ago, and it got me into so much trouble.
The knock startles me.
"Lock the door, Juliet," he says through the door.
I rush to do just that, my fingers fumbling with the deadbolt.
I quickly head down the hall, grabbing the items I need from the bedroom before locking myself in the bathroom.
Today me hates yesterday me, who didn't wash her hair because I can't go two days in a row without doing it, or my hair would be completely unmanageable.
I don't mean to take a long time in the shower, but the hot water beating down on my body feels incredible.
My fingers are pruny when I get out, but I feel so much better.
I use the time he's giving me to blow-dry my hair and take just a few minutes to breathe.
Tomorrow is going to be stressful.
As encouraging as I was with Victoria earlier, I know my anxiety is going to be at an all-time high, wondering if Graham is just going to walk up to our booth.
Staying back at the shelter feels like defeat, like letting him win once again, but going also feels like a game he's playing with my mind. Either way I look at it, Graham somehow wins, either through fear or gaining easier access to me.
I swipe at the condensation on the mirror, but my reflection looks no more at ease than it did last night.
I feel as normal as I always do, but the daily stress on my body will eventually take a toll. I wouldn't be surprised if I end up having a freaking heart attack before I turn forty from the strain of the last twelve years.
I shake my head, knowing that wishing things were different for me doesn't make it happen. I know the problem. I can see the problem.
What I can't work through is how to fix the problem.
It's not something that I can control.
If I could alter things about Graham, I would probably still be on the East Coast, enjoying life.
That thought strikes out at me, and I know better. I don't think I was ever truly happy.
I felt obligated.
Obligated to smile, to help, to be who everyone expected me to be.
It was quite possibly more exhausting than the life I live now. Only those days were filled with activity that physically drained me.
In recent years, it's stress and anxiety that deplete my energy.
I continue to stare at myself in the mirror until the steam filling the room glazes it back over again.
I watch myself fade, and it feels like a true depiction of my life.
I have no idea if I'll ever be the one in control.
Chapter 33
Nyx
"I don't think you're listening," Harley says from the driver's seat of the SUV.
They headed in this direction after resolving the tire issue.
"There's no way I can sleep," I repeat.
"We're out here, and despite the annoyance that woman feels, we have another team keeping an eye on the back," Grinch adds.
"And I'll keep an eye on her on the inside," I say, growing increasingly annoyed.
"If shit goes south tomorrow, you need to be rested," Harley says.