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)
Deep down, I know I'm worthy of good things.
I also know there may not be enough time left in my life to see any of that come to fruition.
I open my eyes and give the mirror one last look.
I can't stop the fear from building inside of me.
I can't control what Graham will do next.
What is within my power is to go let Nyx into the apartment and eat a cheeseburger with someone who has vowed to keep me safe.
I leave the bathroom and walk to the front door, standing on the tips of my toes to peek out the peephole. When I determine it's him standing on the front porch, I reach for the lock.
Then a shadow approaches, my heart racing, and that sense of fight-or-flight almost takes over before I realize it's our food delivery.
"This goes to the guy sitting in that SUV," Nyx says, and I watch as he hands one of the bags back to the delivery person. "And here."
Nyx places the bagged food at his feet before reaching for his wallet.
I can't see what denomination he pulls out, but it's large enough to shock the delivery person.
"You're sure?" the guy asks.
"Have a good night," Nyx says, watching as the guy walks away.
Once I know he's alone, I turn the deadbolt and open the door.
"You got dinner for the guys in the parking lot, too?"
"It's just Holler," he explains, making no move to enter until I step to the side. "We figure with me inside, we only need one more person keeping an eye out."
"Okay," I say, knowing I'd feel just as safe if he were the only one here, but appreciating the extra level of safety they have in place.
I try not to think about the fact that so many people have been put out just to help me. I'm sure they all have much better things to do than sit in the car all night, making sure no one approaches my apartment.
"Where do you want to eat?" he asks, holding up the bags as if he senses I need some sort of distraction.
"In there," I say, pointing to the small kitchenette.
I haven't carried much over from my old life, but sitting in the living room to eat just doesn't feel right with me.
I know a lot of people do it, and I'd never judge them, but for me, a meal should be its own event, not just something you do while doing something else. I know that idea is left over from my parents, and maybe one day I'll change it, but it won't happen today.
"Thankfully," I say, taking the chair in the corner so neither door is at my back. "The apartment came with this little table and two chairs."
"It was furnished?" he asks as he sets the bags down on the tiny table before reaching in and pulling out the food.
"It was," I answer. "I always try to find places that have at least a bed and some sort of sofa. I tend to travel extremely light. Sometimes I don't have time to pack, much less worry about the logistics of moving furniture."
"Understandable," he says as he offers me a Styrofoam container. "Bacon and extra lettuce."
"Thank you," I say, barely stopping the moan that wants to bubble up when I pop the lid open, and the scent of deliciousness invades my senses. "What did you get?"
"Bacon cheeseburger with an onion ring, barbecue sauce, and a fried egg."
"What?" I ask, my nose automatically scrunching in judgment. "An egg?"
"It's so good," he says, his tone lighter than I've ever heard before. "And if they did it right, it's going to be incredibly messy. Do you have extra napkins?"
"I can—" I freeze, halfway to standing, when he holds his hand out.
"I can get napkins, unless you just don't want me to get them."
"They're on a roll in that cabinet to the left of the sink," I explain. "You're a guest. I should—"
"Do nothing extra," he interrupts. "I'm capable. I promise. I know it's a struggle to have someone in your space, Juliet."
Geez, the way he says my name makes me want to melt sometimes.
"I don't mind you being here," I assure him. "I wouldn't have asked-"
"If you weren't terrified," he says, grabbing some paper towels before turning back to the table. "I don't want you to feel put out or feel like you have to accommodate me in any way. The only thing I want from you is to feel safe, or at minimum safer than you would if I weren't here. If you don't feel safer, then I can stay outside. My presence shouldn't make things worse."
"It doesn't," I offer. "I promise."
His eyes meet mine as he takes a seat across from me, and it feels a little invasive, as if he's trying to read me and figure out if I'm telling the truth.