Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
No one came to me. No one asked if I was okay. No one held me.
Because I wasn’t bleeding, they’d just assumed that they didn’t need to console me. Not then, and not afterward, when everything had settled back into a new normal. I’d been overlooked, again, but it was so much worse that time because I’d needed them so badly.
Mark, who’d been in the hospital for weeks with gunshot and knife wounds, had been the only one who’d asked if I was okay. He’d been the only one who’d held me as I cried. The only person I’d confided in about those moments when I’d thought I was going to die.
Everyone around me had assumed I was jealous. I’d heard the things they said—that I was a self-centered brat, that I didn’t care about anyone but myself, that I couldn’t stand the fact that Lily got all of my parents’ attention. And I’d fed into the bullshit for a long time, believing all of it, because it was easier than facing the truth.
It had actually been the opposite.
I’d been terrified for my little sister. I’d adored her. But I’d also been doing anything I could to get my parents to look at me and see that I was drowning.
“Hey,” Mark called, startling me as he put a hand on my hip. “I’ve got a hungry baby here.”
Internally shrugging off the memories, I turned to him.
“Thanks for taking her for a while,” I said, lifting my arms for Olive. “Is she getting cranky?”
“Cranky, no,” he said with a weird look on his face. “But she started trying to suck on my neck.”
I huffed out a surprised laugh.
“I might have a hickey,” he said, leaning his head to the side to show me.
“You don’t have a hickey,” I replied, pushing myself up.
“Thank God.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I usually make them buy me dinner first.”
I was surprised at the small twinge of jealousy that flared in my belly. I didn’t want to think of Mark with anyone else, even if he was joking.
“So,” he said uncomfortably, “your parents are pretty much set to leave, but we need to pack up your stuff tonight so we can hit the road early.”
“We?” I asked as Olive started to nurse. “You’re coming with us?”
“We’re all going,” Mark said. He laid down on his side and propped up his head with his hand. “Just because there’s shit happening in Eugene doesn’t mean that fuckwad is going to stop messin’ with you. If you guys need to head north, we’re headed north.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said quietly. “Once we’re there, you know I’ll be safe.”
“Can’t take the chance,” he said, his expression grim. “Not willing to.”
As I stared at him, I remembered all the different ways he’d made me feel safe when we were young. The way he’d always been so attuned to me that he would notice when I was upset from across a crowded room. How intently he used to watch me when I talked, like nothing was more important than what I had to say. And then, like a blow to the windpipe, I remembered when he’d torn that all away.
“Cec?” He must have seen something in my expression, because he sounded both worried and guarded.
“I can’t believe Rose is missing,” I said, bringing the conversation around to what was really important. “Have they heard anything else?”
“No,” Mark said with a sigh. “They don’t know shit. Literally nothing except that she disappeared from work and she was with Mack.”
“I thought they’d broken up,” I mused.
“Guess not,” Mark said with a shrug. “That shit’s never black and white.”
“Sometimes it is,” I murmured, not meeting his eyes.
He sighed and sat up. “Yeah, sometimes it is. You want me to send your mom in to help you pack up?”
I looked over to the bags neatly lined up against the wall. We hadn’t unpacked anything, I’d just been grabbing supplies as I needed them. Surprise, surprise, I hadn’t touched half of the crap I’d bought during my manic spending spree.
“Sure,” I said as he reached the door. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge my answer.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that,” I whispered to Olive, running my fingertips over her scalp. “But sometimes you have to face reality, you know? He’s handsome and he smells good, but don’t get used to him, okay? He won’t be around much longer.” I ran my finger over the tiny whorl of her ear. “He’s not for us.”
Hours later, after my mom had carried all but one bag down to Mark’s truck, we’d eaten dinner, and I’d nursed Olive to sleep—I ignored the warning I’d given the baby as Mark slid into bed behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist.
He may not be for us, but I couldn’t find the willpower to keep my distance until he disappeared from our lives.