Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
He stares straight ahead, seething.
“That fucker deserved it,” he rasps.
I throw my hands in the air.
“Yes, he deserved punishment, but leave it to the police! Or mall security! Don’t literally kill someone on my behalf. I was scared, and so was everyone there, watching you squeeze the life out of that man!”
Damon merely continues staring straight ahead, his face a vengeful mask.
“He deserved it,” is all he says again.
I shake my head with exasperation. “Of course he did, but what if they find you and throw you in jail now? What’s going to happen to your job? Or your career? I doubt there are many places out there who’d hire a security guard with a rap sheet.” I stop to catch my breath because my tirade has left me low on oxygen.
As I try to calm down, my boyfriend turns to look at me for the first time since we entered the car. His eyes have become the intense color of blue pearls, and his voice is monotone when he speaks. “I saw the way you flinched when it happened,” he says. “I have to keep you safe, Rachel. No man touches you like that but me.” He reaches a hand toward my face, but I’m not in the mood to let him caress my cheek.
Instead, I dodge his palm and stare straight ahead.
“Don’t touch me,” I say in short voice. “Let’s just go home.”
He looks at me for a long moment, but then turns away and starts the truck. Before long, we’re zooming back to Prescott, but my thoughts are in utter turmoil. I appreciate that my boyfriend wanted to protect me, but the rage that I saw in his gaze was unsettling. What is Damon capable of? There was no humanity in those blue eyes for a moment, and suddenly, I’m very, very afraid.
With a long trembling sigh, I turn to him as we pull up in front of my apartment complex. I feel the weight of this impossibly confusing day pressing down on my shoulders.
“Damon, listen,” I say a low voice. “I think we need to take some time apart.”
He doesn’t say anything for such a long time that I turn to look at him. His face is frozen, and any emotion is carefully hidden away behind a practiced expressionlessness. Finally, he speaks. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks in a voice so tense that it breaks my heart. “I did that for you, Rachel.”
But I’m serious and merely nod as tears begin to well up in my eyes.
“I know, but it was frightening,” I say in a quiet voice. “I didn’t think you were capable of that kind of violence, and it brought to mind of all the unnecessary police brutality going on recently. I’m sorry.”
After a moment, Damon turns away, avoiding my eyes.
“Then it’s fine,” he says in a wooden tone. “The world is harsh and I understand. I won’t contact you again.”
The lump in my throat threatens to overwhelm me, but I merely nod, and get out of the truck before making my way inside. The sound of the Damon’s vehicle roaring off nearly breaks me, but I force myself to stare straight ahead as the man I adore exits my life.
10
Rachel
* * *
Today marks the two-month anniversary of my breakup with Damon. I haven’t spoken to him since the incident at the mall, and it was tough. The first few days after the blow-up were filled with anger and disappointment, but now that the rage has passed, all I feel is pain. I’ve barely stepped out of my apartment since it happened, except for going to class and buying groceries. And with nothing to look forward to, the only thing keeping me functioning is the never-ending drumbeat of school.
I threw myself into my studies. I was always a good student with a high GPA, but recently, I’ve aced every test. My grades are soaring, but it’s little consolation because my heart feels more and more broken with each day that passes. And now, after hours of staring at pages of words and anatomical diagrams, I close my textbook and put my head in my hands. “I will not cry,” I whisper. “I will not.”
I lift my head and look at the phone on my nightstand. The temptation to call Damon is there every day, but whenever I feel myself giving in, I remember how over-the-top his reaction at the mall was. But sometimes, I really want to. I reach for the cell and take it in my hands, feeling the cold, smooth metal against my skin. But then logic wins out. Instead of giving into the impulse to dial his number, I call my best friend Lina. It’s only six in the afternoon, so she picks up on the third ring.
“Hey, Rach,” she chirps. “How’s it going?”