Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“I left because the last night you walked me home, my father was drunk and so angry I lost my key, he put me in the hospital with a broken arm and too many bruises to count. You want to hear more about my daddy issues? About how skinny I was because he wouldn’t feed me?”
“Mak—”
“No. You poked fun at me for the things I wore. My glasses. The way I looked. Your pokes weren’t funny. They hurt. They were sharp, and they stabbed at any sort of confidence I tried to create in the environment I was raised in. My father spent my entire childhood degrading me. Hurting me. I wore those baggy clothes to hide my bruises. I wore those glasses because they were my mother’s. Thank god we shared the same shitty vision, and she left a pair of glasses behind. Otherwise, I would have been blind. And I left because he almost killed me that night. I left because there was at least one person who thought I deserved a better life. That I deserved to be loved and saw me for the human being I was.”
“Makayla. . .”
He tries to reach for me, but I can’t. “You don’t get to play the nice guy now. Coming back here was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Believe it or not, it was easier to be cheated on. Being back in that house. . . the dark, sick memories. . . I never wanted this. And I certainly didn’t ask for you to come back into my life.”
He shoves his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, just let me—”
“I think you’ve done enough. I need to leave.”
“You’re not going anywhere—”
“You don’t own me. No one does.”
He rubs his hands over his face. “Look. I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions I shouldn’t have. I let her bullshit get to me. I didn’t mean the things I said. I just wanted—”
“Whose bullshit? Actually, it doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter!” he yells.
“No, it doesn’t. This is who we will always be. Always battling. Always cutting each other down. Any truce we had was temporary. It was never going anywhere.”
He captures my wrist, and I flinch. Shock spreads across his face, and he drops it like my skin burns him. “Fuck, Mak. I—I would never hurt you.” Cautiously, he steps closer, but he doesn’t reach for me. “You need to know I will never hurt you. Ever.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, dammit. Because we are meant to be. I know what I want. And I’m sick of you trying to tell me otherwise.”
“Then you’re crazy. I’m definitely not it.”
“You’re everything,” he breathes. His heated gaze tears through me. “I fucked up. I made assumptions. I never knew what you went through. But damned if I’ll sit back and let you tell me we’re a mistake. We’re far from it.” He thrusts his fingers through his hair. “You may have been dealt a shitty hand, but it’s over. I’ve never felt the way I do when I’m with you. And yeah, we fight. We fight hard, but that shit is called passion, Mak. It’s what drives two people to love deeper. And I love you. I have since the moment you walked back into my life. Fuck, maybe before you even left.”
“Stop,” I whisper. I can’t do this. I can’t hear his lies.
“Not a chance.”
“Let me go. Just let us go.”
He reaches for me, but I step back. “Mak, I’m not giving up on you. I’m not him. I’m not either of them.”
The tears fall. The pain of a little girl who ached for a family. A mother and father to love her. For a husband to be faithful and love her in return. My cheeks are soaked with the anguish of a past he’s forced to resurface. Ben steps closer and cautiously raises his hand to cup my face.
“Mak, look at me.”
I hate that he has this control over me. My eyes find his. “I love you. I fucking love you.”
“You don’t—”
His lips crash against mine, forcing me to feel his words since I refuse to hear them. “Let me in. Let me love you. Let me make you feel whole again.” I grip his shirt as tears rush down my face. I shake my head. I can’t do this and end up on the losing side again. “Let me love you, Mak.”
“You’ll just hurt me in the end.”
“I won’t. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never stray. My heart is with you. I think it always has been.”
His last comment triggers a memory. The last night I saw him. Our walk home. He was different. Like he finally realized something I’d known for a while. That we maybe didn’t hate each other. That maybe it was our way of showing something. . . different.