Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
I’m twenty-five. But I feel far older than those years.
Even though I had a family for most of my youngest years, it was after I turned fifteen that everything changed. There’s a soft hum from inside our quarters, so I pass by and head toward the courtyard. I pull out my cigarettes and tap one from the packet.
A long white stick that offers me solace.
Sad really.
Something so small but ultimately so powerful.
“Bout ye.” The deep rumble in a thick Irish accent comes from behind me as I push by the queue in the cafeteria to grab an apple on my way to the backyard.
I glance up to see a man. No, this is no man. He’s some form of beast. He’s easily over six feet tall, his broad shoulders looming over me as his eyes rove from the tip of my head to my black-and-white Chucks. He does it a couple of times, giving me a chance to take note of the amount of ink that adorns his slightly tanned flesh.
“What?” I ask, confused at his slang while I gulp past the lump in my throat as I take in the beast who could easily swallow me up. I’ve managed to pick up some of the Irish slang used since arriving here. It’s been helpful in getting to know the rest of the patients.
“I was askin’ how are ye, lass?” He chuckles as he regards me.
“Getting by. I haven’t seen you here before,” I tell him.
He smirks at my response and tips his head to the side. His long hair hangs just past his shoulders, and it glimmers in the wintery sunshine. There are dark clouds rolling in, and I know it’s going to rain soon. But the man before me doesn’t seem to notice anything other than me. I take him in from head to toe. His height and weight are probably three times mine. The possible damage he could inflict on my five-foot-four frame is clear. I hate doing that to every man I come across—wondering just how much they can hurt me physically.
“What’s yer name?” he rumbles, leaning in. I think he’s about to kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches for an apple, then straightens.
“Clover,” I tell him as I watch the glint in his eye.
“Lucky?” he throws back with a grin, and I can’t help but smile as I think about Mom. She was good to me until she was cruelly taken from me and my dad.
Men seem to enjoy breaking me and her. She was so torn up, she started drinking, taking drugs to numb herself, and that’s when the darkness overtook her.
I shrug at his query and say, “Maybe.”
His dark stare takes me in from head to toe before he nods slowly. “All that ink hidin’ somethin’?” he questions, his cocoa eyes piercing right through me. It’s alarming.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I counter, tipping my chin toward him.
He doesn’t respond, merely shrugs and saunters off. I can’t help taking in the blue jeans he’s wearing and just how tight they fit his thick, muscled thighs and the way his taut ass seems to fill out the back pockets too perfectly.
Sighing, I light my smoke and inhale deeply. It’s the only drug they allow in here, so I’ll happily enjoy the guilty pleasure while I can. I still have some time before I can leave here, which means I have to get used to a mostly clean life.
I put the smoke between my lips and flick my cheap lighter a few times before it sparks to life. Inhaling the deep smoke of minty tobacco, I revel in the calm already shooting through my veins from the long draw.
How I wish this were something stronger.
Some Mary Jane, or even a line of the smooth, white powder that always sets me at ease. Being in his home, tensions ran high more times than I could count, but when we were high, we were perfect for each other. Perhaps that’s why I stayed. My brain wasn’t functioning, and I believed he was good for me.
Sadly, even now, as I attempt to move on with my life, there are still reminders of how angry I made him. And even so, I wonder if he could change if he had some form of rehab. Does an abuser ever heal? The question lingers in my mind as I finish my smoke. I think about the psychology of someone like that. After every incident, each time he told me it would be the last… but it never was.
“Lucky.” The familiar deep tone comes from beside me.
“You know, this could constitute as stalking,” I retort without looking at him. Mainly because I’m afraid to.
I’m worried he’d see just how deep my fear of men goes. Where the anxiety lies in my soul as those eyes attempt to spear me with their probing gaze. He’s nothing like Rogan. They’re complete opposites.