Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Does it hurt?” I ask, motioning to his arm.
“No, it isn’t that deep, and you didn’t hit anything important.” He pauses, eyes pinning me with a stare. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re injured,” I state the obvious. In reality, I see how much he’s changed since our time together in school. And I’m surprised I even recognized him to begin with.
He makes a weird humph sound and agrees with me but doesn’t seem to be bothered that he has a knife sticking out of his damn arm. It’s so frustrating that I want to pull it out myself.
“Do you want me to…” I nod at the knife, and when I look at it again, I see blood seeping from the wound. I feel faint.
Oh God, I hate blood.
Four
Kenzo
She literally drops to the floor, just missing the carton of milk at her feet, and lands like a pile of shit in front of me.
Fuck.
What am I supposed to do with that?
I look down and see she has just missed hitting her head on the door. She will wake up with a bitch of a headache though.
When I left, I did some digging and found out that Mayve was the same girl we went to school with. She was as secluded as we were, hardly spoke to anyone, always had on some form of glasses or sunglasses, and kept to herself.
I remember watching her one day as they forced her to play a sport. She walked out on the field as they kicked a ball and simply sat there. The ball missed her head a few times, and I remember thinking three things at the time—weird, interesting, strange. Strange—and that was as far as our connection went.
I didn’t go to school to make friends—I went because I had to.
I crouch, lift her into my arms, and carry this petite thing into her tiny apartment. It’s much like the one next door. Except hers is cluttered with paperwork. A lot of it. All over her table and couch. I hold her, unsure of where to put her, when I see the door to her bedroom, so I walk her in there. Carefully, I place her on the bed next to some clothes that are laid out on the duvet, and she opens her eyes.
Those strange eyes.
Fascinating.
Intriguing dark pools.
As soon as she spots me standing in her room, she scrambles up her bed until her head hits the headboard, and she screams.
Fucking loud!
I slam my hand over her mouth to shut her up.
The last thing I need is someone calling the cops, especially when I just killed a man in the apartment next door a few hours ago.
“Stop fucking screaming. You fainted, and your house is a mess, so I put you in bed.”
She goes silent at the sound of my voice, and I pull my hand away.
“It’s still in there,” she squeals, pointing her red-tipped nail polished finger at my arm.
Shit, I forgot about that.
Grabbing the knife with my opposite hand, I pull it out. Blood drips from the wound, runs down my arm, and onto the floor. As I’m examining the damage, I hear a loud thud. Raising my head, I know she has passed out again, only this time, she’s hit her head on the bedside table. She is for sure going to have a goose egg on her head.
In her bathroom, I open the cupboard, and tampons, pads, and facial shit stare back at me. I push it around until I find something to wrap my arm in so she stops passing the fuck out every time she looks at me. When I can’t find anything, I grab a pad and undo the wrapper before I place it on my arm.
“Is that one of my pads?” she asks from the doorway. Her eyes are wide, and one hand holds the side of her head. She watches me grab another pad to secure the makeshift bandage around my arm.
“Yes. Will you stop passing out?” I groan at her.
“Blood makes me…” She trails off.
“How do you even change your pads, then?” I ask in all seriousness.
“I’m on birth control. It stops my periods most of the time,” she grumbles. “Otherwise, I have to put on colored glasses, so I don’t see it properly. Trick my brain.” She shrugs. “I’m sorry I stabbed you.” She checks over her shoulder for some reason.
“Are you looking for another weapon?” I ask.
Her eyes move back to mine, and they go wide.
Well shit!
She was.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a gun and step closer. She’s frozen to the spot, eyes wild with fear, and hands balled into fists. This woman has no idea what to do.
“Have this! It might make you feel better, Mayve.” I hold out my gun, grip first. Her gaze locks on it, but I can tell she’s still too shocked to understand what’s happening.