Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Not hiding,” I disagreed. “But I don’t have a rational explanation for my decision either. I just need to be there, for a while, at least.”
Heath rubbed his hands down his face and muttered, “She won’t be there, man. She’s not real.” He was the only one with whom I confided the full details of my accident.
I scratched my head and stared at the wall thoughtfully. “I may have dreamed up the part about some kind of Valkyrie flying in and saving my life, but I had to have seen that face somewhere. And the only way I can think of to either get her out of my head or find out what the hell happened, is to go there.”
Heath nodded in reluctant acceptance. “Do what you gotta do, man. Just promise me you’ll talk to me before making any major decisions.”
“It’s half yours. I would never make decisions about the business without consulting you.”
Heath pointed a finger at me and grumbled, “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Decisions about your future.”
Yeah, I knew, but I’d deliberately talked around it. I couldn’t promise anything because I had no idea what was next for me now that I couldn’t fly.
“You’ll still be able to reach me, and I’ll check in once in a while.”
Heath rolled his shoulders and moved his head from side to side, trying to loosen some of the tension in his muscles. Then he sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Cooper.”
As frustrated as he was, I could see that his sentiment was genuine.
“Me too.”
The next day, I rented a cabin in the forest where the campers had found me. And here I was, two weeks later, wondering if Heath had been right to be worried and I’d actually lost my mind.
I climbed out of bed and stretched before walking across the cold wooden floor to the bathroom. My eyes drifted over to the small desk situated under a large picture window. The cabin was technically a big studio, but it had been arranged to make it feel more like two rooms. The sleeping area was a large alcove with a dresser, bed, and two nightstands. The living area had two couches, a desk, and the kitchen space with a table and chairs.
The desk was where I spent a good deal of my time.
I dragged my gaze away and forced myself to enter the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I was showered and dressed, and I headed to the kitchen to grab some breakfast.
But that fucking desk stole my attention again, and my feet wandered toward it of their own volition.
A neat stack of used papers was on the left side, and on the right was a pencil and a pad of fresh art paper.
Drawing had been a hobby for me since I was a kid. However, I’d never felt the need to put my pencil to paper until now.
I dropped onto the desk chair and scooted it in, then grabbed an empty sheet of paper. After smoothing it out on the table in front of me, I picked up one of the graphite pencils. My gaze lifted, and I stared out the window in front of me.
Instead of lush greenery, blue sky, and sunshine, I saw a face. With a mind of its own, my hand began to move over the paper. The only sound in the room was my even breaths and the scratching of the pencil as it created a mirror image of the woman I saw in my mind.
When I finally set down the pencil, I got lost in her eyes. The picture blurred, then sharpened several times, pricking my temper. The inability to stay in focus was the major issue with my eyesight. Whenever I was staring at the face of my dream girl, and my eyes pulled that shit, it just reminded me that the whole thing could’ve been concocted as a defense mechanism. A way to explain what happened since I couldn’t come up with any logical timeline of events. But if the impossible was true, maybe the doctors were wrong, and my eyesight would eventually heal.
Grunting in frustration, I slammed it down on the other pile of drawings.
A few of them blew to the floor, and I reached down to pick them up. Not one of the drawings was the same. They all focused on her incredible eyes, so full of life…but some were of her flying through the air, showing off her bright, resplendent wings. In others, she was sprawled on the couch or walking in the forest. Sometimes I forgot to draw her wings, but it didn’t seem to matter. It didn’t change how she looked at me. If I finally found her, I wouldn’t care whether she had wings or not…I’d be too busy finding out what it felt like to hold her in my arms. What her lips tasted like. And what sounds she made when in the throes of passion.