Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“My boy, how is your new gift doing today?” He laughs into the phone.
“I let her go,” I tell him. Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s made a trade with a human person, and if he knows I still have her… fuck knows what he’ll do.
“You what?” His maniacal chuckle ends abruptly, his voice serious.
“You heard me, I let her go. I don’t want anything to do with that side of business,” I clip, the urge to tell him I’m done on the tip of my tongue. But one battle at a time, right now I need to deal with the girl.
“Do you know what she cost me?” he scorns in disgust.
It makes the pancakes from earlier want to hurl up my throat. How is this man my father? It goes to show why I’m so nervous about having her in my house. If my father’s DNA is anything to go off of, she’s not any safer here with me.
“I gotta go, I got shit to do today.” I ignore his threatening tone and hang up. Going back into my living room where the laptop sits. I open it up and Google women’s clothing, a bunch of shit pops up on Amazon.
I click on some gray women’s sweats, but it wants a size?
“Fuck, I don’t know,” I mumble. Biting my lip I look at the sizes and the inches it claims to be, Imagining her waist, I click medium. She’s thin, but her hips stick out. Either way, they will fit better than my clothes. Clicking on dresses, my nose turns up. I seriously don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. So I click on things I would like to see a woman in. Black tight dress, some activewear. The sports bra thing hangs me up a little, and I have to go get another drink. Her tits are on the smaller side, but her body has to come into account with the sizing.
Jesus, why is this so fucking complicated.
Fuck it, I pick medium on everything and click buy now. Shutting my laptop, I sit back and look up at the TV. The Roku sign dances around the black screen, the sound of silence in the apartment deafening.
The sun is setting, the house becoming darker. I go around turning on a light here and there and decide to check on Sailor Moon, before trying to find something for dinner. Pushing the door open just so, I find her on the bed this time bent over, her hair unbraided and in her face as her arm moves around. What the fuck is she doing?
Stepping inside, careful not to spook her, I look around her and find her drawing.
When the hell did she get that? It’s the notepad that was on the counter in the kitchen.
“He’s got the whole world in his hands,” she sings and tucks a large amount of hair behind her ear, displaying the sketch.
Brows furrowing, I swallow as my eyes come head-on with a dead sunflower. Its stalk bent over and head decaying and falling apart. The shadowing ominous and deathly. The picture alone brings you to a sunflower field in the middle of a cold winter day, making you feel sad and depressed instantly. But there’s a beauty to behold, looking at its disturbing mutation, you can see by the way the petals try to lift that there’s life in there somewhere.
Instantly I’m brought back to the hospital I was in for twenty-four hours when I was a kid. A girl named… fuck, what was her name. Star, no… Luna! She drew the exact same flower, over and over. I’ve never seen that flower since… not until now.
Come to think of it, this woman’s wild hair looks like Luna’s. Coming farther into the room, she stiffens, noticing I’m in here. Is she Luna? How did she wind up in that van? What has she been through?
Opening my mouth to speak, I take a breath, preparing myself. For what, I don’t know. There are not many people in my life that made a positive impact but she was one, if this is her, that is.
“L-Luna?”
Her eyes widen, her hand with the pen shaking.
It’s her. It’s Luna.
Squatting down just enough to look under her curtain of blonde hair, her green eyes hit mine with recognition.
“It’s me… Romeo.”
Luna
A sharp coldness slips down my back, the hair on my arms standing. Nobody has called me Luna in years. Breathing through my nose, I feel as if I can’t get enough oxygen, so I open my mouth to breathe.
He bends down in front of me, his arms resting on the bed. I’ve never been so scared in my life. How does he know my name? The biggest fear I’ve ever had is running into someone I know, what would I tell them. How would I explain the life I have?