Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
That hadn’t worked.
It was quiet, too quiet, the only sound being Elden’s motorcycle boots on the hardwood floor.
It felt impossibly odd to have him in this space. He was a juxtaposition to every piece of our décor which was varying degrees of girly. Although this renovated Victorian had high ceilings and a large, open plan living room, he made it all look impossibly small. He seemed to take up every inch of space.
Even though I’d been imagining him being here for months, I found myself incredibly nervous in his presence.
He was looking around carefully, as if he was cataloguing every vase shaped like the female form, every framed print of various feminist heroes, every plant hanging from the ceiling or nestled on a bookshelf.
“How did you know?” I asked in a small voice.
We hadn’t spoken.
Not once during the walk home.
He’d just strutted beside me, keeping pace, ignoring every stare from men and women on the way. Even in the midst of my turmoil, I’d noted the looks and hated them. Hated that I couldn’t put his hand in mine. Claim him.
When his eyes finally met mine, electricity crackled in the air. My body sparked with the unique feeling that only he could awaken inside me.
“How did you know that my father was going to be there?” I clarified when he didn’t answer the question straight away.
“We keep tabs on him,” he answered matter-of-factly, eyes never leaving mine. “Got the notification he’d left Carver Springs and was heading this way. I got on the next plane. Obviously not soon enough.” There was an undertone of fury in his voice. “He shouldn’t have set foot on campus,” he bit out, raking a hand through his hair. “He sure as fuck shouldn’t have been able to get close enough to lay his hands on you.”
I looked down to my wrist. It had been throbbing, but I’d ignored it. I blinked at the discolored skin around it, an angry red ring that would eventually turn into a bruise. Though I’d never once doubted what my mother told me about his violence, it was something completely different to see evidence of it on my skin.
A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes burned. I fought against the tears he didn’t deserve.
A large hand cradled my wrist with exquisite gentleness.
I stared numbly at it as Elden raised my wrist to his mouth, laying a featherlight kiss on the inflamed skin.
The lump disappeared. My eyes stopped burning.
My eyes found his.
We stayed there an impossibly long amount of time, staring at each other, not saying a word.
I wasn’t sure what to say. There was too much to say. I worried that whatever I said would ruin this moment, would bring reality hurtling in.
“I have an assignment due at midnight,” I blurted.
Oh my god.
Of all the fucking things I could’ve said, that was what I chose.
I could’ve told him I hadn’t stopped thinking about him. About the way he’d kissed me on the rooftop. How I made myself come thinking of his mouth on me. How I dreamed of him.
But no.
I talked about an assignment. Something that would remind him of my age, that I was in college. That I was just a kid. Just a kid who was his responsibility to save because my stepfather’s club did that kind of thing.
His thumb stroked my wrist. It was no longer throbbing.
“Okay, baby,” he murmured against my skin, inhaling for a second before letting it go.
My heart fell.
He was going to leave.
And when he left, I’d have nothing to think about but my throbbing wrist, my growing bruise, my father’s tone, that alien look in his eye.
Unable to move, I watched him walk away, willing myself to find the courage to ask him to stay, beg him if need be.
But he didn’t walk toward the front door. Instead, he moved into the kitchen.
I watched him open the fridge, inspect the contents … which was likely a lot of booze, condiments, an assortment of nut milks, kombucha and not much else. Sariah did a detailed grocery shop and organized the fridge—she called it ‘cultivating’—meticulously, but she was also on a deadline for an assignment, so she had been living at the library.
I stood rooted in my spot and watched Elden close the door with one hand, the other holding a carton of eggs, cheese and some vegetables.
“What are you doing?” I managed to ask.
He looked up. “Gonna make you somethin’ to eat, gonna make sure you eat it, then I’ll find somethin’ to read,” he nodded to our color-coded bookshelves, “while you finish your assignment.”
I just stood there, digesting the information. “You’re not going to leave me,” I surmised.
Something shone in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher. “No, Violet,” he rumbled. “I’m not going to leave you.”
My entire body relaxed. I was able to take a deep breath.