Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling his presence, his scent all around me. I slid my hand along the sheet, searching for him. Assuming he was lying next to me. His side of the bed was cold, like it had been for months. Rolling over I opened my eyes, coming face to face with him, sitting in the armchair in our room. A bottle of whiskey in his hand.
I sat up, taking the silk sheet with me. Covering my bare breasts. “Hey, what are doing over there?” I asked, I hadn’t seen him in two days.
“Watching over you,” he simply stated in a cold and detached tone. Not looking me in the eyes.
I lovingly smiled, trying to break through his icy demeanor. “Alejandro, come to bed,” I coaxed, patting the spot next to me.
“No.” He took a swig of the bottle. I couldn’t help but notice it was already half empty.
I frowned. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“I should have never gone back for you. You were happy. I was in the past, forgotten. I should have stayed away.”
“What?” His statement slapping me in the face. “I wasn’t happy. I’ve never been happy without you. Look at me, why are you saying that?”
“You were safe.”
“I’m—”
“From me,” he added.
I stepped off the bed. “Alej—”
“Don’t.”
Stopping me dead in my tracks, I shuddered. “I love you,” I stated, needing him to hear it. “My life belongs to you.”
“Did it belong to me when you were spreading your legs for Will? It didn’t belong to me when you were fucking him. Getting down on your knees like a fucking whore. Did you ever think about me when he was devouring your pussy? Wishing a real man was giving you what you craved?”
I gasped, jerking back.
“Sometimes the truth hurts, baby,” he snidely remarked, taking another swig from the bottle.
“You’re drunk.”
“Not yet. But getting there.” Two more swigs. “What’s wrong, cariño? I’m here, aren’t I? Don’t you want me to touch you? Kiss you? Fuck you like my little whore? That's all you wanted since you met me, I wasn't fucking stupid. You were desperate to feel loved, because Mommy wasn't there. So, here I am... What can my cock make you forget tonight?”
Tears began to stream down my face, hurt by his verbal abuse.
“Aww, here comes the water works. Did I hurt your feelings, baby?” he mocked.
“Why are you being so cruel? What the hell is going on?”
“I was never your savior, little girl. I’m your fucking demise. Have been since day one.”
“You’re trying to push me away again! I’m not going to let you! This is bullshit! Enough! Just tell me what the fuck is going on! I can help—”
He furiously stood, knocking the chair over. Chucking the bottle of whiskey across the room. “When are you going to fucking realize I’m not good for you!?” he screamed.
I jolted out of my skin when it shattered against the wall. “Leave! Now! Go drown your fucking demons in another bottle! I’m not scared of you, Martinez!” I shouted right back.
He was over to me in two strides, backing me onto the bed. His face inches away from mine, his body looming over me. The smell of whiskey and cigars assaulted my senses.
“I would shut you the fuck up. But my goddamn zipper’s stuck.”
“You fucking bastard!” I went to push him away, but he grabbed both my wrists. Pinning them above my head.
“Is this what you want?" he viciously chuckled, breathing against my lips. “I bet if I touched your pussy right now, you’d be fucking wet. For me. That’s what’s fucked up about us, Lexi. I’ve made you crave every side of me. You love the heartless El Diablo as much as you love your precious Alejandro,” he crudely ridiculed, roughly letting me go. Freeing me in more ways than one.
He backed away, taking one last look at me laying there. And left.
I tossed and turned all night, restless and dazed. The hurricane of emotions lingered in the room, in the air, in my fucking soul.
Long after he left, his words still pounded in my head, over and over again. Not letting up until sleep finally took over. When I woke up the next morning the shattered bottle had been cleaned up as if it never existed. Another figment of my imagination, an illusion I knew I didn’t create. My tear-soaked pillow was my evidence. I got up, going about my normal routine. Eating breakfast by myself, like I had the last few months. Anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop, knowing last night was just the start of whatever he was planning.
But why?
It didn’t matter how many times I racked my brain for answers. Nothing made sense. Nothing was right. For the next few days I went on with my life in a blur, just going through the motions. The hours and days blended together. Still no word from him. No apology, no remorse.