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)
“Why are you shutting me out? I know you love me. Your eyes hold your truths. Every time I look in them I see the man you are, not the man you claim to be,” I whispered, trying to be strong when I was nothing but weak.
He ignored me, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulling something out. Handing me a manila envelope with “Lexi” written on the front, in his handwriting.
“I own a condo on 4th Street. You can stay there as long as you need. It’s fully furnished. The keys are in there.” He nodded toward the envelope. “There’s money in there, too. If you need anymore, call Leo. He will get you whatever you want or need, no matter what.”
“Wow…” I breathed out, still not looking up at him. “I really am like one of your whores now, huh?”
“One day, this will all make sense to you. I promise.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head before walking out the door.
Never looking back.
The second I heard the front door slam shut, I tore the envelope in half. Throwing it on his floor, I didn’t need his fucking charity. My back slid down the wooden door, I sat there rocking back and forth, hugging my knees tight, sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn’t believe he was doing this to me again. I peered around the room through glazed eyes, seeing all the memories we’d shared through the years.
“What the fuck is going on?” I asked myself, knowing I would never get an answer.
I moved out that day, I was gone before he came back that evening. I couldn’t spend one more goddamn minute in that penthouse. He was everywhere, gripping me, his scent that used to comfort me, made me nauseous now. The sight of his bed where he made love to me the night before made me sick. All I took were my clothes. Nothing else belonged to me. I left behind everything he ever bought me, the jewelry, the clothes, the ballet shit, all the fucking cookbooks. As much as it killed me to do it, I took off his mother’s cross necklace for the first time since I woke up with it hanging around my neck in my hospital room. I left it on his pillow. I considered it my parting gift. I grabbed my shit and left.
I left his money and the key to his condo on his office floor. I didn’t need it. I had plenty to live off. I made a good living in England, and with Sabrina refusing to accept money from me, I was able to invest in some rewarding stocks. Martinez never allowed me to pay for anything, he was adamant about that. I refused to stay in the condo he offered, opting to stay in a hotel downtown for a few days until I found a place to live. I ended up renting a small apartment on the other side of town, wanting to be as far away from him as possible. It wasn’t anything special, but it was only me. I didn’t need much. I bought a couch, a bed, and the essentials to make it livable. Nothing too fancy, just something I could sit and sleep on.
I knew now more than ever that maybe I wasn’t meant to have a happy ending, a happily ever after. Maybe there were just some people in the world that were born alone and died alone. It was called shitty luck. I was exhausted. I’d never been more worn out in all my life. I think I slept for the first few weeks, barely leaving my bed for more than takeout food I had delivered and to use the restroom. Going right back to sleep. I was in an emotional coma. I couldn’t pull myself out of the despair, nothing could help me feel better, not even dance provided me any kind of relief. I cancelled all my private ballet classes till further notice, I handed over the reigns to the other instructors indefinitely. I couldn’t step foot in that studio.
All it did was remind me of him.
Ruining me.
I found my escape in sleep. It was the only time I stopped thinking, stopped caring, stopped living. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. In a sick, twisted way, he saved me. I no longer had my past, just my future, haunting me, and I owed that to him. On both accounts.
I finally dragged myself out of bed one morning, knowing I couldn’t go on like this. I needed to return back to the land of the living. It’d been a month since I stepped foot out of my apartment, five weeks since I’d left him. I’d been counting down the days as if it would bring him back to me. I decided to shower and actually do something with myself. It was life changing, feeling almost human again. My hair styled, make-up on, and normal clothes that didn’t consist of sweatpants and a tank.