Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
And I did wake him. He snorts loudly, stirring himself until he’s sitting up partway and blinking hard like he’s trying to bring the dim living room into focus. “What? What happened?” he mumbles thickly.
“Nothing.” I hold up my hands. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry.”
He snorts again, his eyes only half open as they find me in the shadowy room. With the curtains pulled, it’s no wonder I ended up stepping on a can.
“Oh. Don’t worry, darlin’.” Instead of dragging himself to bed, he collapses onto the couch again.
Most people would see his rough exterior—the mullet, the trucker cap he wears, and assume he’s a certain type of person. Somebody to avoid, somebody who could be in trouble. As far as I’ve seen, the only person Buck is a danger to is himself. He doesn’t make the best decisions, but he’s also a sweet guy. Right away, as soon as we met, I read him as the funny, decent person he is. I know when I get home today, he’ll have cleaned up after himself, and he might even leave me a portion of whatever he makes himself to eat.
Not that I haven’t known my fair share of creeps and assholes. They were part of my early education, for sure, a part I remember with disgust as I jog down four flights of stairs rather than risk my life in the death trap of an elevator. I would rather smell mouse piss for a minute than step foot in that thing.
Just like I would rather live in a tiny apartment I can’t afford on my own than spend another minute living with my mother. Years of dealing with the revolving door of boyfriends and acquaintances and one-night stands wasn’t even the worst thing she put me through, though it was pretty damn close. Buck is nothing like those men, especially the one who…
No. I’m not thinking about that now. Instead, I need to think about whether my rusty old Beetle will start this morning. I’ve had a string of good days with her… which, of course, means a bad day has to be around the corner. That’s just the way my life goes.
Today is not a bad day—at least, not yet. “Thank you, baby,” I whisper while the engine purrs. Okay, it’s more like a rasping cough most of the time, but she gets me where I need to go.
All I can do is pray I don’t have class with Briggs today. I can deal with the other assholes, since they’ve never invaded my personal space the way he did yesterday. I knew deep down inside he wouldn’t actually hurt me, at least not out in the open with people walking around and everything. I don’t have any friends around campus, but I doubt there are many people who would stand around and watch without at least saying something if Briggs tried to hurt me.
Or maybe that’s just what I need to tell myself, or else I’ll never get up the courage to step foot on campus again.
The worst I get in sociology class is a handful of narrow-eyed looks once I settle in at the far corner of the back row. Once class starts, and there’s no sign of my tormentor, I can breathe a little easier and actually pay attention to what the professor is saying.
I have psych this afternoon, with a ninety-minute break between classes. Since I skipped breakfast, it only makes sense to stop at the cafeteria for lunch, as much as I hate the idea of being a sitting duck for any assholes who decide I’m not allowed to eat a meal in peace.
As soon as I enter the large, busy space through a pair of glass doors, I regret my decision. Maybe it would be a better idea to bring something with me from now on and find someplace quiet and secluded. Maybe the library. Seeing all these people and hearing their voices means so many more chances of being taunted. There’s only so much I can ignore.
“I’m surprised she can afford the food,” a girl announces as I walk past, grabbing a tray on my way to the salad bar. Okay, that’s not even close to the worst thing I’ve ever heard.
“She probably sucked somebody off for it.” More laughter, and this time it stings. Just because my mom is who she is, that automatically makes me a slut in their eyes. Because none of them has the intelligence to think we might be two different people—which we are. I don’t think there’s ever been two people more different than me and the woman who raised me. I guess that’s where the differences come from. I saw her and decided I wanted to be anything but.
After making a salad and grabbing a cookie to go with it, I head over to the cashier to pay. I must be too deep in thought to pay attention because the deep, nasty voice over my shoulder comes as a surprise. I’ve only just set my tray down on an empty table when I hear, “Shit. I think I lost my appetite. You mean they let her around the food?”