Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Instead of turning away or being disgusted by my appearance, he slid his hand under the fall of my hair and cupped the back of my head as he returned my affection as if all he wanted to do was share this kiss.
I felt that combustive chemistry again, felt that shiver start at the top of my spine and move all the way down to the bottom. I took a deep breath because I felt more than I had before, felt something much deeper than lust. The kiss was short and simple, not a make-out session like we’d had against my car. But there was more action packed into those three seconds than there could be in three minutes.
I lowered my feet to the floor and stepped back, my hands sliding down his arms until our fingertips were the last things in contact. Then they broke apart, making me turn cold like midnight in the Arctic.
After a final look, he turned around and walked out of my apartment.
I didn’t leave my apartment for a long time.
It wasn’t just the fact that my face was swollen like a bruised peach; it was the fact that I had no interest in seeing other people. I’d be lying if I said I was over what happened. I was nowhere near over it.
I could still picture that basement so clearly in my mind. I still remembered exactly how it felt to be punched in the face like that. To be buck naked and afraid of being raped at any moment… There was no other suffering in the world like that.
Even if I was safe now, I wasn’t safe from my own memories, my own feelings.
While I’d been asleep that night, he must have put groceries in my cabinets because I had enough food to last me several months. There was more food in my apartment now than at any other time in my life, even when I had people over. My fridge was stocked with fresh meats, veggies, and dairy products, and my pantry was full of bread and snacks. Maybe he did that on purpose because he knew I wouldn’t want to leave the house for a long time.
I obviously couldn’t perform at the ballet, so I said I had a serious strain of the flu and I would be out for at least three weeks. When Anna texted me and asked me to hang out, I gave her the same excuse.
No one could see my face right now.
It was even hard for me to look in the mirror sometimes. It was hard to see the way that man had punched me, the way he’d physically marked me with his abuse. I wanted the bruises to fade so I would really feel clean of him.
I spent my time watching TV, eating, napping. It was lonely being isolated in the apartment like this, and since I wasn’t getting paid, I started to stress about paying my bills.
But instead of worrying about that, I should just be grateful that I was here. Those other girls might still be down there, so I shouldn’t complain about the lack of digits in my savings account.
I had just left the kitchen and walked to the living room when a white envelope slipped under my door. It was thick, like a wad of cash had been stuffed inside. There was only one person who would shove money under my door, so I quickly opened the door and saw him halfway down the hallway. “Hey.” I stared at his broad shoulders and muscled back, the way his red shirt fit him so snugly. His black jeans were tight on that strong ass and muscled thighs.
He stopped and slowly turned around, but he was visibly aggravated that he’d been caught.
I grabbed the envelope and broke through the tape holding it closed. Inside was an assortment of bills, adding up to at least five thousand euros. I stared at the cash before I looked at him down the hallway. “What’s this?” I held up the envelope.
He rubbed the back of his neck with irritation before he walked back down the hallway to me. He had a masculine stride, the way his shoulders shifted slightly with his movements, the way his heavy arms hardly moved. His blue eyes were on me, and he stopped on the threshold instead of inviting himself inside. Rather than looking at the cash, he looked at my face, gauging how much I’d healed since we last saw each other. “I know you aren’t working right now.”
“So?” I handed the money back to him.
He gently touched my wrist and pushed my hand back. “I don’t want it.”
“Well, I don’t want it either. I don’t need it. You already bought me a bunch of groceries, and that had to be hundreds of euros. You’ve done enough for me. You don’t owe me anything else.”