Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“Della,” he’d say in his passionate voice. “You’ve got no idea how happy I am to see you.”
Hours later, scalding dishwater seeping through a hole in my gloves, I know I’ll still be there, living in make-believe land on that street.
CHAPTER 2
Elias
What the hell?
I walk onto the college campus, my chest getting tight as I replay what just happened.
Except, what did happen?
“What the hell?” I mutter under my breath, needing to give voice to it, as though that will help push it away.
The woman on the bus….
I almost bump into a gaggle of students. I’m so distracted. They move out of my way. A couple of the women laugh, exchanging glances, but I don’t wonder why. I don’t care.
She looked young, maybe in her early twenties. Her hair was light brown and gorgeous, truly beautiful, as it cascaded to her shoulders. It was messy in a way that seemed styled and natural at the same time.
Her face was full, vivacious and her body seemed the same.
It was difficult to tell since she was sitting down, but I’m sure she was temptingly curvy.
More than that, though, is this feeling.
The sudden lightning strike of certainty.
As I stared at her, a loop started in my mind.
She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine.
It shows no sign of stopping.
My feet naturally take me toward my office.
I’ve spent the morning trading and maintaining my stock portfolio, and I’m actually looking forward to getting in some one-on-one tutoring sessions.
Some people may think I come across as grumpy, but I take genuine pleasure in helping students improve their math skills.
But then I remember. We’ve got an all-hands meeting in one of the seminar rooms on the other side of the college.
I repress a sigh, telling myself I’m not thinking about the woman on the bus.
It’s a lie.
I can feel her hair in my hands, as though I’m running my fingers through it, making her moan in her special way.
Her special way?
I do not know this person.
I’ve never spoken to her.
I need to relax.
As I walk past the green lawns and brown autumn leaves gathered here and there, I wonder if I’m going crazy. If this is what unraveling feels like.
There’s a thought in my head.
The woman on the bus, her hair spilling around her shoulders, cradling our child as she smiles up at me. And then she’s tenderly handling the baby to me, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Elias,” Mary says.
She’s a counseling teacher, a few years older than me, and as bored with these all-hands meetings as I am.
We wait outside the seminar room, since we’re the first ones here.
I nod. “Mary.”
“Why the long face?”
She always asks me this, a joking smirk on her lips.
“Just felt like scaring a few of the students,” I reply, attempting to infuse my tone with the same jokiness.
But it isn’t easy to find anything funny with her in my mind, my woman…the certainty feels completely authentic, the fact that the woman on the bus belongs to me. A protective impulse shivers within when I think about another man approaching her.
“Scaring them?” Mary laughs, shaking her head. “Elias, half of them have crushes on you.”
I shrug. “That’s not my concern.”
Mary gestures as though taking in the whole of the college. The autumn sunlight glints off her wedding and engagement rings. I know she’s been married for years, happily.
Up until ten or so minutes ago, I couldn’t imagine that for myself.
But now I can.
“You’re a better man than most.”
“What do you mean?”
“Is your head really just full of numbers?” she asks.
I laugh dryly. “Mostly.”
Normally, that would be true. But it’s a lie now.
“Most men,” Mary goes on, “would at least be tempted by all the attention. I think that’s why we’re here.”
“Mary, honestly,” I say, ignoring the second half of her comment. “I haven’t noticed any attention. Maybe it’s in your head.”
She laughs. “Definitely not, my dear fellow. I know that for a fact. You’ve got hordes of beautiful young women ready to make an honest man out of you.”
This wouldn’t have interested me yesterday.
After seeing my woman, it’s more than that. It provokes a violent revulsion inside of me, the thought of holding, kissing, being with any woman other than mine.
My thoughts place me on that bus, but it’s empty, just me and her. Our lips are fused as my hand slips down her body, between her legs, finding her soaked spot and rubbing like I own her.
Because, I do.
I snap out of it, hoping Mary didn’t notice.
Maybe this really is what a mental breakdown feels like.
“Like I said,” Mary goes on. “Better than most. Do you have any idea what this is about?”
“No clue,” I reply. “But I’d rather be in my office.”
The president, Jocelyn Dixon – a Brit with a schoolmistress manner – stands at the front of the seminar room. She’s got her arms folded, her lips set in a firm flat line.