Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
15
Lex
The next few days are easy and uneventful. I convince Jude that she still needs to stay with me for safety reasons, and luckily, she doesn’t resist like she usually does, though she continues to ask when she can go back to her dorm. I wonder if she needs alone time and isn’t getting it, but I can’t let her out of my sight just yet. I do not know for sure what’s up with Roman, and I don’t want to risk putting her in his crosshairs or worse–his goons.
I also want to prevent her from running into her mom again.
“Hey, you hungry?” I look over at her, studying at the kitchen table.
She perks up, her blue eyes full of life. “Yes. Is there any leftover spaghetti?”
“Sure is. I can heat it up for you. Come on, Chef Lex is going to fix you up.”
“Chef Lex? It sounds like a bad sugar cereal.” She snorts, and I laugh back at her. “Also, not to burst your bubble, but I think you would need a lot of schooling to be called a chef, based on your current culinary skills.” She nods toward the stove.
I stagger backward, hand over my heart. “You wound me.”
A few minutes later, the food is done, and the kitchen smells like an Italian restaurant. I sprinkle some parmesan over her food and watch as she wolfs down the pasta in front of her as she piles bite after bite in her mouth as quickly as she can.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “My culinary skills can’t be that bad, not the way you’ve been eating.” She always seems to be hungry, though strangely, she has stopped eating anything before noon, claiming she doesn’t really care for breakfast.
Mimicking my expression, she raises an eyebrow back at me. “Did you just call me fat?”
“What? No! I just–”
Jude tips her head back and bursts out laughing. “That was a joke. A good one, I might add. You should have seen your face.” She continues laughing. A sound that never gets old to my ears.
Sitting across from her, I eat, my eyes dancing as I try to swallow bigger bites than her without laughing. She makes me feel alive, happy, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I’ve had girlfriends, but none have brought out in me what she brings out.
Watching her, I don’t know if she did it on purpose, but she got some spaghetti sauce on her face. She looks ridiculous. When I laugh and point it out, she wipes it on her sleeve like an exaggerated barbarian, which makes me laugh more.
After a moment, I become serious. “Jude?”
She looks up at me, a bit of terror on her face, which makes my heart catch. What scared her now? Is she going to bolt? Is she worried I want something from her? Is she afraid I am going to say something about her mother that would make her upset? I don’t want her to be afraid to be vulnerable with me. I don’t want to worry every time we start to feel comfortable around each other.
“Are you needing more space than what you have here?”
She looks away for a moment before looking back, then she shrugs.
“I miss my freedom.”
Ouch.
“You do know I’m not holding you here against your will, don’t you?”
She shrugs again and looks down at her plate. “But aren’t you? Kind of?”
“I’m just worried–about your safety, and that your mom will show up again.”
She flinches, then says, “I would rather stay anywhere forever than see her again.”
I watch her face and see her coil with anger, resentment, and loss. It seems deep. Old. As if whatever happened had been going on a very long time. I cannot imagine parents that would cause that kind of discord.
“Jude, were your parents the ones who hurt you?” I don’t want to push her, but I want to understand.
She nods but turns, shoving her plate away, and picking up her pencil to go back to her studies with her back to me. My fingers itch to touch her, comfort her, but something tells me to let her go, even though I don’t want to.
Inside, a flash of rage washes over me. I want to hurt those motherfuckers. I walk out of the room, afraid of what I will say or do.
I stay out of her way for another hour, and then it’s time for me to go into the gym. Walking into the kitchen, I find her sitting in the same spot as when I left her.
“Hey, I have a class to teach at the gym. You want to stay here and study while I’m gone? Or would you rather go with me?” I’d love for her to come with me, but I also want to give her some space, plus, I know there’s no safer place for her than here.