Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Well, it’s not meant for you to sleep on,” I fire back, slightly offended. “I don’t understand why you would want to stay here anyway. If I’m so untrustworthy, why do you insist on being around me?”
“To keep an eye on you, obviously.”
“What the hell are you guys expecting me to do? It’s not like I can tell anyone I sold my virginity. Do you think I want to get in trouble, too?”
“I think we’re well beyond that, Kitten.” He says my name sarcastically. “You’ve been lying since we laid eyes on you and since you refuse to give us your name, it means you’re hiding something else that we don’t know about. I don’t trust you, so I’ll make sure I keep an eye on you until we know the truth.”
“I’m no one important,” I state, my voice shaky.
He only shrugs. “I guess time will tell who you really are.” He shimmies a bit in an attempt to get comfortable. “You should get some rest. You may need it.”
I stare at him for a long while, hoping that he’s joking about sleeping on my couch, but he doesn’t budge. As much as I want to stand here and argue with him about it, the medicine coursing through my system makes it hard for me to continue standing upright without the room spinning. I grind my teeth and slowly turn on my heels to head to my bedroom. I change out of my bloody clothes and put on another pair of pajamas before settling into bed.
As much as I want to stay awake to keep my eyes on Talon, the medicine soon pulls me under into a restless sleep.
TALON
After waiting for forty-five minutes, I push off of the couch and creep over to her bedroom door. I crack it open, cringing when it squeaks on its creaky hinges, but she doesn’t stir. I quietly close the door and go back to the living room, standing in the middle of it. I look around the sparsely decorated place.
It’s far from feeling like home, only feeling like a temporary landing pad for her. There are no family photos on the wall or even generic dollar store artwork. Everything is so lifeless and miserable, showing just how little she has. The only thing she has is a single ratty brown couch, a flat screen TV with a visible crack sitting on top of an unstable TV stand, and a bookshelf with all kinds of things packed onto and on top of it.
I cross the living room and stop in front of the bookshelf. I browse the random books and notebooks she has tucked on the shelves; nothing looks interesting enough to move. A box is on top of the bookshelf, filling me with curiosity as I pull it down. I carry it over to the couch, glancing toward the hallway to make sure Kitten isn’t lurking in the dark somewhere. When the coast is clear, I take the lid off the box and shift through the contents.
The box is filled with pictures and small trinkets. I flip through a couple of the photos, but I don’t recognize anyone in them.
I keep looking and gasp when I find a photo at the bottom. My mouth goes dry as I clutch onto the old picture in shock. A picture of Triston and myself when we were kids.
Why the hell does she have this?
My heart speeds up as I dump the entire box onto the couch and quickly shift through the rest of the contents. Nothing has made sense since we met her. Her freaking out at my nickname, her refusing to tell us her name; her having an apartment in our dead mother’s name. She knows too much about our life, and we don’t know shit about her or can figure out who she is. It’s a good thing that Tristan isn’t here because there’d be nothing I could do to stop him if he wanted to hurt her again.
My breath catches in my throat when a see it—a photo of me, Tristan, and Cleo when we were kids. I pluck the photo out of the clutter with a shaky hand. My mind races with so many thoughts to try to explain why this woman would have photos of my brother and me. How did she know Cleo? How did she get these pictures?
I tighten my hand into a fist; the photo crumbling in my grasp. Anger heats my skin, and I rush to her bedroom, slamming her door open. Kitten awakes with a scream, her frantic gaze darting around the room before finally focusing on me.
“Why the fuck do you have this?!” I yell inches from her face, thrusting the picture into her line of vision.
Her mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. Tears fill her eyes as she splits her attention between the picture and my face, her gaze communicating something her mouth refuses to.