Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Interest flicks across the cop's face before he quickly replaces it with bored dislike. He tugs down his cap. "Doesn't matter. You can't park your car in a no loading zone. Now get going."
I open my mouth to object when the phone buzzes between my feet. It's hard to read the words, but I think it says, lose the cop. I'm done.
I flash the officer a smile and put the car in gear. "I'll drive around the block," I say.
"Drive around the block and keep going," he says sternly, tapping his baton against the side of my car.
I pull out into traffic slowly, avoiding a few staggering patrons. In my rearview mirror, the cop is watching me, so I don't dare stop. Leka walks to the end of the street and turns left. I can’t follow because it’s a one-way street with traffic slowing south. I get his plan. I drive down one block, turn left. Up on the corner, I spot him on the side of the street. He's removed his stocking cap. His hands are shoved into his jacket. I slow down, barely stopping. He climbs in the back.
My heart is galloping and my sweaty hands can barely keep a grip around the steering wheel.
“Everything okay?” The words come out high-pitched and tinny.
He gives me a lopsided smile. “Everything’s okay."
I take off again and watch him in the rearview mirror as he begins to undress. The jacket goes first. He one hands his shirt, reaching over his shoulder to grab a handful of fabric and then pulling the garment up and over his head. He winces as he does this.
His whole body must ache. Even in the dim light, I can see the bruises on his face. The top of his left cheek has swelled so much that it's starting to impact his vision. The bandages on his left hand are soaked with blood. I can tell by the way he’s holding his arm close to his ribcage that it hurts for him to even breathe.
He grabs the bottle of antiseptic from one of the duffles on the floor and pours it over one hand, hissing loudly as the alcohol eats away at the germs. Tears wet my eyes. I wish I could take his pain away.
"It looks worse than it is," he says, reading my mind.
"I didn't think it looked bad at all," I lie. "I've had paper cuts at school that went deeper than some of your wounds."
He huffs out a small laugh. "Tell me what forest the tree came from so I can punish it for hurting you."
"Not until you tell me the name of everyone who's ever hurt you," I parry.
The humor falls away from his face. "There's no one who's left, Bit. It's all done. You're safe now. No need to cry."
"And you?" I press because I don't give a shit about myself. "I'm not crying because I was scared I was going to be hurt. These"—I flick the moisture away—"these are for you. My tears are always for you. If you're not safe, I will always be afraid. If you're hurt, I will always be in pain. I love you, Leka. You are my life. I've never wanted money or things or other people. I've only ever wanted you."
A rough, hot hand wraps around my neck. He presses his lips to the back of my head and I find it hard to see. Too bad there aren't eye wipers that can clear away the tears.
"I love you, Bit. We're going to be fine. Keep driving. We're going to be fine."
And so I keep driving, holding on to that promise, holding on to his love until the tears dry up, the clouds clear, and the sun breaks through the morning sky. I keep going until the promise he's made from the moment he found me comes true.
* * *
“You’re getting dark,” Leka says, running a finger over my arm.
I crack open my eyes a tiny amount. “It’s the sun. It’s so close. There’s no sunscreen powerful enough to withstand the rays here.” Especially not when you’re spending most of your days lying on a cushion, drinking from a mini punch bowl out under the tropical sun. I reach out a languid arm and pat around for the bottle of sunscreen. My fingers hit the small plastic, but before I can grab it, Leka swipes it away. “Hey, I can do that,” I protest.
“I know you can,” he says. “But this gives me an excuse to touch you.”
“I didn’t know you needed one.” I watch him from under the brim of my hat as he squirts a generous amount of lotion onto his palm. He’s dark, too. Two years of island living has that effect. Everyone's melanin is popping and it's beautiful.
He picks up one of my bare legs and props my foot against his stomach. Against my toes, his muscled abdomen flexes as he starts to smooth the liquid over my skin. He might’ve lost his pale winter skin, but his body remains as hard as it’s ever been.