Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“You shouldn’t be out here,” I accuse.
“Why aren’t you sleepin’?”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” I keep accusing, but at this, I realize how ridiculous our exchange is. I know why he isn’t sleeping. Because he can’t. Because, apparently, he needs me. I’m his hypnotic. My scent is what lulls him to sleep; and I hate him, but I don’t hate him enough to make light of something like this.
I go to apologize, but he doesn’t seem to care as he searches my face with a frown. “You… you cryin’?”
This sends me back into the anger mode, and I fist my fingers tighter. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was.” He flinches and I feel a tiny bit bad for him but not enough to stop myself from continuing, “Because I miss Rawhide. I miss the people I met there. Haven, Ax, Rad. Even Mars. Why, does that bother you? That I miss them and I’m crying about them.”
I know what I’m doing is petty. He didn’t want me to tell him I was going to miss him when I left, so now, I’m bludgeoning him with the word. I also know I told myself to be dignified about all this. About how it’s okay if he doesn’t love me back. How I’m totally fine and I can handle things. But it all went poof the moment I saw him standing under my tree.
So fuck being dignified. Fuck him for ruining my plans of being dignified. He needs to suffer. Although it doesn’t look like he’s suffering. If anything, he seems to be coming awake and alive even more than before. With each passing second, the lines around his mouth are becoming slacker. And his eyes hold more fire and are glittering as he shakes his head slowly. “Missin’ them, no. Cryin’ over it, yeah.”
“Well, you don’t get a choice in the matter. If I want to cry, I’ll cry. If I want to fill buckets with my tears, I’ll do that too. You get no say in that.”
His jaw clenches and regret clear as day passes through his features. “I know.”
I harden myself against it. “So then, care to explain to me why you need a clear view of my window?”
“So I can see when you turn out the light.”
“And why do you need to see that?”
He breathes in, his chest swelling. “So I know you’re in bed.”
“Okay but—”
“Safe,” he adds, and I lose my breath.
Because I finally understand what he’s doing, and even though it’s hard, I show no emotion with my tone when I ask, “Is this because of what happened last week? Because they took…”
I don’t complete the sentence and say “took me.” Because just like the night he rescued me, he starts to breathe faster at the mention of my kidnapping. Like he still isn’t over it. Like it happened only hours ago instead of a week. And while I can see why he’d feel this way, because I do get spooked from time to time myself, I know I’m safe. I know they won’t come for me again. Not even my father, who’s lying in a hospital bed right now, in a coma, because of this man standing in front of me. His rescue was absolute.
He gives his head a shake, which more or less is a jerk as he replies, “Can’t get any peace if I don’t know you are where you’re supposed be. In your room or with Haven or Ax. Out takin’ your walks, safe.”
I notice how he said “peace” and not “sleep,” because again, he doesn’t get much of that when I’m away. I also notice the other things he mentioned, and before I can stop myself, I ask, or more like accuse, “You’ve been… You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
His answer is immediate: “Yeah.”
“How?”
“Just… askin’ about you. To Haven, Ax, Peyton. Rad even.” He licks his lips, and I refuse to acknowledge to myself how shiny they look. “Followin’ you when you’d take your walks. Standin’ outside your door, waitin’ to see the light go out from under the door.”
“And here I thought I told you to keep your distance from me.”
“I did.” He nods. “Made sure to never let you know I was there or run into you.”
So there’s my answer. He was deliberately trying to not be seen. Although I do want to tell him that I knew. At least, when I was on my walks. I could feel him. Granted, I could never confirm it, but I knew. But that’s not important. What’s important is again, I don’t know how it makes me feel. On one hand, I’m glad he honored my wishes; and on the other, I’m pissed that he gave me what I wanted. And since pissed is a bigger emotion for me in the moment, I keep accusing: “So basically, you’ve been stalking me all this time.”