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)
And yes, I did read about revenge in a book. It was a very good book too. It’s called Wuthering Heights and you already know it’s my favorite book. You remind me of Heathcliff but instead of rocky moors and an estate, you have a ranch and dusty cowboy boots. You should read it. And then you should think about letting go of some of that anger.
Also, in my first letter I told you that even though this is an assignment, I can be your friend so consider this my official application.
To be your friend.
Peyton
PS: You are an asshole, just so you know. And if you were in front of me, I’d punch you.
WHEN I WAKE up the next day, I know exactly where I am.
In a hunting cabin.
His hunting cabin.
The man who’s been lying to me for six months. He’s been playing me for six whole months just so he could lure me out. And when I found out his real name, he brought me here. For revenge. Because something happened to him, didn’t it? Something bad. I thought it had happened to Bo. But there is no Bo; there’s only him.
The sound of crinkling paper alerts me that I’m not alone, and gasping, I sit up in the bed.
Unlike yesterday, he’s in the room with me. He sits in a chair in the corner, facing the bed. There’s a small table in front of him with a brown paper bag that he was staring at, but as soon as I sit up, his attention shifts to me. His black eyes lock with mine and my breaths hasten.
He looks… rough.
Or rather roughened.
I don’t know what else to call it, but his hair’s all rumpled, sticking out in places as if he’s been running his fingers through it all night. His stubble seems mussed up as well, thicker than yesterday, darker, and the eyes through which he’s watching me seem red-rimmed and slightly sunken. With the way he’s sitting there, legs sprawled, leaned over, his elbows on his thighs, it feels like he spent the night in the same position.
Like he never went to sleep.
My thoughts break when he straightens up, his face a blank mask, and sits back. “Good, you’re awake.”
I think I’m still getting used to his voice, all deeply timbred and gravelly, because for the first few seconds after he speaks, I find myself getting lost in his drawling, low-pitched syllables, thinking about the letters, trying to hear the words he wrote.
God, you’re an idiot, Riri. A massive idiot.
“There’s breakfast,” he continues with a tip of his jaw.
Clutching the sheet to my chest, I glance to where he pointed, and sure enough, there’s a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast on the nightstand, along with a glass of juice. But what my eyes snag and catch on is the muffin that sits by the toast. It’s my favorite, the one he also ordered at the café. The strawberry crumble.
My heart clenches so hard in my chest that I have to consciously make an effort to not curl into a ball. To not rock and scream, trying to bust the door down with my fists like I did last night after he left me locked up in the room until eventually I passed out only to wake up now. I want to demand that he take it back, everything he said yesterday. Everything he revealed. I want him to tell me that he was lying. That all his letters were true and this is a bad joke.
A nightmarish joke.
I want him to tell me that he’s my Bo. He’s the man I fell in love with and didn’t even realize it until I found out he doesn’t exist.
“Eat it,” he keeps going, his voice all business, breaking into my furious thoughts. “Freshen up, and then we need to leave.”
At this, I go on alert. My pain and heartbreak take a back seat as fear takes over.
“Leave where?” I ask, my voice sounding too high for first thing in the morning.
“For town.”
I shift on the bed, clutching the sheet tighter. “What town? W-Where are we?”
I know he said we’re in the middle of nowhere, but it has to be somewhere. It has to be…
“You don’t need to worry about that,” he says and just like that dismisses me.
He stands up and heads to the door.
With slowly escalating breaths, I watch his long legs eating up the distance to the door like he can’t get out of here fast enough. Like his life depends on being away from here, from me. The girl he kidnapped and is now holding against her will. And that makes me so mad, so fucking mad, that I throw the sheets aside and jump out of bed.
Not only that, but in a blind rage, I pick up the glass of juice and throw it at him. I watch it sail through the air, splashing the liquid everywhere before it hits.