Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
And I’ve had it.
I’ve had it with him.
“Get out.”
He goes rigid at my words.
“Get out,” I say again.
“I’m –”
“No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to say anything. Just leave. I want you to leave.”
He grits his jaw before shaking his head once. “Salem.”
And God.
God.
I’m so fucking mad at him for saying my name like this, for turning it into a rough, sand-coated plea.
Like I’m putting him through such an ordeal by sending him away.
“Get out,” I scream and before I can think it through, I throw a pillow at him. Hard.
Nothing happens though.
It simply hits his strong, massive chest and ruffles his hair a little bit before sliding down to the floor like a loser.
It doesn’t even make him blink.
“I don’t want you here, got it? I don’t want your pity and your fucking, ‘oh my God, it’s my fault’ routine. I don’t want that from you. I don’t want you to stand there like your world has ended because you think you made a mistake. You didn’t. All right, Arrow? You did not make a mistake. It was my fault. I snuck out. I wasn’t eating. It has nothing to do with you. So leave. You’re off the hook. You don’t have to look so lost and tortured. You can go be the superstar of soccer like you always wanted.”
I’m breathing hard and vibrating now.
And he’s not breathing at all.
In fact, there’s not a single movement in his body.
It’s like I absorbed all his heat and all his air, and now he’s left with nothing. Now he’s devastated and he’s grown holes under his eyes, dark holes, and his lips are pinched and his skin is all pale and leached of color.
It’s like I’ve drained my sun.
It’s evident in his hollow voice. “Salem, it’s not… what you think. I’ve got so much to say and –”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” I snap out.
Because I have no other option but to scream at him and kick him out of the room.
Because the alternative is that I run to him.
I climb off this bed and run to him and cling to his shoulders because he looks so grief-stricken.
He looks as if he’s mourning the loss of my letters as much as I am and that can’t be true.
That can’t be true at all.
“Salem –”
“God, stop saying my name. Stop saying my fucking name, all right?”
I throw another pillow at him, my second one, and another.
But apparently they only have three pillows and I’ve run out of them and he’s still here so I just scream again.
I scream louder as tears fill my eyes and he gets blurry and everything that has happened since he came back from LA crushes me and suffocates me and almost kills me.
“Get out of my room. Just leave me alone. I don’t want you here. Just go, please. Okay? Just go. I can’t take it. I can’t. They took my letters. Do you understand that? They were my letters, my love story and they took them and you look like you care. You look like you even know what that means. You don’t know. You don’t care. You have no idea what it means to care about anything other than soccer, isn’t that what you told me? You told me that you have no use for love or emotions. You told me that you want nothing to do with it. So please just leave. You were leaving anyway, right? So for the love of God, leave now. I can’t deal with this. I can’t deal with you. Just get out of my face.”
Apparently, I’ve run out of words too and I can’t talk anymore.
I can’t.
I’m crying and sobbing into my hands and I don’t even know when I put them on my face. But they’re there now, my hands, and I bring my knees up too so I grieve the death of my love.
So I can…
“You’re wrong.”
I whip my face up at his quiet words.
Quiet but determined, and a repetition of what I said to him on the night it snowed and I told him my secret.
I try to wipe my tears from my eyes so I can see him clearly. But I only get to glance at him for a second or two and notice that his face has whittled down to razor-like sharpness and his body is arranged in a battle stance, feet wide, chest broad, before my tears take over.
And I hear his voice again.
“Because I want.”
What?
I don’t know what that means and I don’t get to ask him because as soon as he’s said those three words, announced them almost, he turns around and leaves.
After that, all bets are off.
I can’t stop crying as I hear his last words over and over.
Because I want…
***
Hours later, I wake up in partial darkness.