Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Ignoring the dogs, he wrapped his hands around my hips, gripping my upper buttocks. “I know this whole situation is frustrating as hell, and there is a lot I can’t tell you, but I swear to you, everything I do is to keep you safe.”
Looking down at him, I let out a long breath and some of the tension went out of my shoulders. “I believe you, but I’m still really mad at you, Mark. I’ll let it go for right now, while I deal with…everything, but you’re not out of the doghouse.”
He closed his eyes as I ran my fingertips down his cheek, his body leaning into mine. “Thank you.”
“I mean it, I’m still mad.”
He took my fingertips in his big hand then kissed them. “I know.”
“And this doesn’t mean I forgive you for being an asshole.”
Another kiss, this time to my inner wrist. “I know.”
“And I reserve the right to punch you in the face.”
“I deserve it.”
“You lost my trust. It’s not going to be easy for you to earn that back.”
He bowed his head, remorse heavy in his voice as he said, “I know.”
When he stood, I had to keep my hands fisted at my side to resist touching him.
He was just so…tempting.
Giving my butt a swat, he said, “Go into the bathroom and get changed before I say fuck the world and throw you back in bed.”
Giving him a scowl, while trying to hide a smile, I did as he asked, going to the door he’d pointed at.
Once in the beige, gold, and green bathroom, I sagged against the wall, the silence pressing down on me.
Turning my head, I glanced at the mirror, then at my smeared makeup. The stuff was awesome, and stayed on forever, but I guess multiple bouts of crying and sleep had proven too much for it. While enough coverup remained to mostly hide the reddish purple, irregular blotch, a few places peeked through the tan base here and there. As I stared at my reflection, I waited for the usual torrent of self-disgust that would torture me about the port-wine stain, but right then, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal.
I mean, compared to people being out to kill me and my house burning down, my birthmark was honestly the least of my worries.
I pondered that idea for a moment, turning it around as I accepted the truth of the statement. Seriously, as screwed up as my life was with real problems, something as superficial as a mark on my face didn’t send me into the downward spiral it usually did. Even the idea that Leo had seen it a few minutes ago didn’t leave me feeling ashamed. Bracing my hands on the sink, I looked at myself—really looked at myself—and didn’t hate the face staring back at me.
Wow, maybe Leo was a great hypnotist. He’d told me how he intended to work on my self-image, to try and help me get rid of some of my triggers. At the time, I’d thought he was crazy, but I honestly wasn’t disgusted by the sight of my face. I have no idea if Leo’s session actually worked, but even if it was a placebo effect, I was grateful for this newfound sense of loving myself. A feeling like I’d forgiven myself for being different from anyone else. It was a weird, complicated thought, but at the same time, it felt like my truth.
Shaking myself out of my unexpected revelation, I got busy cleaning up, eager to see my parents.
Vali joined me at some point, so I talked to him a little bit as I cleaned up.
I even sprayed myself with some men’s deodorant that would evidently make me as noble as a majestic eagle swooping over a mountain lake. It didn’t smell bad, and I grabbed one of the toothbrushes, giving my teeth a quick scrub with some toothpaste I found in another drawer.
The short sleeved, pale blue dress Hannah leant me was cute, but a little tight in the bust and hips. Hannah had the body of a runway model, while I had the curves of someone who loved cheeseburgers. Thankfully the fabric was stretchy, and there was a built-in bra, so it held my chest in place without too much jiggle. I would just have to avoid doing jumping jacks.
After twisting my long hair over my shoulder, I fiddled with the layers until it hung artfully in my face.
Okay, so it was more like finger combing a rat’s nest of tangles, but it was the best I could do.
I gathered up my pajama shirt, then left the bathroom. I found Mark dressed in a pair of black slacks and a cream button-down shirt, looking at his phone. He must have used another bathroom because his hair was freshly comb and styled with gel.