Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I didn’t… I wasn’t…” Come on, brain, think! “It isn’t how it seems.”
When the brutal slam of the bathroom door gobbles up my words, I sink into the ‘mattress’ before throwing an arm over my blurry eyes. I’d follow him if I could trust my legs to keep me upright. Since I can’t, I swish my tongue around my mouth, curse my stupidity to hell, then surrender to the alcohol curdling my stomach as relentlessly as the pain in JR’s eyes before he bolted away from me.
Chapter Eleven
When the shudders wreaking havoc with my body the past hour become too much to bear, I scoot back, hopeful the winds whistling through the cracks of the cabin’s floor aren’t as noticeable on JR’s half of the bed.
With how things ended, I didn’t think I’d sleep a wink last night, but the throat-burning concoction JR gave me while suturing my foot knocked me out in under a minute. The drool on my pillow exposes I slept like a baby, not to mention the fact I’m waking up before the sparrows without the thumping head I was anticipating.
My pause of appreciation is cut short when my scurry across the ‘mattress’ ends with me almost toppling onto the floor with a squeal. JR’s half of the bed is empty, and the knowledge has my neck cranking back so fast, I almost give myself whiplash. I didn’t hear him leave the bathroom last night, but I assumed he’d eventually succumb to the call of the night.
A new type of disappointment fills me when I discover the cause of me waking up in a cold bed for the second time the past two days. JR isn’t chopping wood or cooking god knows what on an ancient stove, he’s sleeping on the unvarnished floorboards in front of the fireplace.
With his only source of warmth an almost extinguished fire and a thin sheet-like blanket, he must be freezing. I shivered most of the night, yet I was snuggled under three deer skins, my back was cushioned by a fur-lined material I’m pretending is a woolen underlay, and I had enough alcohol racing through my veins to keep half the continent warm.
Should I be disappointed or relieved to find him sleeping on the floor? I’m not sure which way any of my pendulums are swinging. I am glad he respects me enough not to push past any boundaries I’m not comfortable with, but I’m also wary his decision stems more around believing I rejected him than upstanding morals.
I don’t know what I was thinking last night. Cedric is a cheating dud, and I’d give anything to hurt him as much as he hurt me, but JR doesn’t deserve to be the rebound guy. I don’t even know if he knows what that is. Has he only been out of the loop a couple of days like me? Or is this type of isolation normal for him? From the delicacy of deer meat to the homemade furniture, I’m steering toward the latter.
The thought doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it did only yesterday. The world we live in isn’t all that beautiful anymore. People hurt people just because. There’s no rhyme or reason to their madness, so I understand how this type of existence could be inviting to some people.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think it’s for me, but perhaps I’m not here to consider a new way of life. Maybe I’m here to share my knowledge instead of extending on it.
With my head as confused as my heart, I drink in JR’s features instead of plotting a daring escape. The blizzard doesn’t give me much choice, but I don’t think even a handful of options would change the verdict. His way of thinking isn’t the norm, but no matter which way you look at it, he’s not once physically hurt me. When I think back at our exchanges, I was the one being the bully. I hit him, kicked him, and head-butted him. And for what reason? Because he kept me alive in an impossible situation before mistaking protectiveness as ownership.
It makes me ashamed and has me seeking ways to make it up to him.
The dwindling fire seems like a good place to start.
After flopping my legs off the bed, I stretch out for the stick JR used to wade us through the snow yesterday afternoon from the dining room table, then use it as a brace to stand. It’s a little flimsy, but with the wound in my foot sealed, and the swelling reduced from the cold water JR soaked it with, my hobble to the door doesn’t take nearly as long as I was anticipating.
When I curl my hand around the ancient doorknob, pride swarms me from all sides. I wasn’t lying yesterday when I said I have a low tolerance for pain. A papercut makes me teary-eyed, so to fight through the pain jolting up my leg to help someone makes me feel invincible.