Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Asshole!” Jude yells. “You like touching things hmm?” He slams him back against the wall and punches him across the face, then pulls him to his feet and knocks him into the men’s restroom. ‘Be back.” He calls over his shoulder.
And then he’s gone. All I hear is screaming “stop, stop, stop,” and then banging.
It’s maybe two minutes before Jude is back. He looks calm, too calm, and from the open crack of the door I see two feet on the ground.
Jude cracks his neck and rubs his bloodied right hand. “You okay?”
I gape. “Are y-you okay?” Why? Why did he help me? Why didn’t he just let the guy attack me? I’m so confused I want to cry. My emotions can’t take it. They’re all over the place. One tear spills over followed by another.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jude grabs my hand and pulls me against him. He smells so good. He smells familiar and if I try really hard I can forget the trauma attached to him for one second and remember his pretty handwriting, his pretty words, and his safe hugs.
God I missed it.
I cling to him longer than I should.
I’m angry. I’m confused. I’m scared.
I’m so lost.
I was gone for years.
It took him days to break down my defenses by simply existing. Was his hold that strong? Yes. Yes it was. It is.
“It doesn’t matter how much I hate you for what you did, hate is never an excuse to physically harm a girl or make her feel unsafe. I’ll watch you from afar, I’ll get in your head,” He holds me tighter. “I will never lay a hand on you. That’s the difference. I’d rather torment your mind; your body is and will always be yours.” He pulls away and wipes at my cheeks. “Let’s get you a drink.”
“And him?”
He shrugs. “He’ll have a headache in the morning and a fucking hard ass time finding his tooth.”
“Huh? What? Why?”
He tugs my hand harder and presses a kiss across my wrist where the guy grabbed me. “Because I flushed it down the toilet.”
11
“He thought he wanted confession. Then he heard her voice. And wanted something worse.”—The Count of Monte Cristo.
JUDE
Ilet Axel think it’s his idea after the ordeal in the hall. Leave early, invite the girls back to his place right down the street from their apartment, order pizza and chill. I tell myself it’s because I’m just doing what the stupid piece of paper said, keeping my enemies close and that it’s not because I’ve suddenly grown a heart—because I haven’t. But, I’m suddenly starving to know her version of events, what happened and why.
Also, being out in public after that guy had his hands all over her isn’t what’s smart. Lilah could hardly focus on anything and wasn’t even touching her drink. She laughed at the wrong time and kept looking over her shoulder, and since the boogie man was currently next to her—i.e. me—I knew it was that guy.
What other hells had she gone through without me by her side? I’d watched her from afar, waited for the right time, kept my distance, and she’d been boring. But something about that interaction made me wonder if there wasn’t more of a story there.
But that would mean caring.
Getting closer in that way wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to get her to feel an inkling of the same sort of fear and foreboding I felt during those times and wonder when it’s all going to get taken away, find out the truth, use her to take my dad down if necessary, walk away.
Honestly, the plan wasn’t supposed to be this year-long thing but the minute I made contact it was like taking your first hit, addicting in all the worst ways. I realized having her fear was almost as nice as having her love because at least I could feel and I’d been so damn tired of being numb this long that I welcomed the feeling even if it was wrong.
Axel and Charlie were sitting across from us playing Jenga while Axel kept peppering Lilah with questions about high school that I refused to answer. He’d gone to a private prep school while I begged my parents to send me to public—my dad allowed it because it looked good for me to be around normal peasants versus going to a private school like everyone else at the country club.
I didn’t care because at the time it gave me my way and I wanted to be wherever she was, but she didn’t need to know that was the real reason why. Because that bordered on obsession.
“I’m going to grab another drink.” She pops up from her seat and steps over my legs to get to the kitchen.
I don’t say a word.
I get up and follow her.