Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“Is the first line too much?” I interrupt.
He looks up from the paper, meeting my gaze. “Let me read. If you want an honest opinion, I need to read it in its entirety before I can give you an answer.”
I know he’s right, but I’m vibrating with anxiety. I nod, trusting his opinion, and trusting that he’ll be honest with me, too.
I look at his face, then down at the page as he reads.
My gaze catches on that first line.
I’m not sorry my rapist died.
The essay isn’t some bitter trauma dump, though. If it reads as intended, it should be an empowering piece that gives a vulnerable peek at the journey I’ve been on, but beyond that it’s a dissection of societal expectations. I wrap it all up in my personal narrative, of course, because that’s the assignment. I weave in threads of a lifetime spent vying for approval but show the journey I’m taking to get away from that. To think and live for myself, and still consider others, of course, but worry less about always having their approval.
Clearly, I’m still working on it, because my heart is in my throat when Tor looks up at me after he’s finished reading.
“What do you think?” I ask anxiously.
“You nailed it.”
My eyes brighten hopefully. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. If they didn’t approve your application after that, they were out of their fucking minds. They don’t even deserve to have you attend their shitty school.”
I grin, throwing my arms around his neck. “That’s a crazy thing you just said about one of the top schools in the country.”
“I said what I said.” The paper crinkles as he wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me even closer. “It’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I can feel myself glowing. “I wanted to write something powerful.”
He lingers close to my lips. “You succeeded.”
I can’t be this close to his perfect lips without kissing them, but he knows that, so he closes the remaining distance between us. I sigh with pleasure, my eyes closing.
He walks me back, pinning me against the wall. His hand moves beneath my shirt, lightly grazing my skin on his way up to squeeze my breast. Since I’ve been busy fine-tuning my essay and haven’t left the apartment today, I’m not even wearing a bra. I moan softly when his palm covers me and squeezes. My head falls back, and as his thumb skims over my nipple, a shiver of pleasure passes over me.
Then there’s a knock on the door.
My eyes pop open, and Tor steps back with an, “Aw, shit,” as he rakes a hand through his hair. “That’s my mom.”
“What?” I ask, horrified.
“I was going to tell you she was right behind me, but you accosted me when I came in the door.”
“Oh my god, Tor, I look homeless. I can’t see your mom right now.”
“She’ll only be here for a minute. She has something to give you.”
“Let her in. Get her a drink. Give me a minute to at least put on clothes.”
I race into my bedroom to pluck a dress out of the closet and a bra out of my dresser, but I wait until I hear Tor take her into the living room area so she doesn’t see me dressed like a hobo, then I hurry to the bathroom to brush my hair and get dressed.
I pin back a lock of hair on each side, then make quick work of dabbing on some lip gloss and a little mascara. Finally, I fluff my dress and take a quick look. I haven’t attained the polished Stepford look I aspire to when I have to see Tor’s family, but I do at least look prepared for a picnic in the park.
It’ll have to do.
I still have some lingering anxiety from being caught off guard—and also knowing I’m going to have to see Tor’s family—but as soon as I enter the room and Myra turns to me with a warm smile, it trickles away.
“Hi, Mrs. Walters.”
“Oh, you look so lovely,” she says, absently reaching out to fan my skirt. Tor’s right; the woman does not understand physical boundaries whatsoever. She meets my gaze, her brown eyes so full of warmth. “You always do.”
Immediately, she makes me feel safe, like a drugged-up angel floating around on a cloud.
Letting go of my dress, she says, “I know you and Tor are busy, so I won’t keep you. I just wanted to drop in because your father and I,” she says, glancing at Tor, then back at me, “wanted to give Cassie a graduation present as well.”
“Oh, you really didn’t have to do that,” I say on instinct.
“We wanted to,” she assures me. “You’re family now, and in our family, we don’t let milestones pass without celebrating them. If you and Tor had gotten together earlier, we would have thrown you a graduation party. I know your mother didn’t.”