Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
And there it is . . . the price I’m expected to pay. Keats.
I’m not going to argue with him. He’s said his piece and thrown me into an impossible situation. I feel sick. If I choose Keats, then both of our lives will be destroyed. And choosing Gregory means I lose the man I’ve already fallen in love with. Either way, my heart gets broken, and my Poet gets hurt.
CHAPTER 10
KEATS
Merry Christmas, Keats.
The text from my mom invades my space, breaking the concentration I had buried in my laptop for hours. I look up, blinking a few times and finally noticing the room has darkened. Though the little Christmas tree on my bookcase is doing its damnedest to brighten up the place. I’d forgotten it was Christmas.
And I’m alone. Again.
It’s nothing new, considering how I grew up—my dad absent most days, then gone altogether, and my mom at her jobs most days and then drinking down the block at the bar where she worked on weekends and holidays. I remember the one time I dared to walk down there to deliver her present since it was the only way I was going to see her that day.
I was twelve when I realized I was truly on my own. It wasn’t just because she was drunk, which she was to the point of being sloppy. It was because it finally dawned on me that she preferred to be in that condition, surrounded by regulars at the bar, rather than at home raising her kid.
Do I make the trek over to her apartment to see her like I do each year? I had pushed the guilt down deep enough to pretend I didn’t need to. Would she miss the visit? Do I still owe it to her?
She’s not knocking on my door either. Is it time to leave that relationship where it is—caught in a purgatory of responsibility versus forcing it because we’re related? If asked, I’m not sure I’d say I had any family. But even thinking that makes me feel like shit.
Placing blame ended years ago. She clearly never asked to be a mom. Not everyone is cut out for the job. That she was the closest I had to a parent and the only one technically keeping a roof over my head made me respect her, as she was still trying her best. She was just failing. So is it fair to abandon her like she did to me so many times?
Fuck.
I hate the holidays. I foolishly convinced myself that spending the night with Sosie would override the past and we’d make new memories this year. The text she sent left that impression as well. The chance to change what this day was to me was tangible, and then I lost it.
I’ve lost count of how many times my gaze has bounced to the door, hoping to see her bound through like she’s done it a thousand times. She was comfort and beauty, familiar in ways that I can’t make sense of, but mine at the same time. Sosie was all mine for a short time. And I want more. Worry embeds itself, leaving me bereft that she might not return.
She’s a grown woman who can handle herself. And surely, she would text if her plans had changed. Wouldn’t she?
She’s probably caught up opening presents or doing her duty as a Stansbury for a few hours. Except it’s been more than a few hours. It’s been over six. Okay, I’m being ridiculous. It’s only been six hours on Christmas Day, for fuck’s sake. I’m damn lucky she even came over last night. Images of her naked beneath me, watching her tits bounce with each thrust, her lips swollen from kissing, and the taste of her skin taunt me.
I shift, the cravings for seconds hit hard, making me more irritable that she’s not here. Completely un-fucking-reasonable, Keats. I’m acting like a fucking creep. In true creep fashion, I tap the screen. The phone on the cushion next to me lights up once more for me to check messages. It would have been impossible to miss any texts since I’ve been here all day. I check anyway. Though I’ve tried to work on my capstone paper in finance for hours, I’ve mostly been staring at this damn phone, waiting to hear from Sosie.
Merry Christmas. I need to run home, but I’ll be back. Keep the bed warm for me. Sosie
The text she sent earlier still sits without a follow-up, not even to my reply. But maybe I’ve interpreted the words to mean something they don’t. I read it again, not able to see it as anything but a quick popover to the house and return for us to get some food to stuff ourselves with until we digest and have sex again. Did I read too much into it? I might have, especially that ending.