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)
Staring at the house, I take a breath, then smile at the driver. “Thanks.” I pop the door open and step out. Leaning back down, I say, “I’ll only be ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”
I turn around to face the large structure before me. The house is suddenly bigger than I remember, grander and more intimidating. The wrought iron of the gate appears more Gothic, something I never noticed before, while the house sustains remnants of the Gilded Age. I punch in the code, releasing the gate, and jog up the steps to enter the second code to open the front door.
The inside is quiet, as I expected, and some lights are on, but for the most part, it’s shut down when my parents are out of town. I find peace in the solitude and kindness in the few staff who check in on me. No one is here to greet me, so I run up the stairs with all the things on my packing list spinning in my head.
I shut my door and lock it before leaning against it to catch my breath. While my gaze darts from one piece of furniture to the next, to the bathroom, and then the closet, the idea of where to go next still goes unanswered. I’ve pushed off the thought each time it pops into my brain because I didn’t have the answer. I’m not sure I do now, but I’m thinking I can’t go to my Poet’s apartment. Not that he wouldn’t have me. He would, which is a whole other issue of feeling worthy of his generosity, compassion, and endless support. It’s that going from here to there doesn’t feel like I’m standing on my own. It feels like I’m falling back on someone else despite wanting to be with him so much.
Is he going to hate me if I don’t go to his place?
Ugh. I suck in a breath with the lack of certainty messing with my head and rush to the dresser first. I grab a bunch of panties and set them on the bed. Reaching into the back, I find the stack of credit cards that I know are still active with available balances I can use in the short term before they get cut off. I retrieve my suitcase and matching carry-on from the shelf in the back of my closet, tossing both open on the floor at the base of my bed.
Safe. Check.
I keep my jewelry in the velvet bags and boxes, stacking them neatly in the smaller case with the credit cards.
Credit cards. Check.
Purses. Check.
Only wanting a few handbags that I use regularly, two that I specifically chose myself and have been well-loved, I pack them, then start raiding racks of shoes. I don’t have much room, so I only choose five pairs before pulling clothes at random. The things I seek out most are the sweater and sweats I wore that night with Keats. They’re two pieces that mean the world to me because of the comfort they provide when I need it. I stuff all of it into the two cases, then make one more trip to the safe to grab a stack of cash I keep in there.
Once I get my makeup and a bottle of perfume, I toss them in the smaller case and take inventory. I don’t know what I’m missing. I don’t know what I need. I just know time is running out. I glance at my bed and run to grab Winifred, my stuffed wallaby, and tuck her neatly in before I shut the cases and lock them.
I pull the suitcases to the door and take one last look at the pink palace of a cage I’ve spent my life locked in. It’s only a few seconds, but that’s all I need. I open the door and rush to the stairs. Carrying the suitcases down the stairs, I don’t stop at the bottom or wait to hear if anyone is around to catch me. I leave and head to the car. After pushing through the gate, the trunk has been popped for me to load my suitcases myself. Heaving them into the back, I shut the trunk and hop into the car again.
“Where to?”
“The Maribelle Hotel in Midtown.”
When the car pulls away from the house, I lean forward to look back out the window as it disappears from view. As soon as we turn down another street, I rest back on the leather seat and smile. “I did it.”
CHAPTER 24
KEATS
Sosie happened so fast. Just like the first time.
Her presence fills a space I’d been ignoring in my life. It was easier to focus on work, writing, and anything that didn’t involve my heart in the process. I lost contact with the organ so long ago that I wasn’t even sure I still had one. In her absence, heartbeats became echoes and then faded off as if they’d never existed at all.