Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
He’s left me alone since then and hasn’t demanded I go back to my room, but I returned there anyway if only to be away from him. He’s too unpredictable. I can hardly breathe when we’re in the same room; his energy is so intense, so suffocating. How am I supposed to live in the same house with this man when I don’t know if he’s going to be sweet or pull a knife on me? We can’t even have a conversation without things getting violent.
Still, I can only hide in the bedroom for so long. Especially when my stomach won’t stop growling. I haven’t been given free access to the house or anything like that, but he didn’t tell me anything was off-limits either. Should I take a chance and see if I’m allowed to eat? Sheesh, how dehumanizing is this whole situation?
Eventually, hunger wins out over apprehension, and I have no choice but to tiptoe out of the room and down the stairs, listening hard for any sounds coming from elsewhere in the house. It’s quiet, but that doesn’t give me any comfort. If anything, now I’m wondering what’s coming next. Is he planning something? Waiting like a snake in the grass, looking for any opportunity to strike? I find myself peering over my shoulder left and right at every turn I make in the house. When I reach the kitchen, I’m a nervous ball of energy.
At least it’s empty—but not empty of food. I’m not trying to be picky, and I’m not trying to take a lot of time, which is why I grab for the protein bars in the first cabinet I open. At least I know they’re good from eating them before. I grab two, then snatch a bottle of water from the fridge. I’m probably better off dashing back upstairs where I can be alone. As boring as it is up there, it’s better than running the risk of being discovered wandering around down here.
I’m halfway to the stairs when I hear his heavy footfalls coming down the hall. It’s amazing the panic that blooms in my chest when I hear his footsteps, the terror that races through me while I look around for someplace to hide. If he can’t see me, he can’t use me as a way of venting his anger. That’s all that matters right now, making sure he doesn’t use me.
But there’s nowhere to hide, and now he’s coming down the stairs. I’m frantic, but I finally settle on taking a seat at the kitchen table for lack of anywhere else to go. I’m just going to sit here and behave myself. I’m sure he walked past the open bedroom door anyway, so he has to know I’m around somewhere. Maybe if he finds me sitting here like this instead of testing the lock on the front door, it will earn me some trust.
By the time he reaches the living room and looks through to where I’m sitting, I’ve already unwrapped one of the protein bars and am munching quietly. Our gazes meet, but he’s the first to look away. It wasn’t fast enough to hide his scowl, though. I guess I shouldn’t have taken it upon myself to sneak down here. Then again, he hasn’t said anything, so who knows? Trying to figure out what he’s thinking is a total waste of time. I can’t predict him.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him cross the room, heading to the bar cart set up between the living room and kitchen. He doesn’t say a word or even glance my way, pouring himself a drink that he quickly throws back in one quick, smooth motion. How does he do that? I’d be gasping and choking right now if I even tried.
Instead of setting the glass down, he only refills it, then turns his back to me in favor of flopping down on the sofa and turning on the TV. Soon, the ear-splitting sounds of an action movie drown out the thudding of my heart. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, especially if it keeps him occupied.
He’s got to be just as tired as I am now. I doubt he’s gotten any sleep after Prince’s close call. I lean back in my chair a little, so I can see him, sitting there with his drink in his hand, resting on his knee. He’s staring at the TV, but I get the feeling he’s not actually seeing anything in front of him.
He’s practically chugging whiskey, and after everything he put me through today, I can’t help but think he’s preparing for something. Psyching himself up. Am I being overly paranoid, or is this my intuition telling me to get ready in case something bad happens?
He didn’t even think to get mad at me for being in the kitchen, where there are knives and other potential weapons. Granted, I didn’t think about stealing any of them, which kind of makes me wonder about myself. I’ll chalk it up to fatigue.