Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
It takes too long and I find myself gazing straight ahead to the family portrait sitting on top of the buffet. This room, the dining room, is the only room in the whole place where there’s a picture of anyone.
The rest of the house is devoid of anything truly personal. But what do I really have that’s personal anyway? My lacrosse stick and all those fucking uniforms stayed at my parents’ where they belonged. I’m sure they were thrown away long ago.
I pour more of the whisky into the glass, feeling my breathing slow as my body sways and I remember the first day I walked in here.
I’d just gotten all new clothes, all new furniture, all new everything. This home was the start of the professional version of me. All that was in the cardboard box I was holding were a handful of old tee shirts and a few postcards from a friend of mine in Germany I’d met after I graduated high school and got my first job in construction. We’ve lost touch since then.
I take a sip, listening to the ice rattle against the glass. The whisky sits on my tongue and I press it against my teeth before swallowing. All the awards I’ve won are in my office. Framed and arranged just so on the wall.
My gaze drifts back to the portrait of the three of us. I’m standing between the two of them in it. I don’t look a damn thing like her, like my mother. I’m the spitting image of my father. Mom’s smile is soft, but her eyes are what sparkle. She was so expressive. Soft spoken, but she made what she said count.
She could make an entire room laugh by only speaking once the whole night. I let out a breath, looking at the firm hand my father has on my shoulder in the photograph.
He liked that about her. He told me once she was the perfect example of what a wife should be. That was before he caught her cheating.
I wonder if that man, the one she risked her marriage to sleep with, loved to hear her talk. I wonder if that’s why she did it. Because she had more to say than just a single sentence.
I down the whisky, dragging out the chair at the head of the table and taking a seat. I sag and let my head lean back against the crest rail of the antique chair.
This room is so dark. With black textured wallpaper on the longest wall and the other three painted a soft gray, I wanted it to feel masculine. I remember telling the designer that. I told her I wanted it to feel like me.
On the right, centered in the room and next to the dark mahogany buffet, is a long gas fireplace. It’s surrounded by a sleek marble hearth. More black. Even the light fixture in the room, a circular pendulum that holds the light inside, is black.
I huff a breath into the short glass and suck an ice cube into my mouth.
This is me.
A heart of fire that’s never lit. A dark past that only holds a single moment of time in significance.
I wonder if that bitch designer knew what she was doing.
I kick the leg of the antique chair next to me. It’s carved wood that’s been stained. The deep brown leather of the chairs has a worn look to it.
What’s ironic is how much I loved this room. I loved everything about it when I first laid eyes on it. The only addition I made was that fucking silver picture frame and then I filled that buffet with liquor.
Thank fuck I did that. I raise my glass even though it’s empty, save for ice. “To you, you fucking prick,” I toast the picture and take another ice cube into my mouth.
I crunch down, wondering if the last three words were for my father or for me.
Pushing the glass across the slick table that I’ve never sat at for more than a drink or two, I pull out my cell phone from my back pocket.
I fucking want Jules.
She’s pure and sweet. Even if she overthinks every last detail, there’s so much about her that I want to keep. I really shouldn’t have her. I’ve already been given more than I deserve.
I can’t do this anymore.
The screen lights up as I hear her words in my head. She shouldn’t get to decide when it’s over. Not by herself and not like that. Not because of something so fucking unimportant.
We work together. We make each other happy. I’m tired of living this life with nothing to fight for. I want her back.
My phone rings in my hand, startling me and I drop it on the table. It vibrates, moving slightly as the ringtone goes off again.