Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I slide to the floor, holding my rag on my arm. That was so stupid, but I had to do it. I had to.
My toes curl into the floor, the pain seeming to get worse rather than better. I remember when they put it in me. I was asleep, put under with some medication and woke with a few stitches in my arm. The process seemed a lot more simple than what I just did. I mutilated my arm, a scar will surely be left behind. I feel the urge to get up and clean my mess up before Romeo gets back, but I can’t. It hurts so much. I should have looked for something for the pain before I started, but I don’t remember it hurting so much when it was inserted, so I didn’t think about it.
Standing up, I slowly tug the drawer open with the towels and drop one to the floor. Using my feet, I swipe it back and forth to soak up the blood droplets, but little circles from it already drying won’t wipe up. Bending down, I pick it up and toss it in the sink.
I need to get my mind off the pain. Off the blood. Pushing away from the kitchen counter, I wander into the living room. There’s a TV but not a remote to be found. My eyes sweep the area one more time. The coffee table, the couch. I don’t see one. But I do see something on the wall, I can’t tell if it’s a fancy thermostat or a stereo. Stepping to it, there’s a ton of buttons and switches. I press what looks like the On button and feel a tickle on my palm. I squeeze my hand in on itself and feel cool wetness, glancing down it to find blood. The towel now soaked. Shit. I hold my arm above my hand, trying to focus on the… whatever this is. I press an arrow, and the screen lights up with little green words saying, “’Hey You’ by Pink Floyd.”
The walls rumble and music begins to play. Turning my back to the wall, I slide to my ass and lean my head against the wall and listen to the lyrics. The sound of music. I haven’t heard it in a long time. I don’t even know who Pink Floyd is, and I don’t care. Closing my eyes, I let myself slip into the words, the beat, the soft voice of the lead singer and ignore the slice in my arm.
It’ll stop hurting soon. Any and all pain comes to an end; eventually.
Romeo
Back at my apartment building, I stand in the elevator waiting for it to make its way to my floor. I tap my foot, growing impatient by the second. Since when did this damn thing go so slow? I can’t help but wonder if Luna is still there, if she’s okay. What did she do while I was gone. Finally the double doors slide open and I quickly dart through them. Keys already in my hand, I unlock the door and the deadbolt. The sound of music blaring from inside making me turn my head to the side to make sure that’s what I’m hearing. Opening the door, I race inside feeling as if something’s wrong. I don’t know why, I just do. My eyes sweep to the kitchen first, noticing drawers and cabinets open. Tossing the keys on the counter, I follow the music and find Luna against the wall under my stereo with no shirt on, a towel tied around her wrist. Her chest so white, I can’t help but notice how pink her erect nipples are.
I rush to her side and grab her injured arm. Did she cut herself on purpose? Why? I turn the music off and her head raises, her green eyes looking into mine.
“What’d you do?” I ask. Anger and concern mix together in my voice making me sound like another man but when my eyes fall to her bare breasts, I know I’m still the same old Romeo, the look of a naked woman making my heart double-tap. Reaching behind me, I grab the buffalo check throw blanket from the couch and press it against her chest, covering her from my lingering eyes.
She clears her throat, using her good hand to hold the blanket up. I notice white silvery scars on her arms, and across her chest, the marks telling a rough tale of her past.
“I cut it out. I cut out the GPS,” she informs me. Mouth parted, it takes me a second to process what the fuck she just said. Her wrist in my hand, I undo the tied towel and find a small deep cut in her arm. They chip women? Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse. Jesus Christ.