Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I guess time will tell. I wonder, though, will he actually call when the light of day comes around?
TWO
WESSON
Boomerism: War isn’t always fought on a battlefield.
“Killing me beautiful.” I tell her honestly. “Wish you were here in my arms.”
“Wesson, you’re so full of shit,” Emmalee blows off my compliment. “If you weren’t the man you are I wouldn’t have dared have a video call without makeup on.”
“Man I am, huh.” I smirk, “Baby girl, the man I am sees a woman who is gorgeous top to toe. Makeup or not, you turn me on.”
She blushes and rolls her head back trying not to take in my words. I’ve noticed this about her. She doesn’t take compliments well. Honestly, it turns me on more. She is sexy as fuck in this innocent way. Emmalee is unlike any woman I’ve encountered before.
“Fuckin’ got me hard over here with a single smile.” That is the damn truth. Honestly, she breathes the same air as me and I’m hard. I haven’t had this reaction to a female since I lost my legs. With her, it’s more than physical attraction. It’s a connection I can’t explain. I want to call her. I want to text her. I want to be the reason she smiles, laughs, and has a good day.
After my accident I struggled with intimacy. If I get real with the man in the mirror, I still battle my ability to let someone in, but with Emmalee I think I can really do this. All aspects of a relationship suddenly seem like a possibility. Something I haven’t done since well, ever.
I’ve fucked a lot of women. I’ve thought I shared something with a few of them. My accident though, it brought everything into perspective. What was love really wasn’t. What mattered before didn’t. Every part of my life I see differently now. Being half of who I once was, feelings change in all aspects of my life. My perspective on everything is different now. From the moment I woke up in the hospital it’s like I’ve been floating through each day. Learning to transfer, to take a shit, peeing sitting down, it has all been a harsh adjustment. Imagine every demasculinizing thing and I endured that humiliation post-accident. Even now, there are still challenges, accidents, and embarrassment.
On the outside, I don’t dare let anyone know how much it bothers me. They want me to be strong. They want to know I’ve accepted things. They don’t want to know I relive my accident and recovery every night and most days. The thoughts that consume me are the kind no one talks about. The dance with the devil on my shoulder telling me everyone would be better off without me. They would all understand if I gave up. If I took things into my own hands and ended the pain, no one would question why or how or what could have been different. Granted not one person close to me actually knows the thoughts I battle.
They all think I’m fine and I plan to play the part until I take my very last breath.
Since meeting Emmalee, I’m different. The thoughts don’t consume me. The pity for myself isn’t there. I don’t have to fake my excitement to live. I genuinely look forward to moments with her, from a meal to a simple phone call, I have happiness with someone. She is like this angel in battle with the devil that had a hold on me. The thoughts are at war with the desire to speak to her once again. It’s hard to wish I wasn’t here while wishing I was with her in the very same breath. Emmalee grounds me like gravity. It’s a pull I can’t fight.
Women have good intentions. They see my chair, the loss of my legs, and the sympathy comes in strong. I don’t need or want anyone’s pity. Emmalee never once has looked at me with anything other than genuine intrigue about who I am inside.
Reading people becomes easy when you lose your legs. The eyes watching me no longer hide things. The shock, the wonder, the pity, it all shows and so much more. It didn’t take me long to learn who was interested in me and who was paying attention to my chair. From the moment my eyes locked to hers, Emmalee is all about the man I am.
“Wesson,” my name comes out in a whisper.
I laugh, “baby girl, I’m not ashamed and you shouldn’t be either. Tell you like it is, you’re a showstopper. More than that, you are you. Strong, independent, intelligent, and wise beyond anything. You read a room and know how to adapt. And class, baby girl, you got class and it’s hot as fuck.”
Her face gets serious, “You always compliment me. I don’t know how to take it.”