Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Jay,” I speak softly, reaching my hand out to his, but he turns away and runs a hand through his hair. “Please listen.”
“We do it my way first,” he says, pushing the words through his teeth, his piercing eyes shining into mine and narrowed with authority.
“What if it makes it worse?” I ask him. He’s playing with fire. I can already feel the creeping heat threatening to consume us both.
He licks his lips and takes my hand in his, looking past me as he says, “We’re going to be alright, Robin.” The way he says it reminds me of when we were children, only then it was the opposite.
He’d never admit back then that there was hope. Never.
“Let me show you your room,” he says and then he blows out a low steady whistle. My muscles tighten as the large German shepherd trots into the room. With his tongue hanging out just slightly and his ears sticking straight up, he looks approachable, friendly even. But I can’t breathe.
“Jay,” I say his name like a warning.
Jay bends down, crouching on the floor and petting the dog’s head with both of his hands. “We have to face our fears, don’t we?” he says with a sad smile. I remember the scar on his leg from when he was a boy, and I take a hesitant step forward.
“Is that why you got him?” I ask him, but keep my eyes on the dog. My palms itch with a faint sweat, and my heart races. It took me years to overcome my fear of them. Even my family dog when I got home, a golden retriever named Chloe who was almost eight years old scared the shit out of me when she barked. I cried constantly, unable to stop the fear and the pounding of my heart, but knowing it wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t her fault. I loved her before, but the barking only reminded me of the terror I’d run away from.
Jay follows the dog, leaving me watching and forcing my legs to move forward.
The hall is small and short, and all of the doors are closed, but they have character. The house is old. Although the fixtures are new and the paint fresh, it’s designed like an older home. The doors are carved and made of hard maple. My fingertips glide along the wall and then dip to a door and back up to the plaster wall.
“Whose house is this?” I ask Jay to change the subject.
“Mine,” he answers without turning around and steps into a door at the very end. A door that’s closest to the end of the hallway and the opening to the living room. I grip the inside of the doorway, partly to keep me from running, but also to make sure Jay knows I’m not leaving as I lean out and take a look.
The ceiling is tall, taller than I imagined for the hallway being so small. A large ceiling fan whirls and the small gust makes the floor to ceiling curtains sway. They’re thin fabric with an organic quality to them.
Lots of browns. Dark brown floors, the tab top curtains and dark wood furniture are everywhere. The only hint of color is the dark blue sofa and matching love seat that sit in front of the large windows. With the curtains being so thin, I can see all the surroundings. Even through the gray of the sky and the slightly blurred view from the rain, it’s picturesque, with the field of green and mountains way back in the distance.
But it sends a chill through me. I decided I’ll stay, but I never really had a choice. The realization is sobering.
I focus on the furniture, on the living room itself. It’s almost like a cabin, but modernized with a comfortable feel to it. It’s homey, but barren in every other sense. There’s no artwork. Nothing hanging on the walls. There are no candles or knickknacks. No books or magazines. No throw pillows or blankets. There isn’t even a TV.
“Do you live here then?” I ask him, leaning back and looking over my shoulder to Jay. I still haven’t stopped gripping the doorjamb.
He looks at me hard for a moment, as if debating on telling me and finally he nods once. “It’s beautiful,” I say just above a murmur.
I look down the hallway again and gesture with a nod. “Which is your room?” I ask him.
His voice is empty of every emotion when he answers, “The basement.” My heart squeezes in my chest, and I have to tear my eyes away from him. All this time, I’ve been moving forward, trying to have a normal life. And Jay’s merely been holding on to the past.
I have to close my eyes as the German shepherd rubs against my leg, the feel of his wiry fur sending chills through my stiffened body as he pants and leaves the room, laying with a loud thud in the hallway.