Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Fucking fake.
How can she fake a smile to that level so well? If I didn’t read people for a living, I wouldn’t even have noticed it. I almost thought it was real a second ago.
As quickly as she smiles at me, she breaks eye contact and slips into her car.
Is the smile gone now? Is her show over?
Maybe the petal is dead.
One way to find out.
I don’t even think about it as I head out to my Mercedes and hop in it.
Carving up people’s faces isn’t the only thing I do. I also like carving up their fucking lies.
2
Georgina
The spider is huge, and it wants to fucking hurt me.
Its body must be the size of my head, with strong, furry legs scrambling as quickly as Mr. Bingley’s. It's making some creepy otherworldly noise and I start to scream at the top of my voice, louder with every decibel that leaves my body.
My eyes fly open, and I stare at the bare ceiling of my bedroom. There's a pair of eyes there. Bright blue-gray eyes, staring back at me with an intensity that's almost painful. I remember those eyes. I saw them, just a few days ago...
A nightmare. It was only a nightmare.
I'm soaked in sweat, covered in it. My duvet feels heavy on top of me and I groan, pulling myself up and making my tabbies, Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hudson, mewl in displeasure. I shush them softly and pad over the floor into my bathroom. It's two hours before my alarm is supposed to go off, but this is nothing new for me. I've had trouble sleeping since I was a kid.
I splash cold water on my face, and notice my fingers are trembling as I pat myself dry. And so, another day of the grind begins.
It's a well-established routine by now. I brush my teeth, take a quick shower, dry my hair, apply minimal amounts of makeup and make myself a quick breakfast. I feed the tabbies, their tails and button-noses rubbing against my feet. The whole time, I fight back the thought of the stranger who'd stared at me the a few days ago at the hospital. It was the kind of chance meeting you struggle to forget, trying to understand whether fate put that person in your way for a reason... or whether you're just being a naive fool by thinking that.
"Come on," I usher the cats away from the door, grabbing my keys. "I'll see you later, guys. Be good!"
I blow them kisses, blushing as I meet the eyes of my next-door neighbor in the hallway. She must think I'm going crazy at only twenty-seven, talking to my cats like that. But they're the only family I have, and if my uptight neighbor wants to judge me for it, so be it.
I give her a perfunctory smile before taking the stairs, so I don't have to talk to her in our shitty elevator. It keeps breaking down, anyway.
I've got the mathematics of walking to work down, pat. I know which route will get me there the fastest. I know the route that's three minutes longer makes me walk past a stray cat I've named Phoebe, a couple blocks away. I take that path now, clutching my messenger bag where an unopened can of tuna is waiting for Phoebe. It's not much, but I reassure myself it's better than nothing. Phoebe's been waiting for me lately, meowing with delight when she sees me coming up to her.
Sure enough, my new friend is waiting, and I scoop out the tuna can on the pavement for her before giving her a few head pats. And then I have to rush off to the hospital for another day of misery.
It's not like I hate my job.
I just hate the people.
Working as a nurse in the ER, you see everything, from domestic disputes to child abuse. It all makes for a mélange of memories I'd rather forget.
Still, it's not as if any of it is as bad as my life was before the hospital.
Growing up in a boarding school, being tossed from foster home to foster home until I finally got to leave at eighteen. I got a scholarship and worked two jobs besides college to get myself through. I couldn't afford a medical degree, so I settled as a nurse. The pay was better than average, the hours were horrendous, and yet it offered the kind of security I'd been craving my entire life.
"Hey, Georgie." Dinah, my friend from the intensive unit wing, bumps her hip into mine and winks at me as I pass her in the hallway. "Dr. Martin's been asking about you again."
"He has?" I groan inwardly. "Wow, um..."
"Lost for words?" Katya laughs as she joins us, and we walk down the hallway together. We make quite the trio – Katya with her distinct Russian accent, a doll-like face and thin, perfectly poised body, and Dinah, who has ebony skin and wears her hair in braids woven together in an impressive bun. "Isn't it such an honor? He's totally into you, Georgie. Everybody knows it."