Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
And nothing changed.
He kept crawling into bed, lavishing over my body, teasing and pleasing my growing hopelessness out of me, and replacing it with pleasure and those sticky, tricky sex hormones.
The nights were all the same.
Falling into a deep, contented sleep with Renzo’s body close and comforting.
But the mornings were all the same too.
Waking up alone, that same deep, aching loneliness and emptiness clawing in my stomach, growing until it felt like that was all there was in the world.
I tried to chase those feelings away by keeping my days busy. I took to cleaning the apartment, shooing Elian away when he tried to gather the glasses and plates and garbage from the still frequent parties, insisting that I needed something to do to make my days productive.
The look on Elian’s face said he saw beneath the mask I was putting on, but he didn’t press. And I didn’t know if I was grateful for that, or if it only hurt more, only made me feel more alone.
I had Cinna on occasion. But mostly only when she was popping over with coffee for me because she was in the area. It seemed like Renzo wasn’t the only member of his family who worked themselves to the bone, day in and out. And, I imagined, Cinna felt the need to work even harder than most of the other members of the family, feeling the need to prove herself because she was a woman in a male-dominated world.
But that was… it.
That was all I had.
Long, restless days where I cleaned endlessly, then tried to focus on my books. Mostly failing. Before eating something Elian dropped off, and crawling into bed.
Where I sat awake, hating myself for it, but aching for a look, a touch, a few kind words from my husband who only seemed to remember I existed when I was right in front of him.
The party was still raging a floor below me as I curled up in bed, my cramps making me rock and whimper to myself. All the while an ache no less intense started in my chest, knowing that this would be the night when I wouldn’t get my little fix of Renzo’s attention, when I would have to go through an entire week with nothing to light the growing darkness within.
I heard the footsteps on the stairs, but this time the little thrill inside was buried under the ache for a glimpse of Renzo’s sweetness.
The door opened, bringing the laughter, conversation, and music for a moment, before silencing it again.
“What’s wrong?” Renzo asked, and I could practically feel his dark gaze on me.
“Nothing,” I insisted since, technically, nothing was. Just a monthly annoyance.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
“No.”
Renzo made a noise in his throat before moving away from the door and going into the bathroom. But he came back less than a minute later.
“Mouse,” he said, voice softer, and I swear it was like a caress, soothing down all my frazzled edges. “You want a painkiller?” he asked, coming around the bed when I didn’t turn to look at him.
I remembered then that I hadn’t tucked the tampon box back into the drawer after I pulled one out earlier.
“I’m okay,” I said, unable to look at his face.
What can I say? I was a girl raised around boys. I never really had anyone close to me to talk to about girly things like this. So I wasn’t surprised by the heat that rose up my neck to tint my cheeks.
“Why suffer, though?” he asked, finger teasing over my flaming cheek, seeking my chin, and forcing it up until I had no choice but to look at him. “I’m a grown-ass man, Lore. This shit doesn’t bother me. No reason to feel weird about it. Gonna happen every month for the next, what, thirty years. Should be able to talk about it.”
“I took ibuprofen,” I told him. “It just hasn’t kicked in yet.”
“Okay. What else helps?” he asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Let’s try this again. What else helps when you’re bleeding and feeling like crap?”
“A heating pad,” I admitted, cursing myself for not having thought of packing it.
Still squatting next to the bed, he reached for his phone, tapping away for a minute.
“You like chocolate?” he asked.
“Are there people in the world who actually don’t like chocolate?” I asked, getting a small twitch from his lips.
“Any other requests?” he asked.
“You don’t have to order me anything,” I insisted, even as my heart fluttered a bit at this rarity. His softness and attention. When sex was off the table.
Renzo shook his head at me as he stood, and made his way to the bathroom.
I thought maybe he’d changed his mind on ordering me anything when I heard him in the shower. But not twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the bedroom door that had Renzo coming out of the bathroom in a pair of low-slung sleep pants, to accept a bag from whoever was on the other side.