Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
River isn’t exactly a stranger to mood swings. But this mood swing came from out of nowhere.
He pulls up outside my house. He’s out of the truck and getting the stroller out of the trunk before I even have my seat belt off.
I head straight for my front door, unlocking it.
Buddy is there to greet me like always.
“Hey, Bud.” I blow him a kiss.
Bending down to pet him isn’t an option at the moment with the size of this belly I’m carrying around. I honestly don’t think I’d get back up again if I attempted to bend down.
“Where do you want this?” River’s gruff voice comes behind me.
I jolt at the sound of him after having his silence for the last hour.
“Olive’s room, please.”
I waddle to the sofa, lowering myself onto it, and kick off my shoes. Buddy hops up onto the sofa and snuggles in beside me. I start stroking his fur.
I hear the sound of River’s boots thumping down the hall. Even though he’s acting like an ass at the moment, we do have dinner together almost every night, and I am starving.
So, I ask, “Do you want to order in tonight or—”
The sound of my front door slamming shut has my words halting.
I spin my head around to the closed door.
Did he just leave?
I push up off the sofa, which takes some doing nowadays, and waddle over to the window just in time to see River’s truck turning in the street and peeling out of there.
River
I’m sitting in my truck across the street and a little way down from the house I’m watching.
Watching and waiting for its occupant to come home.
Taking my box of cigars from the center console, I take a cigar out, cut the end off using my cutter, and light up.
On a deep inhale, I drag the smoke into me.
My gran used to smoke cigars. Every night after dinner, she would sit on the porch out back, smoke a cigar, and have a glass of whiskey.
I love the smell of cigars. It reminds me of my gran. Of home. Of the one place where I knew I was safe.
That’s why I still live in that fucking house. Why I couldn’t bring myself to move after Gran died.
Because it’s the only place I’ve ever felt truly secure after that sick bastard of a stepdad killed every safe feeling I ever had.
He took everything from me.
Except for Gran. And that house.
He could never take that.
Sexual predators care for only one thing—themselves and their sick, fucked up wants.
They don’t care about the destruction they leave in their wake.
They’re fucking monsters.
And don’t ever be fooled into thinking you know what one of those sick fucks looks like.
They’re not the image of old, dirty, greasy, seedy-looking men that we once believed to be true.
They are men and women of any age, any look, and any job. They can be the server at your local deli or the man who fixes your car. They can be the doctor you’ve visited for years. The person you trust to educate your child. Your dentist. The kid who bags your groceries. Or the middle-aged woman you take that Zumba class with.
They can be your best friend, aunt, uncle, mom, dad, or fucking stepdad.
They are and can be anyone.
They look just like you and I do.
Monsters in plain clothing.
I always think of them like the characters from Roald Dahl’s book The Witches.
Regular-looking people until the masks come off.
The current sick fuck that I’m waiting on used to be a teacher. A kindergarten teacher.
But, you might say, surely, before hiring, the school does background checks with the Criminal Justice Information Services to ensure they have no criminal record.
Of course they do. But all that means is, they either haven’t offended yet or they haven’t been caught.
And that motherfucker was the latter.
Parents entrusted their children with this monster in plain clothes.
He took that trust and used it to his advantage to get what he wanted. In turn, ruining the lives of two young boys and their families.
He created more of me.
Boys who will grow into men with more pain and resentment than they know what to do with.
I hope those boys can move on. Live a full life. Love and be loved.
That’s not in the cards for me.
I’m a barely functioning human being.
This keeps me going. What I’m doing now, it gives me purpose. And, the glass art that Gran taught me to do, that helps keep my mind calm.
And Red. She’s a balm to the open wounds I have.
Something I didn’t even know I needed.
Just being around her brings a calming peace to me.
Even when we’re disagreeing.
Life without her now would be … hard.
She’s going to wonder why I just checked out on her.
I’ll go see her tomorrow morning. Make up some bullshit excuse. She doesn’t need to know about this. She doesn’t need to know anything more about me. Her knowing about my mom is more than I wanted her to know.