AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Fucking nothing to me.
Thrust.
“You’re nothing to me,” I growl.
Her eyes widen as she chokes, a tear falling down her cheek, pooling on her chest.
I repeat the words, thrusting harder until I’m coming down her throat. I rip myself away from her as she collapses to the floor, hurt and anger reflecting back at me. I want to take it back, but I don’t. It’s better this way.
She holds her throat looking away from me. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, buckling my pants.
“I said, get out, Atticus.”
“I think you forgot whose house this is.”
She sniffs, “This is my room. I have the key. My space. Now leave.” She rises gracefully, sitting back on the piano stool and begins playing softly.
She never even looks back as I walk away.
Chapter 21
"Love is like the wind,you can't see it, but you can feel it." –Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember
I glareat the white and black roses, pushing them away from me at the breakfast table. Francis sighs, “Would you like to talk about it, miss?”
“Nope.” I inhale my pancakes, not even tasting the sticky goodness.
Flowers don’t fix cruel words. He either apologizes or I’m done. After years of abuse, I refuse to take it for another moment because he’s scared of feelings. I wipe my face, draining my coffee and heading to the garden with my book.
I sit on the concrete bench, openingPride and Prejudiceby Jane Austen. The beginning has been slow and a bit challenging but I’m here to see it through. I wonder if this is my life. Living on an island in a castle with my very own library full of every novel I could think of and play my piano… I don’t want to be complacent, but I definitely can’t be mad. This isn’t like that movie I saw where the girl marries rich and wants her own career. I want nothing to do with the outside world.
I hear the slap of his loafers, but I don’t look up. Atticus clears his throat, and I flip my page.
“Are you giving me the silent treatment?” Silence, and then, “Very childish.”
I’d laugh if I was speaking to him. That’s a bold statement from a man who throws out nasty words when he gets uncomfortable and sends flowers in fucked up vases when he knows he’s in the wrong.
“I may have said some things,” He grumbles.
Page flip.
“Come on, Little Bird.”
Silence.
He grunts, snatching my book and I look up to him with pure murderous eyes. “I’m sorry, alright?”
I smile, “Thank you.”
He glares, “That’s it? I’m sorry and all is forgiven?”
I shrug. “Emotions make people act out. It’s fine.”
He narrows his eyes, handing my book back. “I wasn’t acting out of emotions.”
“Yeah.” I shake my head in mock agreement.
