Blind Side by K.B. Nelson Read Free Book Online Page A

his naked body tangled in a thin white sheet. I eye him for a moment, dreaming of any other way this could end, and reflecting back on the years of bliss we shared together back before the chaos ravaged our lives and our love for one another.
    Sunlight paints the bed in angelic light, flooding the shadows until they suffocate under the glow of the morning light. In the past year of pain, sorrow, and heartbreak, I’d almost forgotten how beautiful he is. He’s older now from the stress we’ve endured, with gray hairs spiking sparsely through the brown stubble lining his face.
    I’d forgotten the way he used to smile, brimming with life and happiness. A smile that’s now been ripped away from him, and replaced with a decaying sense of emptiness that is reflected in my eyes in the rare moments we’re face to face. I remember so much, and yet it all feels so far away, as if the memories I once cherished were lived in another life by somebody else. And then I imagine that somebody else out there is living the life I live now, and it’s comforting for the shortest of moments, that maybe none of this has ever mattered or will ever matter, because none of it’s real. That’s what numbness feels like. It’s the opposite of surreal, suffocating in a thick black hole where the only thing that aches is the missing piece where my heart used to be.
    With the skill of a silent assassin, I lower myself onto the bed beside Brock. I wield no knives or guns, no weapons to mention, but I’ve already stuck the knife in his back. Fuck me if he did it first, two wrongs don’t make a right—another lesson my sister forgot somewhere between integrated mathematics and the stripper joint.
    I lie in bed for what amounts to forever, staring at the ceiling fan above me, circling in a stale pattern like a poem that never ends and the words never changing. There’s no end in sight, and the seconds tick by, but they turn into minutes torturously slow.
    I count the seconds in between Brock’s isolated snores, but like a watched pot that will never boil, the minutes will never turn into hours.
    He usually sleeps on the couch, because he’s as distant from me as I am to him. I think he believes that if he gives me enough space, I’ll come around and we can be who we were again. That ship sailed long ago, but it only sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic a few short hours ago.
    I should sleep on the couch. It’s the right thing to do, but there’s this tiny part of me who wants to see the exact moment his eyes snap open, to see the unedited look in his eyes, to hear the words that’ll come out of his mouth before he’s had time to rehearse them. But most of all, I want to revel in knowing that his mind is in overdrive trying to figure out where the hell I’ve been.
    My heart jumps when he rolls from one side, and onto the other, wrapping his arm around me in the process, and then parking his body close to mine. He nuzzles his head against my neck, and I melt from the inside. I burn with guilt and anger, sadness and despair. I hate him, but I love him, and depending on my particular mood at any given moment, it makes things easier or harder. Usually harder.
    He groans in his sleep and his body contorts. One leg is thrown over mine, and then there’s a quick jerk of his head as his eyes peel open.
    “Where were you?” he mumbles, still half-asleep.
    “Out.” I roll over onto my side, facing away from him and cradle my head against my hand. “I stayed with Ashley.”
    “Why were you there?”
    “I… Uh.”
    “Jesus Christ,” he groans as he throws himself upward in bed. “What did you tell her?”
    I roll back over to face him, his eyes are half-open, but they’re laser-focused on me. “What are you talking about?”
    “You know damn well what I’m talking about.” He spins his feet off the side of the bed and jumps into a pair of jeans, his taut ass disappearing behind dark denim. He turns to me and shakes his head while biting