Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Bethany Hensel
and down my calves. I feel her fingers trace along my arms.
“I think,” she says, her voice low and tinged with desire, “I like this way of studying.”
I press my lips to her neck. “Sternocleidomastoid.” Then her chin. Her nose. “Victoria,” I sigh. I kiss each eyelid. “Victoria.” Finally, her mouth. I kiss her there the longest, and when we finally break apart, Victoria is breathless.
So am I.
She whispers, “You didn't say the names. Of what you were kissing.” She smiles gently. “Didn't you know?”
I shake my head. “I know exactly what I'm kissing.”
Victoria .
DEREK
It's the silence that wakes me up. At my house, I wake to the wheeze and hiss of the trolley as it picks up people on the corner. I wake to street noise and beeping horns. City music. I wake, and my window, which I curse and bless in equal measure, lets in such blinding light that even when I put my pillow over my face I still need to squint.
But this room is devoid of all the familiar sights and sounds. A fresh, stinging pain hits right through me as I wonder if waking up in Victoria's house is always this way, or if it's so quiet because Mr. King is gone. Did he turn on a television the minute he woke up, or was it the radio? Did he have an alarm clock with a beep as grating as mine? Did he and Victoria eat breakfast together and talk about what their day entailed? For that matter, did he like the Four Seasons or the Beach Boys, Paul or John, Panthers or Nittany Lions? I knew him as an all-around, general person: proud, intelligent, and ambitious. Very successful. But I didn't know him as an individual.
And now I never would.
I lean over and place a tender kiss on Victoria's cheek then stand and go to the bathroom. The water is almost unendurably cold as I wash my face. It wakes me up, though. Using the other door, I walk into the hallway.
When I first saw this house, on my third date with Victoria, I thought it looked too imposing, too big, to ever feel homey. Victoria laughed when I told her.
“It only feels big because my father's not home,” she said. I smiled with her, even though I didn't really understand what she meant. But later, when I did finally meet Mr. King, I got it crystal clear. He had a way of dwarfing even the biggest of spaces. As I make my way down the hallway, the remnants of a time not so long ago still lingering in my mind, I press my hand against my chest, right where it hurts the most.
The house expands with every step I take.
VICTORIA
It's the silence that wakes me up. Pulsing, heavy silence that bruises every inch of me . I keep waiting for his radio to come on, for his cell phone to ring. A footfall. A door opening. A shower to turn on. For his voice. I keep waiting for his voice. For anything, really, just to end this silence. I roll to my stomach and dig my fingers into my pillow. I smother my face but I can still breathe and, with every exhalation, the pain hits me anew.
And it's still so fucking silent.
I squeeze the pillow tighter and arch up, pull my knees to my chest. Tears fall and now I'm drowning. Choking and drowning , and I think it's not such a bad way to go. If it would end this silence, it wouldn't be bad at all.
And suddenly, that's the only thing I can think of.
How to end this silence...
this gaping void...
this widening emptiness...
this black hole nothing can penetrate.
I need to escape .
DEREK
I move to the closed door of the study. My hand is raised, poised to knock, when I hear his voice. The same incredible baritone. The same rhythm. The same round vowels and consonants. William, the man both blessed and cursed with his father's every feature, including his voice, sounds so much like his dad I can almost mistake that he is.
It's like taking a punch in the gut.
“...yes, it's certainly been a while,” I overhear William say, “but I wanted to let you know my father passed away last night.”
A woman in the room
“I think,” she says, her voice low and tinged with desire, “I like this way of studying.”
I press my lips to her neck. “Sternocleidomastoid.” Then her chin. Her nose. “Victoria,” I sigh. I kiss each eyelid. “Victoria.” Finally, her mouth. I kiss her there the longest, and when we finally break apart, Victoria is breathless.
So am I.
She whispers, “You didn't say the names. Of what you were kissing.” She smiles gently. “Didn't you know?”
I shake my head. “I know exactly what I'm kissing.”
Victoria .
DEREK
It's the silence that wakes me up. At my house, I wake to the wheeze and hiss of the trolley as it picks up people on the corner. I wake to street noise and beeping horns. City music. I wake, and my window, which I curse and bless in equal measure, lets in such blinding light that even when I put my pillow over my face I still need to squint.
But this room is devoid of all the familiar sights and sounds. A fresh, stinging pain hits right through me as I wonder if waking up in Victoria's house is always this way, or if it's so quiet because Mr. King is gone. Did he turn on a television the minute he woke up, or was it the radio? Did he have an alarm clock with a beep as grating as mine? Did he and Victoria eat breakfast together and talk about what their day entailed? For that matter, did he like the Four Seasons or the Beach Boys, Paul or John, Panthers or Nittany Lions? I knew him as an all-around, general person: proud, intelligent, and ambitious. Very successful. But I didn't know him as an individual.
And now I never would.
I lean over and place a tender kiss on Victoria's cheek then stand and go to the bathroom. The water is almost unendurably cold as I wash my face. It wakes me up, though. Using the other door, I walk into the hallway.
When I first saw this house, on my third date with Victoria, I thought it looked too imposing, too big, to ever feel homey. Victoria laughed when I told her.
“It only feels big because my father's not home,” she said. I smiled with her, even though I didn't really understand what she meant. But later, when I did finally meet Mr. King, I got it crystal clear. He had a way of dwarfing even the biggest of spaces. As I make my way down the hallway, the remnants of a time not so long ago still lingering in my mind, I press my hand against my chest, right where it hurts the most.
The house expands with every step I take.
VICTORIA
It's the silence that wakes me up. Pulsing, heavy silence that bruises every inch of me . I keep waiting for his radio to come on, for his cell phone to ring. A footfall. A door opening. A shower to turn on. For his voice. I keep waiting for his voice. For anything, really, just to end this silence. I roll to my stomach and dig my fingers into my pillow. I smother my face but I can still breathe and, with every exhalation, the pain hits me anew.
And it's still so fucking silent.
I squeeze the pillow tighter and arch up, pull my knees to my chest. Tears fall and now I'm drowning. Choking and drowning , and I think it's not such a bad way to go. If it would end this silence, it wouldn't be bad at all.
And suddenly, that's the only thing I can think of.
How to end this silence...
this gaping void...
this widening emptiness...
this black hole nothing can penetrate.
I need to escape .
DEREK
I move to the closed door of the study. My hand is raised, poised to knock, when I hear his voice. The same incredible baritone. The same rhythm. The same round vowels and consonants. William, the man both blessed and cursed with his father's every feature, including his voice, sounds so much like his dad I can almost mistake that he is.
It's like taking a punch in the gut.
“...yes, it's certainly been a while,” I overhear William say, “but I wanted to let you know my father passed away last night.”
A woman in the room
Readers choose
Elaine Macko
Nathan Hawke
Doris Grumbach
Vestal McIntyre
Laurie Halse Anderson
Zenina Masters
Kathryn Caskie
Mary Daheim
Karen Lopp