Can't Stop Reading Novels & Stories

Kenna ''Can you give me a hand?'' I ask, putting stacks of books into the empty box in front of me; not wanting to leave the apartment without having them near my side—reading is one of the things that I can never stop doing, no matter how convincing someone might be to stop me.

The words are an anchor I can carry. My room smells like lemon cleaner and old paper. I close the door and turn the lock. The click feels like control. I put my phone on the desk, screen up, traitor black. My textbook lies open from last night, highlighter uncapped, an ambitious yellow line mid-sentence. I sit. I try to read. The words won’t stay still. Lines float. Letters slide. I pick up the phone, set it down, pick it up again. My chest tightens until I tell myself out loud, stop. I plug the phone in, like charging might summon him.

I closed the report. Immediately opened another. Kept reading. Kept working. Kept moving. Because if I stopped, I'd think. And thinking wasn't useful. Not when nothing was ever going to happen between us. Not when she'd eventually find someone else. Not when she'd be better off without me. I opened the next file. Forced my attention back to the screen. Then read the same sentence three times before realizing I hadn't understood a single word.

I again peeked inside the book. "He unclasped the hooks of her bra and---" as I was reading she cut me off. "STOP." she yelled loudly. "Threw it away in the corner of the room making her half naked." I said and smirked at her. "I said stop and give it back." she said annoyingly. "She presses both of her breasts making her moan out loudly." I read amusingly. This time she ran towards me in full force and I ran back inside the room and laughed loudly at her beetroot coloured face. She was reading it shamelessly then what's the problem reading with me. It could increase the intensity of reading.

Read enough to understand the quality of what was happening. The first message she read that stopped her was from a woman she did not know, in a city she had never visited, who had apparently read the entire book between midnight and four in the morning and had written to say: I did not sleep. I could not sleep. Every time I thought I could put it down I found I could not put it down because it felt like putting down the only honest thing I had encountered in years. I have been in that kitchen. I have stood at that counter. I did not know anyone else had been there until this morning.

"You- can you read minds?" "I can't. I can only see your life, especially when you are feeling sad, or afraid or angry. My book would glow and I can choose to watch it or ignore it." "It really does sound like watching a reality TV!"

“…that.” I swallowed. “I don’t know.” “That’s not an answer.” she said. “The problem is that I can’t stop, i said. “I keep telling myself to stay away, and then you walk into a room and it’s over.” She smiled a little. “That doesn’t sound like a problem to me.” “It is when I don’t know how to stop myself,” I said. “Then don’t,” she said simply. “It’s not that easy.” i said.

Murmur against the skin of my neck. Oh, I think I know what that is. I know it's not a specific place, but he said it felt great to be there. I want to be there. "Listen. . . when you get to this point, don't stop, okay?" "Mmhm. . ." I pronounce, in a voice thread. "You just go on, even if you feel you can't do it anymore" I'm feeling just that. I can't take it anymore, the itch I'm feeling is unbearable.

“You don’t understαnd whαt you’re sαying‚ Annα. Just… stop. Pleαse.” I took α step forwαrd‚ my chest tightening αs I spoke. “But I do understαnd. I know it’s wrong. I know I’m not supposed to feel this wαy‚ but I cαn’t‚ Ryαn‚ I cαn’t stop thinking αbout you.” I swαllowed hαrd. “It… it drives me crαzy.” He didn’t speαk. Just stαred αt me like he wαs trying not to heαr α single word. Like eαch one wαs cutting him deeper thαn he wαs willing to show.

he said, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hair. "Stop what?" "Thinking. I can hear your brain working overtime." "Well, I can't help wondering—" He pulled her closer, enough for her warmth to melt the block of ice he carried inside and make him whole again. Whenever he returned from a particularly harrowing assignment, a woman's soothing voice and generous, vital body always helped erase the hopeless misery he never got used to witnessing; the wasted lives, the terror, the shocking evidence of man's inhumanity to man. "Don't wonder, Lara," he said, glad she'd left her shawl at the table, and loving the ivory smoothness of her skin above the top of her strapless dress." Don't ask, stoked h