Indy Reads Books Novels & Stories

I need to take time. I remember the small room I entered last time. I slowly opened the door and turned on the lampshade. The books on the table were still scattered. I tried to look and read each one of them. These are all interesting books. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a lot more. I tried to find something that might help me, but I found nothing.

Geez Embry, note to self, go back to therapy when this is over, lord knows you need it. ------------------------- I had seated myself in the backroom where Indy had taken me to talk last night, with a cup of hot chocolate which I had made and a book that she had given me. I couldn't even remember the last time I read a book by myself. As she handed me the book I was grateful it wasn't a romance, I doubted I would be able to stomach one of those for a while. Instead it was a crime fiction which was suiting, being the closest I'll ever get to the police.

“I just… wasn’t expecting anyone.” She gave me a small smile and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I usually come in here when I can’t sleep. Reading helps me relax, you know?” I nodded, even though my mind was still spinning from the missing book. “Yeah… I get that.” Cindy walked over to one of the chairs in the corner and sat down, her eyes flicking to the shelves around us. “There’s something calming about being in here at night. Like the books are whispering stories only the moon gets to hear.”