Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“And what did Gareth say?”
He keeps kissing my fingers, the roughness of his voice warming me along with the heat radiating from his body.
“He told them not to,” Simone replies dryly. “Said he’d do it himself.”
“I knew he loved me.”
“Loves to kill you, more like,” Simone mutters, and I want to high-five her from across the bench.
“They’re one and the same with him,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my fingertips one last time before lowering my hand to my chest.
The absence of his touch leaves my skin cold.
“Is he hurting himself or showing signs to?” he asks, his voice dipping into something darker, quieter.
“Not that I noticed,” Simone replies.
A slight tremor passes through his hand, still buried in my hair. It’s so faint, I wouldn’t have caught it if he weren’t touching me.
“Pay more attention, Simone. Nothing happens to him, clear?”
“Worry about yourself. You look like the walking dead.”
I want to open my eyes and see him. The last image I have of him is the sadness in his eyes and the resolve to die as he offered me his life.
And I hate that image.
It’s not him.
Not my Kayden.
Not that he’s mine. Or anything.
My body stills, as if time itself holds its breath when his lips meet my forehead.
The soft, lingering press is a quiet invasion, tender and almost reverent. His shaky breaths and the gentle careful touch speak louder than words ever could.
His breaths are warm against my skin, ghosting over me in shallow whispers, like the slow exhale of a reality he couldn’t maintain.
That ache returns to my chest, and the weight of what he made me lose hangs between us like forbidden fruit.
“I’m sorry, my little monster.” The deep rumble of his apology slides over my skin, barely touching the air and pressing against my chest.
And then he’s gone.
Taking my heart with him.
Today, I’m going back to the island.
For the pesky thing called school.
I’ve kind of lost interest in that. I’ve lost interest in many things, actually.
I think I underestimated how disruptive the void can be.
How it can deepen and widen and demand vengeance.
I also haven’t been able to stop thinking about when Kayden held my head on his lap and kissed my forehead.
That was five days ago.
I’ve been wondering how many times he came over when I was asleep. And I’ve been beating myself up for not opening my eyes and talking to him.
I should’ve given him a piece of my mind. Asked him if I made him feel sick whenever he touched me, knowing he should’ve killed me.
Cursed him.
Choked him.
Just…looked at him.
Because I’m starting to hate my life without him in it.
And for some reason, I don’t recall how I used to be before he came along. Or don’t want to recall.
The crisp air bites at my face as Mom adjusts the collar of my jacket, her hands trembling slightly. “You should stay with us a little longer,” she insists, her voice soft but resolute. “You’re not completely healed yet.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
My injuries are now hidden beneath Band-Aids, and though the stitches remain, they’ll come out soon enough. And then I’ll be left with scars the shape of fucking Kayden.
“My point still stands.” Mom hugs me and I have to lower myself so she can wrap her arms around my neck. “I love you, darling. You know that, right?”
“I do.” I pat her back. “Love you, too, Mom.”
She steps back, dabbing at her eyes, and Dad instinctively draws her into his side, his strong, silent presence grounding her. She has the kind of beauty that stops people in their tracks, a rare, ethereal kind that I inherited in its male form.
“Take care, Glyn, honey.” Mom hugs Glyn. “I’m going to miss you boys,” she murmurs, embracing Kill next, who, unsurprisingly, refused to leave until I do.
Clingy.
Not sure what type of conversation he had with Dad, but he’s been looking at me weird. As if I’m an entirely different person that he can’t wait to dissect.
Last night, he came into my room while I was going through old pictures I took of Kayden when he wasn’t paying attention. What? I didn’t mean to. I kind of…feel too empty. I just needed to recharge for ten minutes.
It ended up being an hour.
Until Kill interrupted me.
Mom and Glyn were in the kitchen, so without his two favorite people on earth, he probably decided to annoy me.
Kill sits beside me on the bed, his shoulder to mine as he stares at the large window overlooking the garden. “Do you really resemble me more than you resemble Dad?”
“Dad told you?”
“Yeah. But Grandpa hinted at it several years back. He said something like ‘Remember, you always have your brother. You’re more alike than you realize.’ I thought he was trying to build some stupid brotherly shit. I never thought it was because he knows you better than anyone else does.”