Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
It lands on the couch and bounces off, sliding across the floor. I don’t bother checking to see whether it’s broken. I don’t give a fuck.
He’s not a man who issues idle threats. Suppose he’s ready to call me and announce his plan to eliminate Delilah. In that case, it means he’s already got a strong idea of how to get it done—and if he doesn’t, it’s only a matter of time before he puts a plan together. A man like him has limitless resources, both in terms of financing and warm bodies willing to do his bidding.
He’s going to have her killed. Just because he can. And I’m supposed to stand here and take it? Yes, you stupid bastard, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. I have a duty to the entire school, not this single girl who I have already gone too far for.
Fuck this. To hell with guarding against backsliding. I go to the cabinet and break out the whiskey bottle, uncapping it all at once and raising it to my lips. The first gulps race their way down my throat and into my chest, where heat blooms in their wake. My throat burns, but I even welcome that since it means I’m one step closer to oblivion.
She’s a walking corpse. There’s no other way of putting it. Xander’s made up his mind, and there isn’t a person alive able to foil a plan he’s put in motion.
Meanwhile, here I am. Helpless against it. Knowing it’s wrong—and not only because I’ve fucked the girl. That has nothing to do with it. This is entirely wrong. She saved her own life by ending Nathaniel’s. And as for that piece of shit Marcel? He took advantage of her. She’s never had anyone in her life, not a single person she could count on aside from the woman she never knew was her mother. A woman who was likely doing her best with the limited resources allowed her.
It’s no surprise a vulnerable girl in that position would be willing to do just about anything if it meant finally belonging. Little did she know, the family she believed was her solace was really her biggest threat.
I take another long swig, then drag my forearm across my mouth. Dammit. She never had a chance. Why am I the only person who sees it? How am I supposed to protect her when no one wants to hear the truth? Now the warmth in my chest is bitter. White-hot. Murderous.
The world is starting to blur around the edges, but I welcome that. One step closer to having nothing to worry about. Nothing to regret. But I’m still aware enough to know something for sure: I’m not about to have this girl’s death on my conscience. I might not be able to save her from what’s coming, but I can at least give her a fighting chance by warning her.
16
DELILAH
I’m starting to wish I had taken Lauren up on those pills.
I can’t get comfortable to save my life. It’s not the bed’s fault. It’s my brain. All I’ve done for hours is lie one way and another. Arranging the pillows. Adding a blanket and taking it off not long after. Putting a pillow between my knees before changing my mind and hugging it to my chest. Moving from my stomach to my side and then back again.
I’ve done it all, and I’m still awake, no closer to drowsiness than I was before. Which sucks since I have to face my fate in the morning.
The less sleep I get, the more vulnerable I’ll be. No, I don’t think anybody will attack me the first day—that’s not how they operate. I understand enough about the way they think to know they would rather torment me a little first, like a cat playing with a dying mouse before finally putting it out of its misery. That will be me, a dying mouse with so many cats surrounding me. Claws out, batting me back and forth between them.
I guess it’s not surprising that I can’t shut my brain down.
What’s saddest is not having happy memories to think about as a way of relaxing. The few times I was sick as a kid, like really sick, my mother—it’s still so weird, thinking of her that way—would try to lull me to sleep by telling me to think of something happy. Something I was looking forward to, something nice.
I don’t have any of that. What’s a happy memory? What does that even look like anymore? Great. Now I’m annoying myself on top of everything else. I squeeze my eyes shut and force my body to go limp, wiping clean all the thoughts in my mind.
It doesn’t stay clear for long. A face begins to materialize in the darkness. Followed by the sensation of being held and caressed—protected.