Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
I bite back a retort and take another bite. It tastes good, and as the food settles in my belly, my grumpiness begins to abate.
“Damn,” I mutter to myself. “Guess I was a little hangry.”
“A little?” he asks. He leans down and gathers up the empty tray. “Now,” he says, walking to the door. “You take a nap. When you wake up, we’ll continue where we left off.”
Nap? I don’t nap. I do things. Although I don’t say anything, he gives me a look that dares me to defy him and a little part of me wants to, but my ass still stings, and my eyes do feel really heavy.
“Fine,” I say. I lay back on the bed and let the food settle in my belly. I try to clear my mind, but it’s a jumble of thoughts and confusion. I wish I could clear it. My mind begins to wander as he goes about the room and leaves me to rest. I close my eyes, and a memory assaults my mind like a blow.
I’m alone, clutching my abdomen in pain and rocking back and forth. I can’t share my agony with anyone. I hate blood, and there’s so much blood. I flushed the toilet and flushed again, and again, even when the water ran clear, because I needed to know everything was gone.
Everything. It’s all gone.
I feared my parents would find the positive pregnancy test and I made up my mind then and there it was time for me to move out.
The local paper has finally stopped calling me. Rumors are beginning to die down. Sometimes when I go out, little old ladies at the supermarket still whisper behind their fingers, but mostly people have begun to move on.
“Father Noah” is but a distant memory now. He’s turned in his collar and moved on. I told him to. I begged him to. But I can’t bring myself to forgive him for actually doing it.
We were careless. So careless. I never should have let him near me. The second he touched me, my self-control began to wane. But I gave him my heart first. He listened to me. He laughed with me. He cared. And I fell in love.
He wasn’t mine to have, though. And as I stand here and wash my hands over and over again, I know, this is the curse sent to me from above. He wasn’t mine to have and neither was this baby. Both have been ripped painfully from me, tearing my heart into pieces that will never mend.
A knock sounds on the door. “I’ll be right out,” I shout, my voice unnaturally high.
“You’ve been in there a long time,” my mother snaps. She knows something is wrong, and she’ll never forgive me for the scrutiny and scorn I dragged them through.
“I’m almost done,” I say, my voice gaining an edge. I look at myself in the mirror. There are bags under the dark brown eyes rimmed in red. My face is thinner. I’ve lost weight. My hair hangs in crazy waves around my face, unkempt and unruly.
I splash water on my face and make myself stare at my stained hands, then grab my abdomen when another spasm of pain contracts. I hiss out breath, trying to regain my composure.
“Chandra!” Her fist pounds on the door.
“I have my period!” I shout, my shrill tone stopping her. “Leave me alone!”
She says nothing, but I hear her walk away, and a part of me silently begs for her to come back. I want someone to hold me. Someone to tell me I’m not evil, that I didn’t bring this curse down on me.
But there is no one. The only person who ever believed in me is gone.
“Chandra?”
I wake with a start and clutch the blanket to my chest. I blink, trying to remember where I am. God, I so have to get my act together.
“You alright?” He sits beside the bed, his brow drawn in consternation.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep. I was having a bad dream.”
“S’alright,” he says, and he gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “I have good news.”
“Do you?” I sit up and try to mentally shove the weight that settled on my chest off, but it’s leaden and immovable. I’ll have to let it seep off me.
“Yeah,” he says. “The forecast says the snow is over. It’s turning to rain now. Looks like you’ll be able to go home soon.”
My heart sinks, deflated. That isn’t good news at all. It’s terrible news.
“Oh,” I say, looking away.
How can I leave him? I feel like our session’s barely begun and it’s already over.
“I can leave soon?” I ask. I can’t bring myself to say it but only repeat it incredulously. I tear myself away from his stern, tender eyes, his beautiful, powerful body, the hands that can be so harsh yet so tender. There’s an ache in my chest. I don’t want to leave him. I’ve buried a part of me that was complete when I’m with him and now he’s ripping me away again.