Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I groaned and rubbed my eyes.
How could I tell her that those memories were no longer forgotten thanks to trauma-amnesia protecting me? That they were now brightly lit and centre stage in my head? How could I confess that the longer I stayed here, the more my past knitted with my present and made all this so normal for me?
So fucking normal, which only made my grief so much worse.
Because I didn’t want this normal.
I didn’t want Ily on the floor.
I didn’t want her jumping at my every command.
I might want to rule her, but I wanted her to rule me right back. I wanted her to leash the despicable darkness inside me by being stubborn and brave and wonderfully unafraid.
And then I’d do my best to make her cry—
Ah, Jesus Christ.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I rested my elbows on my knees and looked away.
Had the cufflinks managed to alert my brother yet?
Was he coming, or did I need to throw them farther than just over the wall?
Maybe I should retrieve them and find a way to strap them to the leg of one of the pigeons that roosted on the carved gargoyles outside our bedroom. They could fly above the net of no internet and send an SOS because I couldn’t exist this way much longer.
And I couldn’t die until Ily was safe.
If you’re coming, brother, you need to hurry.
Squeezing my skull, I shook as the urge to crack open my brain and systematically slice out all the pieces of my past became overwhelming.
“Henri…” Ily’s fragile hand landed on my thigh. “Are you…do you have a headache? I can get you something—”
“You’re asking me if I’m unwell?” I dropped my hands and caught her worried stare.
Biting her lip, she pulled her hand back. “Yes, well, you look like death warmed over.”
I flinched at that word.
Was it normal for someone to crave such a thing? To long for death like one longed for a good night’s sleep or a holiday? The peace that would come from being free of this body, this mind, this soul. I just wanted to dissolve into the darkness and be done with it.
A slithery, sinning part of me wrapped around my voice box. I sounded flippant and cruel when every damn molecule begged for help. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
God, what would I give to just talk to her. To blurt it all out there. Probably sob like a pussy as I recounted why I was the way I was and that there was no cure.
I’d hoped she was my cure.
That the moment I understood what the scratchy, searing mess in my heart meant that I’d be miraculously freed from this black-tinged disease.
But no.
I still wanted to hurt her despite my despair.
I still wanted her blood on my tongue regardless of my nightmares from my father doing the same damn thing to countless screaming, sobbing women.
I wasn’t just fucked up.
There wasn’t a word for what I was.
I needed to be exterminated before it was too late.
Reclining against the settee, I sucked in air. I still tasted the toxic terror from the new jewels. Fresh marks glowing on previously un-scarred skin—faces that couldn’t quite believe what’d happened, quickly shutting down to become empty shells.
An image of Ily breaking that way haunted me.
None of the other jewels made eye contact with me. Not even Rachel or Mollie.
Peter dared look at me, but his stare reeked of judgement and something I couldn’t quite decipher.
“You did come for us. You’re going to free us. I know it—”
Fuck!
Pushing that awful echo out of my mind, I leapt to my feet and paced in front of the fireplace.
Ily stayed on the couch, watching.
The tension between us dragged out until it twanged like a screeching violin string.
“Why did you bring me in here, Henri?” she finally asked.
I stopped dead and balled my hands.
My eyes zeroed in on her dry cheek. “You cried.”
Her shoulders swooped back. “And you figured you’d what? Bring me here and see if you could make me cry harder?”
I groaned at the thought. I hardened at the image.
I’d made the choice to bring her to this hellhole.
I wore the crime of my past.
Yet I couldn’t stop the idiotic boy inside me getting on his knees and pleading with her to fix me. To give me her tears so I might find salvation in this storm. To cry for me and scream at me. To kneel for me and curse me.
Fucking hell.
My stomach clenched.
Familiar sourness tainted my tongue.
Was a bathroom close by because the beer turned rancid in my gut.
I hated that the Masters were back.
I despised that Victor had returned, and instead of feeling fear, I actually felt a smidgen of relief. While he lurked around every corner, I had to keep my wits. Had to remember how to act. Had to actually speak instead of giving every word to my useless manuscript. But the real reason was…while he groomed me and pushed me, I could give myself grace because I wasn’t the worst one in the room anymore.