Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “No.”
“Did he say anything? Anything at all about what the hell is happening?”
I blow out a long breath, then flop onto the nearest couch, kick off my shoes, and pull my legs up underneath my many layers of silk skirts. “Well, he did mention that there was no way he could help me if the bells rang again.”
Gemna sits down next to me, sniffling. “What? Why not?”
When I meet her eyes, I see the hope die. She has never said anything about my relationship with Finn or Aldo, never asked a single question in all these ten years. But she was going to ask for help tonight. Was going to beg, maybe, for me to find a way to get us out of our obligations using my connections to the Extraction District.
And now she knows that hope was futile.
“He didn’t really elaborate. Just… well, it was a very firm no, Gemmie.” I shrug. There’s nothing more to say.
She grabs for both my hands, holding them in her cold ones, looking me straight in the eyes. “We’re going in, aren’t we? We’re going in and it’s gonna happen soon. There are only three more months, Clara. We could have hours, or days, or weeks. But that’s it. We’re going in.”
“Yep.” It comes out on a long sigh and in a tone of resignation. Matter-of-fact and a little bit lighthearted, actually.
I think this tone surprises Gemna. Shocks her out of her panic too. Because she sucks in a very deep breath and when she lets it out, she is calm and composed. Chin up, eyes direct. Displaying every bit of her eighteen years of etiquette training. “What do we do, Clara?”
I shrug. “Go out like ladies?”
She locks eyes with me and we stay that way for a long second.
Then we both burst out laughing.
We pause, then it bursts forth again. Soon, we are having a full-on fit with tears streaming down our faces. Not tears of distress. Not entirely, anyway. But tears driven on by hysterics and the sudden, abrupt awareness that not only are we out of control, we never had any in the first place.
It’s a manic state. Something that can only end one way.
And so it does.
We hug each other tightly and sob together.
At some point in the early pre-dawn hours I wake up and find myself alone on the couch. When I get up and check the time, I realize it’s only three-thirty. Gemna is gone. I leave my quarters and go up to hers on the tenth floor, just because I need to know where she is. I find her in her bed, her gorgeous dress left in a heap on the floor, her breathing shallow and uneven. Like she’s dreaming.
Or, more likely, having a nightmare. One that involves walking into that black tower at the top of the city.
I go back downstairs and stumble through the darkness as I make my way into my own room, struggling to get the laces undone along the back of my dress. Letting the heavy gown fall to the floor at my feet is a relief until I remember that I left my underwear on the floor of Finn’s new palace, ripped to shreds.
How embarrassing. I’m mortified that I allowed Finn Scott to handle me so roughly. He was pulling my hair at one point. And that slap across my thigh—well, let’s just say I can still feel the sting.
I cover my face with both hands, willing the memory to go away as the moonlight streams through the round window above my bed, chilling my naked body.
But I’m mostly sad about our tryst last night. Because he’s never treated me that way. Our lovemaking has always been careful, and tender, and attentive.
What we did last night had nothing to do with lovemaking.
He was fucking me. The way a man might fuck a whore down-city in the Shipping District.
I want to erase the entire encounter from my mind, but as I slip into bed, I find myself reliving every moment. Every harsh grunt. The slap, the hair pulling, and the way he pushed me down over the back of the couch and kicked my legs open.
Then his fingers…
I let out a long breath, shaking my head and closing my eyes.
Don’t think about it, Clara. Don’t think about it. He wasn’t himself. You weren’t yourself, either. He didn’t mean it. It wasn’t a reflection on you. It was stress, and… fear, and… well. All the emotions.
The last time you trysted it was perfect, and soft, and slow.
Think about that time.
It takes several minutes, but I do manage to wipe our last encounter away and replace it with the other one. I close my eyes, steady my breath, and recite the relaxation mantra that I learned long ago, when I was still a Little Sister.