Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
It worked for us.
If I had to leave the Barrens, buy some property, there was no way they would keep such distance. I'd be seeing them more.
Where once there may have been complete dread at the idea, all I felt was a sense of interest, wondering what that might be like. To have connections once again.
After so long without.
I didn't have long to consider that, though.
Because in the spare bedroom, there was a sharp intake of breath as the bed springs spoke of sudden movement.
She was awake.
It was time to see how things were going to go.
TWO
Meadow
The blissful, inky blackness pulled violently backward like the bedsheets when I didn't want to get up for school as a kid, the cold washing over my body, inevitably dragging out a grumble from me as my mother told me that was what I got for not getting up on the first call.
One second, I was enveloped in this world of blankness, of numbness, of blissful oblivion.
The next, I was alarmingly awake, aware.
The pain hit me first, a solid wall of it, undeniable, overwhelming. My face throbbed, my hands and feet burned, and my stomach. I wasn't even sure how to describe the pain in my stomach. Burning and aching and searing and oddly... tight. All at once.
Other things nagged at me too. I felt dry. Like from marrow to outer layer of skin dry. There was no moisture in my eyes, my mouth. I had to rub my lids to create some, had to rub my tongue around my mouth, feeling a pulling sensation in my lip as I did so.
I was cold too. My legs brushed together, a roughness speaking of a lack of shaving. Which struck me as suspicious. I was practically obsessive about shaving my legs. I never went two days put together without taking a razor to them, always wanting that perfect smoothness.
And, what was even more alarming, I didn't remember the passing of days.
Sudden wariness spread its cold fingers through my system, curling around my heart, my belly, my throat.
Pain half-forgotten, I shot upward, hearing the springs of a bed squeak as I moved.
Another red flag.
My bed didn't have springs.
The room came to me in a blur as my head whipped around.
Small.
It was the size of a walk-in closet at best, just barely big enough for the twin sized bed I was situated in. No windows, no clocks, no paint on the white walls. The floor was hardwood, but not like the perfect strips you'd find in most people's homes. Each slat was a different shade, a different length and width. A single thick white and blue braided rug sat at the side of the bed.
The bed itself - wrought iron, likely older than I was - was covered in rough white sheets and a big blue comforter that was pulled up to my collarbones.
My gaze moved downward, finding a door and an Army-like trunk at the foot of the bed.
But that wasn't what made my heart stutter in my chest.
Oh, no.
That was the giant dog on the bed with me - all white save for a black patch around one eye, his head rested on my knee, eyes looking up at me curiously.
I was in a strange bed in a foreign place in more pain than I had ever been in my life before with a dog I didn't know staring up at me.
Seeing my inspection, its tail thumped onto the bed, making a little whimpering noise, like he was somehow trying to explain to me that he was friendly, that he wasn't going to hurt me.
Or, at least, wasn't going to hurt me more than I was already hurt.
But dogs as strong and sturdy and happy as he looked usually had owners.
Who was to say if his owner was going to hurt me? If his owner wasn't the one who had already hurt me.
And maybe his apparent friendliness would disappear if I tried to get out of the bed, get away.
I couldn't claim to have a fear of dogs per se, but I had a healthy trepidation around unfamiliar ones. And, never having had any pets myself, I couldn't claim to know how to read their body language, interpret how they felt about a situation.
I drew in a shaky breath as I slowly pulled myself upward, cringing as the tightening sensation in my belly intensified.
Eyes on the dog whose head was still down, gaze holding mine, I pushed the blankets down, feeling the chill of the room creep in, claw at me with cold fingers as I looked down at what I was wearing.
A men's flannel.
A huge men's flannel.
The owner of it must have been half giant.
Why I was wearing it, I had no idea.
The last thing I remembered putting on was a pair of mustard yellow slacks and a white tee. And nude heels. I'd debated the heels for almost twenty minutes, wondering which pair was going to hurt me the least since I was going to be on my feet at work all day.