Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Resentment takes the place of hunger and makes my stomach clench harder than before. Oh, I believe him. He has sat out there pretty much the whole day, giving me the play-by-play of making himself comfortable, watching videos and TV shows on his tablet, commenting on what he’s watching. Asking me over and over when I’m coming out. Telling me to give him a sign that I’m still alive. I finally threw my hairbrush at the door so he would know I’m in here, alive and breathing. He hasn’t broken me. I still hate him.
He can’t stay out there forever, no matter what he says or threatens or whatever it is he thinks he’s doing. He will eventually have to go to school. The jerk skipped class today, because why give me the chance to leave my room? But he has to go back sooner or later. Until then, I can drink from the bathroom sink. I am not going to die in here.
But I very much feel like I would die if I had to look at him.
It’s almost eight o’clock when he starts his shit again. “I am not leaving this door until you open it,” he calls out. “I’ll sleep out here again tonight. Why are you making this so much harder than it has to be? I know you’re hungry. At least eat something.”
Why, so he can feel better about himself? I know that’s what this is really about. Easing his guilt, which I know he must feel based on what he sounded like when he first got home last night. He deserves it, too. I wish the guilt would kill him. He has violated me in pretty much every way imaginable. There is nothing he could face that would balance the scales at this point.
“For fuck’s sake.” There’s a lot of movement out there before he pounds on the door. “I’m sick of this. I’ve been trying to be nice and give you space, but it’s time to open the door and face reality. You need to eat.”
So he can feel better? No, thanks.
“I’m going to kick the fucking door in. I’m counting to three.”
My heart lurches, and I clutch the blankets tighter, like they can do anything to protect me. He can’t mean it. He’s bluffing. Paul would have a fit if he came home and my bedroom door was broken.
“I’m serious. Here we go.” Carter’s voice echoes out in the hall. “One… I mean it, Elliana… Two…”
He doesn’t bother saying three. He only kicks the door, which flies open hard enough to rebound off the wall and almost slam shut again.
A scream tears its way out of me before I know what’s happening, and now he isn’t Carter. Now he’s one of Mom’s boyfriends, the nameless men who wandered in and out of our lives over the years. Men whose faces are now a blur, so many years later, but I don’t need to remember their faces to remember the things they did. The screaming, the breaking glass, the threats.
The nights Mom crawled into my bed, squeezing me tight like I could do anything to protect her, while the latest loser in her life tore our home apart. My door got kicked in then, too.
God, I haven’t thought about any of that in so long. It’s always there, in my memory, but it’s not something I want to focus on. But now it comes back in full color, full detail, and I scream again. “Get out! Get out, get out!”
I can’t breathe. The sound of my breathless gasps fills the room. Am I having a heart attack? My chest—it’s excruciating, the pressure, the pain.
“For fuck’s sake!” Carter barks. “I’m not doing anything to you, but making sure you take care of yourself.”
I barely hear him. He needs to go. I can’t breathe. Let’s see if she can float! I thought shit always floats on the surface!
“Hey!” He crosses the room in a few long strides while I scramble away from him, curling up against the headboard with a pillow clutched in front of me. I’m going to faint. My head is spinning.
And he sees it. I know he sees it because he looks horrified. “Breathe. You’re safe. Nobody is hurting you.”
Easy for him to say.
“Take a breath.” His voice is gentler when he sits on the edge of the bed, leaving space between us. “Just breathe, okay? That’s all you have to worry about right now. Take a breath. Nobody is hurting you right now. You’ll be okay.”
Tears trail down my cheek, and I brush them away, frustrated. Why do I have to cry? Like he needs to think I’m any weaker than I already am. Just one more thing to use against me.
Slowly, the tightness in my throat loosens, and the pressure in my chest eases until I can pull in a decent breath without struggling. “There you go. Just take it easy. You’re all right.”