Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
All my fault.
I take the sides of the tub and push myself up, and water starts splashing when Ava puts up some resistance, fighting to push me back down. I could flick her off me. Get out. Escape.
And then what?
Feeling beaten and so fucking angry with myself, I let her win and rest back in the tub, helping her slide up my body, her face close, her dark eyes scanning mine. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“Please, don’t be.” She kisses me, and I feel like a bastard accepting it.
“When I saw those bruises on your arms, I realized I was in deep, Ava,” I try to explain. “Way too deep.”
“Shhhh.” She crowds me, holding my face, comforting me. “Enough, now.”
I hide my face in her chest, ashamed. “It won’t happen again,” I vow against her wet skin, my eyes clenched shut. “I’ll kill myself before hurting you again.”
“I said enough, Jesse.”
“I love you.”
“I know you do,” she breathes, almost over a sigh. Like she knows as well as I do that my love for her is unhealthy. “I’m sorry too.”
My forehead scrunches as I withdraw from between her boobs. “What have you got to be sorry for?”
“I wish I hadn’t left you.”
Oh Jesus. No. This is not her fault. “Ava, I don’t blame you for walking out on me. I deserved that, and if anything, it will only make me more determined not to drink. Knowing I could lose you is enough of a motivation, trust me.”
“I’ll never walk away from you again. Never.”
How I wish I could have that engraved across my heart. How I wish I could truly depend on those words. “I hope you don’t, because I’d be finished.” My smile is sad. She thinks she understands the gravity of this situation, of my infatuation, of her feelings for me. The truth is, she has no idea.
She gazes so deeply into my eyes, and I’ve no doubt I’m looking at a woman who is in love. And when I look in the mirror, I’m looking at a man who doesn’t deserve it.
She settles on my chest, and the bathroom falls quiet, leaving me too much space to fill with tormenting thoughts and conclusions. Being with this woman, being a better man, was supposed to be my absolution. A path to a better life. If I was scared of losing her before, now I’m terrified. I could forget my past and move forward with Ava at least with the comfort of knowing that I could be the man she needs. The man she deserves. But still always protective, over the top, and wary of threats. That would never change. But now? This sin is unforgivable, and the guilt is eating me up inside.
Why would she ever stay with a man who would be so careless with her heart?
23
The needle rises, another stitch done. Back inside my body, back up again. Repeat. Every breath I take is painful as Alan carefully stitches me up.
“Nooooo,” she shrieks. “Where is he? I hate him!”
The moans start again. A scream. A sob.
“Fuck off. Get away from me. I need Jesse. I love Jesse.”
I close my eyes, attempting to block out the tormenting sounds, as well as the unbearable agony of my guilt. I did this. My abdomen barely hurts. But my heart? It beats. It’s irreparably broken, but it beats just enough to keep me in my miserable existence.
Just enough to hurt.
The door behind me opens, but I remain in my darkness, avoiding whoever has just entered, and especially avoiding Lauren’s father’s eyes. I feel Sarah’s hand slide onto my shoulder and squeeze softly. “I’m okay,” I say for the sake of it. “Where’s John?”
“Damage control.” At that very moment, the unmistakable sound of glass breaking rings through The Manor, and John’s unmistakable low, rumbling curse follows. Sarah’s gone in a flash, and I’m quickly following, halting Alan from sewing me up, the needle and thread hanging from my body as I jog after Sarah.
I skid to a stop when I find John with his massive arms wrapped around Lauren’s body, restraining her. He has a gash on his bald head, blood trickling down his face, and on the floor, a glass vase is shattered. I step back, shocked by the sight of Lauren bucking and kicking in his hold, thrashing her head back, John constantly dodging her attempts to headbutt him. She looks like a wild animal, her teeth bared, her eyes crazy.
Jesus Christ.
And then she sees me and settles, although her breathing is still chaotic. “Jesse,” she whispers, all crazy disappearing and a smile appearing. “You came to save me from this savage.” And she chuckles, turning on a dime and laughing like a mad woman, thrashing her head back suddenly, catching John off guard. His nose explodes on a muttered “Motherfucker” and he loses his hold of Lauren. She swings around and cracks him on the side of his head, then grabs anything in sight, hauling at his body, screaming claims of rape and assault, while John deflects the objects coming at him, his nostrils flaring dangerously.