Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 69536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“I don’t have a suit with me.”
“There’s a gift shop,” Buck says. “We can get you a suit.”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Okay.”
I shrug. “Not a drink either. I think I just want to go to my room.”
“Absolutely.”
What time is it anyway? I grab my phone out of my purse. “It’s only eight o’clock.” I laugh.
“Hey. Whatever you want. Those are my orders. Whatever you want.”
A blanket of warmth coats me. Again, this man makes me feel sheltered. Comforted. Protected.
He leads me to the elevator, and we ascend to the tenth floor. Our rooms are next to each other, and he takes my key card from me and opens the door. He pulls my small carry-on in and sets it by the bed.
“There’s a minibar if you get hungry or thirsty. Help yourself. It’s all taken care of.”
“Thank you.” I notice the door on the side of our wall. “Adjoining rooms?”
“Yes. If you need me, I’m just a wall away.”
I nod. “I’ll be okay.”
“Let me give you my number.”
I grab my phone out of my purse and hand it to him. “Just program it in.”
He does so and hands it back to me. “Anything,” he says, enunciating. “I mean anything, Aspen. You just call. Or pound on the door. Or yell. Whatever.”
Funny. Does he really think I’m going to yell in a hotel room?
“I’ll call you if I need anything,” I promise.
“Be sure you do.” He rakes his gaze over me for a moment.
A moment that makes me extremely uncomfortable.
And…not so uncomfortable.
Bizarre. How can I be having any of these feelings?
It’s because I find him a comfort. That’s all it is.
“I will.”
He nods again, but he doesn’t smile. He simply turns, and I watch him from my doorway as he opens the door next to mine.
He enters his room and closes the door behind him.
I let my door close finally with a soft click, and then I look around the room.
I’m no stranger to hotel rooms.
The memories are so…jumbled. I had to block them out to deal with the trauma, but now, Macy says I’m going to need to access them. I’m going to need to remember all of them if I want to heal fully.
But maybe healing fully is overrated.
Maybe I just need to exist, to get through life, and not remember. Isn’t not remembering a good thing? When what I’ve been through is so…
I cut my memories off.
I head to the bathroom, take a quick piss, and notice the amazing Jacuzzi tub. Lavender bath salts sit in the corner.
When did I last have a bath?
There’s a shower in my apartment in Manhattan—a nice shower, but only a shower. We only had showers on the island in the dorms. And at the retreat center, we also only had showers.
A bath.
I’m not sure I’ve had a bath in twenty years.
Not since my mom used to give me baths.
That ended when I was what… Six? Seven?
Maybe even five?
And that’s the problem. The problem Macy tells me about. When you start blocking out the bad memories, you end up blocking out the good ones as well.
I did have a pretty nice childhood. My parents wanted only me.
I turn the faucet on the tub.
A nice lavender salt bath.
That’s what I’d like.
I sprinkle the salts into the pouring water. Lavender steam wafts over me, and I inhale. It’s fragrant. A lovely scent, but isn’t it supposed to be relaxing?
Relaxation, Macy always says, is more than just a nice smell.
It has to come from within. You don’t have to force it, she says, but you do have to let it happen.
That’s my problem. I’ve never been a person who just lets things happen. On the island, I fought and I fought and I fought, even when it would’ve been easier to give in.
I made it worse for myself a lot of times. They wanted me to give in. They hurt me more the more I fought.
I shed my clothes. They lie in a heap on the tile floor, and I stand in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
I don’t see Aspen.
I see Garnet.
I may not have scars on my face, but they’re all over my body. A diagonal scar slices across my left breast. Right through my areola.
My other breast looks even weirder. I don’t have a nipple. It was…
It was bitten off, resulting some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced.
Reconstructive surgery, Macy told me. The Wolfes will make it happen.
But surgery means more pain.
I don’t want any more pain.
Several stab wounds on my abdomen, and my front didn’t take the worst of it.
Part of me is glad I can’t see my back.
On my back are the whip marks. I was whipped a lot. They tried so hard to whip me into submission. One time, I got infected. Diamond brought in a physician that time, and I begged him to think about the Hippocratic oath he’d taken. To get us all out of there.