Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Jesus, just let me go to the bathroom.” The timing of my outburst was terrible because the song playing over the speakers had just ended, so my words were like a siren against the backdrop of quiet.
A lot of people turned to look at us.
And Scarlett was one of them.
She stared, and it only took her a second to recognize me, judging by the way her eyes narrowed on my face.
I held her stare, locked in the trance that was too powerful to break.
Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine, and whatever judgment she had for me based on what Theo had said to her was quickly replaced by an undeniable look of concern. She walked toward us, getting a better look at the bruises on my face under the pendant lights that hung over the table.
“Excuse me.” I left the table and Bolton’s grip and headed to the bathroom, hoping that Scarlett would feel mistaken about my identity, hadn’t noticed the bruises, be too busy to pursue me—or simply not care.
The walk to the bathroom seemed to take forever. I had to pass the other diners, cross the lobby where others waited for their tables, and reach the opposite side of the restaurant where the bathrooms were located.
I stepped inside and was relieved by its vacancy. I got to stand at the counter and close my eyes for a moment, to feel a moment of relief after the adrenaline nearly put me in cardiac arrest. I inhaled and exhaled a few times until my breathing returned to normal. Then I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror.
But the sight nearly made me burst into tears.
“What the fuck did I do to deserve this?” Swollen lips. Hints of blue bruising under caked makeup. An old cut in the corner of my mouth. The more substantial damage was hidden under my clothes in places where no one would ever see…except for Bolton when he fucked my lifeless body. They said things always got better in time, but maybe that was a bunch of bullshit because my life had only gotten worse as the years went on. Didn’t think anything worse than losing my mother to cancer and my father to suicide would ever happen, but I’d turned a corner and was met with pure evil.
I turned on the faucet and watched the water run, just to have something to look at, something to focus on. I did it in the house too, focused on a picture and tried to recall when we got it. Counting the number of tiles on the dining room floor. It was the only coping mechanism—to change the subject.
The door opened, and someone joined me.
My hands went under the water, and I began to wash them, my eyes down as I pretended to be a normal person with a normal life. I grabbed a hand towel from the tray and patted my hands dry.
When I looked in the mirror, my eyes locked with hers.
It was Scarlett.
I inhaled a slow breath and let it sit there in my lungs for a while, like cigarette smoke, and then I released it.
She came closer to me, still looking at me in the mirror, seeing the bruising even better because of the bright lights around the mirror. Her eyes traced over my appearance like she was connecting the dots in an activity book.
I waited for the judgment and the harshness, but it never came.
Her hand went to my arm, and she squeezed me gently. “Honey.”
I closed my eyes because there was so much compassion and sincerity in just a single word. I could feel it more than I could hear it, feel it travel from her hand into my body like medicine from an IV bag.
“He won’t let you leave.”
I expected a million questions from her, but she seemed to answer them herself. “No.”
Her hand remained on my arm. “How long has this been going on?”
“Honestly, I’ve lost track of time. Six weeks? Maybe longer. I tried to leave him, and that’s when it started. The more I fought, the worse it got. I’m a prisoner in the house now. I don’t go outside, unless I’m with him.”
“Jesus.” Her hand left my arm. “Why didn’t you tell Theo?”
I was surprised that I could speak without bursting into tears. It was the first time I’d been able to talk to someone who wasn’t connected to Bolton. A normal person with normal feelings and emotions. “I tried, but the words didn’t come out.”
“What do you mean, you tried?”
“He deleted Theo’s number. Had his men tail me. So I pretended to have lunch at his restaurant so I could talk to him, but he was so pissed off at the sight of me. Yelled at me for wanting him back only because it didn’t work out with Bolton. I could barely get a word in edgewise, and by the time I had my chance, I didn’t want his help anymore. He hates me. Wants nothing to do with me. He would only help me out of obligation, not because he wants to, not because he cares. And I didn’t want that.”