Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Yet.
Finding a paper-wrapped toothbrush in the drawer, I brushed, rinsed, then grabbed the largest gauze in the medical supplies and slapped it over my arm. My blood dripped over the vanity and floor. I didn’t want to bleed over Ily while I tended to her.
I couldn’t exactly do much for her apart from coating her entire body in arnica.
I was familiar with the homeopathic cream, thanks to my mother.
She’d always been jumpy. If I walked into a room without her hearing me, she’d often crash into a cupboard or doorframe as she turned around and noticed me.
I’d hated seeing her hurt because of me.
I’d accepted that every bruise she carried were constant reminders that even though we were family, she acted as if I was her enemy.
And now, Ily is bruised.
Because of you.
The clawing in my chest returned.
The swirling blackness and wretched depression.
While she’d been covered in paint, it’d been hard to see the totality of her bruises.
But now?
Fucking Christ, every inch of her wonderful body was a blazing reminder of what I’d done.
She hates me…
Swallowing hard, I did my best to shut down the slicing pain in my heart.
The abyss pounced all over again.
I sank into the black.
Chapter Eleven
………………………….
Ily
AIRY, BUBBLY, FLOATY…
Uh-oh.
I blinked as my fingers dug into the exquisitely soft bed, clinging tightly as if gravity would let go of me at any moment, and I’d drift around the room like an untethered balloon.
The mental picture of me bouncing off the ceiling and rolling down the curtains made me giggle.
Oh God—
Slamming a hand over my mouth, I tried to stop the rapid rising of inappropriate humour. My arms throbbed where they bent at my elbows, a reminder that bruises covered most of me.
I hadn’t dared look in the foggy mirror to see how bad I looked. Then again, the soft spinning in my head didn’t really care.
The sharp savagery of agony had gone.
Buh-bye…won’t miss you…don’t come again.
Dropping my hand, I sighed into the sugary softness of peace.
I liked this room.
No painting of that demonic goblin murdering a unicorn. No four-poster where Henri almost bound me with his tie. No wall where he’d kissed me and punched me right in the stupid, traitorous heart.
I rubbed my chest, needing to delete that first and worse contusion.
The whole organ was black with pain. The arteries and veins blue from his kiss. Every pump was a reminder of the ache in my soul every time he looked at me.
He scolded me.
The way he yelled at me downstairs…the emptiness in his eyes…the nastiness in his voice.
God—
Okay, so the pain wasn’t completely gone.
The cluster of bullets Kyle had fired where my bullseye used to be, shared their pain directly with the very thing Henri had pulverised.
Even when he’d cut me and commanded me, he’d never spoken to me that way before.
I hope he’s okay…
I frowned.
He was mean, and you’re worried about him?
The room swirled as I nodded.
Krish sometimes used tetchiness in lieu of pain. His anger came from an inability to express whatever feelings consumed him. When words failed him, he sank deep within.
I hope Henri’s not sinking…
My fuzzy eyes locked on the closed bathroom door.
He’s been in there a while.
Maybe I should check.
I flinched.
He’ll just yell at me again…
The urge to curl into a little ball came swiftly, followed by a morbid giggle.
Keep it together, Il.
The fuzz in my head cleared a little.
I sighed.
God, what a mess.
What an awful, agonising mess.
The giggles were back.
I snorted.
I snickered at how absurd everything was. How I was a thing not a someone. How I’d almost died in a cave today.
I helped toss a body over a cliff—
A loud laugh spilled free.
Oh no.
Henri appeared from the bathroom. His left side looked like a scribbly, abstract mess—as if an artist had squirted every pigment of purple and blue onto him, then decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to paint. A few other smudges marked his bare chest, leading my eyes down to the white towel clinging valiantly to his narrow hips. The V of his cut muscles pointed directly to the bulge between his legs.
My stupid heart fluttered.
My greedy body hummed.
He’s so pretty.
Pity about his soul, though…
I scowled.
He’s not ugly inside.
At least…not all of him.
I swooned against the pillows.
He carried Peter all the way home.
He stabbed someone for me.
He protected Mollie and Rachel.
I wanted to hug him.
He’d done all that while bleeding and hurt.
And then, he yelled at me.
I huffed and blew hair out of my eyes.
My gaze landed on his face. On his hollow severe cheeks, clenched jaw, and thick black eyelashes.
It isn’t fair.
He was like a Venus flytrap.
Dressed up with pretty petals but with poison waiting deep within.
I laughed as I pictured myself as a hapless fly, landing on his petals for an innocent sip of nectar, only to be devoured.
Good grief, I thought this stuff wasn’t supposed to make me hallucinate?