Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Yeah, Dad, you did that too.
All the hurts, both inside and out, are from you.
Always you.
He’s too close—too heavy—too much. His soft kisses are just as abusive as his cruel backhanded smacks. I don’t want them. I don’t like the breathiness of them or the quantity. Anytime it gets to this point, I want to crawl into a hole and die. Horrible flashes of other times, worse than this, steal my breath and have bile creeping up my throat.
It never gets easier.
I can’t do this.
Everything feels worse right now. Maybe because I’ve had a sample of normalcy recently with Ford, every harsh reminder of my reality is a brutal stab to the chest.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
Go away. Go see her.
Thoughts of Mom are always an escape. My memories of her are such happy ones and easy to snatch up when I can’t take this stupid life a second longer. Since I’m too overwhelmed by this moment, I slip to a happier time. Me and Mom sipping hot cocoa while we fuss over poinsettias to decorate the house with for a family Christmas party. It smells like cinnamon and apples, the pies in the oven a delicious aroma that makes my mouth water. Oh, it’s snowing outside. How beautiful—
A shrill ringing shreds my happy memory, thrusting me into the now. The cold, hard present that reeks of my father’s cologne. His mouth leaves my neck and he rolls away to grab the phone. Based on the sharp, angry words, something happened with work. He starts yelling at Gareth.
I’m awake.
Here.
Shaking so hard my teeth are chattering. I right my shirt and run out of the bed. Tripping over my own feet, I nearly faceplant. Dad ignores me, too busy barking out orders to Gareth, which is fine by me.
I can escape.
The rush to my bedroom is a disgusted blur. I lock my bedroom door behind me and then strip out of my clothes. The scalding water burning my flesh does nothing to erase the lips and roaming touches that don’t belong on my body. I scrub and scrub and scrub until my skin feels like it’s on fire.
I’m reminded of a time, years ago, where I curled up on the floor of this very shower in such severe pain I thought I was going to die. I’d watched blood color the water and slip down the drain wondering if I could disappear so easily. I don’t remember much about that day aside from Sandra scolding me for nearly freezing to death from staying under the icy spray for so long.
When the water grows cold, I shut it off, wrap up in a warm towel. I can’t shake the oily feeling and continue to tremble almost violently. Other times, I do my best to block it out and think of something else, but my efforts aren’t working this time.
What happened?
Am I broken?
I thought I was strong to endure such horrors, yet here I am losing my shit.
Because I deserve more than this. Being with Ford, I’ve begun to feel not only desired and wanted, but truly cared for. He’s what’s different.
God, I need Ford.
Scrambling from the bathroom, I locate my phone and then go to my dark closet. I crawl to the very back, sitting on some shoes and pressing my back against the wall. I dial his number and try to keep my teeth from chattering.
“Hey,” Ford greets, his voice warm and happy.
The strength I’d been harnessing melts away and I cling to his voice. I need him to hold me up. I’m so tired of holding myself up. I can’t do it anymore.
Tears burst out of me, an ugly sound of despair clawing out of my throat. No words come out. All I can hear are his reassuring words over and over again. I know he’s asking me questions, but I can’t answer them. His voice is enough. I just need his voice.
Until…
“I’m coming over. Give me fifteen minutes or so.”
I sniffle and pop open my eyes. “Y-You’re coming over?”
“You’re upset,” he growls. “I need to make sure you’re okay.”
Selfishly and probably stupidly, I choke out, “Hurry.”
Relief floods through me, though this probably isn’t the best idea. I don’t care. In this moment, I care about one thing. Ford. I need him to hold me and make me feel like I have someone besides a little kid on my side.
Someone strong.
Someone who cares.
Someone like Ford.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Scout
She’s so happy.
Smiling and carefree.
I would smile too if I conned the richest man in New York to put a ring on my finger and put babies in me.
What does Ash have to worry about these days?
Certainly not me.
I’m no longer a threat in her world. Winston made sure of that. My fucked-up knees remind me daily.
She’s safe.
Except now. Not right now. She’s leaving their condo in the city, alone, heading to the baby shower Bryant told me about.