Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
He groans deep and low as he pounds into me over and over again. My body begs me to move, but I’m paralyzed by pleasure. By Mason.
It’s fitting really. I’m held beneath him with a passion I can’t fight. With a love I can’t deny. I can try to fight it, but it’s useless.
He braces himself on his forearms to look down at me, never relenting his powerful thrusts. My arousal leaks between us as he lowers his lips to mine.
The dim waves rise again through me, making my body shiver and the rest of me tense. It’s coming fast and strong and it’s inevitable, I know it is. I hold on to Mason for dear life, letting him take from me and crashing my lips into his.
Mason
She’s broken,
Shattered,
Ruined beyond repair.
The truth has destroyed her,
And left her
Choking on the air.
My mother died of an overdose.
This can’t be a coincidence. It’s all I keep thinking as I remember the syringe. I threw it into the fireplace and watched it burn, the thick plastic slowly melting and the liquid boiling into nothing, leaving only a thin needle in the ashes.
I couldn’t take it to the police. It only took an opioid test to prove what I thought. It was heroin. It’s been two days and I only have one answer to all the questions. The syringe was filled with an opioid and I imagine if the killer had done his job, I would have gone upstairs to find Jules dead of an overdose.
I readjust in my seat in the corner of the bedroom, my laptop on the nightstand I’ve pulled over to the chair. The dim light from the screen provides the only illumination in the dark room. My tumbler of whiskey sits next to it, but I can’t drink. I can’t do anything but read the report of my mother’s death and let the doubt and anxiety wash through me.
For years I blamed my father.
The therapist he sent me to was under the impression she took her own life because all they did was fight and there were concerns about my mother’s sudden erratic behavior. Concerns that wound themselves around whispers of drug use.
I blamed my father because I thought he did it.
He wasn’t home when it happened, but that was nothing new. He was never around on the weekends. I was in my bed, but the house was so cold. The air conditioner was turned down far too low.
I remember thinking it was odd that the heat had been turned off. Our house became an icebox.
The moment I clicked it on, I heard the shower upstairs. Maybe I was waiting for the telltale sound of the heater, but until then I hadn’t realized I could hear the shower.
I remember how I knocked on the bathroom door, but didn’t go in at first. I waited and waited, wondering why she’d be in there so late. Wondering if she was crying again.
I only opened the door an hour later because I’d convinced myself she couldn’t still be in there. Not after so long. The water had to be cold by then.
My parents’ bathroom door wasn’t locked. The knob turned easily and when the door opened and I didn’t see a shadow behind the curtain, I was confused but relieved to discover the water had just been left on. Everything felt so off that night, like something was horribly wrong. I was genuinely relieved.
It wasn’t until I pulled back the curtain that I saw her.
I slam the computer shut, willing the memory to leave me.
The vision of my mother dead, her body at an unnatural angle. The water was freezing, and it’d turned her lips blue. It didn’t stop me from shaking her. From trying to make her wake up.
I screamed and cried out helplessly even though I knew we were alone. There was no one to help. I had to leave her to call the police. I couldn’t though, not for a long time. I was shivering in my wet clothes by the time I ran down the stairs to call the cops. I couldn’t believe she was gone, but she was limp and heavy and so cold.
It didn’t take long for the police to come. Commissioner Haynes was there first.
My father took hours to arrive, though. Hours of sitting on my bed, being questioned over and over until I wasn’t sure anymore what had happened.
I only knew I felt completely alone in the world.
The first thing my father said to me was, “I thought you were staying over at your friend’s this weekend.” No sorrow was evident. No sympathy that I’d found my mother dead in the shower.
His tone carried an accusation even. I remember staring up at him. The police moved around the house, blurring my vision as my father came into focus and the pieces clicked into place.