Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
The world I’ve been living in vanishes before my eyes. The reality sets in.
Everything I did to her plays through my mind in slow motion.
I fell in love with her, but she should hate me for what I've done.
Olivia
I look over at Cheryl hesitantly. I’ve been home for a few days now. But I haven’t left my room much. I haven’t talked to my parents. They keep telling me they’ll be there when I’m ready. But I don’t see how I could ever be ready.
“Just talk to me,” Cheryl says and reaches her hand out to me. I want to tell them all, but I know what they’ll say. I confessed everything to the shrinks at the hospital and they gave me a pill and said I was sick. I’m not sick. I’m heartbroken; there’s a difference.
I don’t need anyone else talking to me about Stockholm syndrome. I’m thinking clearly, and functioning just fine. But I miss him. It hurts me so much to not know if he’s okay.
It’s almost like it never happened. Like I imagined it.
One day I was taken, and two months later I’m dropped off at a hospital. They filed a report even though I told them not to. Doctor-patient confidentiality apparently doesn’t mean shit if my state of mind is unwell.
I didn’t tell the police anything. I don’t want to confide in anyone. I just want Kade back. I rub my chest where the pain is.
“I know they hurt you,” Cheryl says and her voice cracks. She just wants me to talk, I know that. But I can't.
“Please don’t.” I shake my head and stop her right in her tracks. Tears prick my eyes. “Don’t.” I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want her pity. I don’t want to know what they think happened to me. I know what they think, and I know what they’ll say if they ever found out the truth.
“Tell me to do something then. Please.” Cheryl’s voice is full of desperation. “I feel so guilty.” She takes in a ragged breath. “You have no idea. I love you so fucking much, and when you didn’t come home I knew something was wrong.”
Hot tears run down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have let you go there alone.” She doesn’t bother to wipe them away. It was just to an interview. I don't blame her in the least.
I hug her, making the bed bounce slightly. I tighten my arms around her to show her how much I love her. “It’s not your fault. It’s okay.” She holds me back and doesn't let go as a violent sob is ripped from her throat.
“It’s not okay.” She pulls away from me and angrily wipes the tears. “You’re not okay.” I barely make out her words through the sobs.
She struggles to even her breathing. She’s right; I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. I’ve never hurt this much before.
I feel abandoned and alone. Even though I’m surrounded by friends who are here for me. I don’t want them though. I want Kade.
I take in a steadying breath and prepare to answer her, but a sturdy knock at my door stops me.
“Olivia?” My father’s voice is uncertain.
“Yes?” I answer hesitantly.
“There are police officers here to see you.” My blood turns to ice, and my body numbs.
I won’t talk. I don’t want to.
I look down at my body. I’m only in sweats and an old t-shirt. My pajamas basically. I’ve been wearing the same ones for two days now. They’re clean at least. I don’t have a bra on though.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I answer loud enough for him to hear.
Cheryl’s composing herself and wiping her nose with her sleeve as I open the dresser drawer and pull out a bra. Then I open the drawer below it looking for a nicer looking shirt. I turn my back to her to change clothes as quick as I can.
“Are you okay?” Cheryl asks.
I turn, slipping the shirt down and stare at my best friend.
“Are you going to be in trouble? Is that why…?” She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t have to.
“No,” I say and shake my head.
“What can I do to help?” Her wide eyes, glassy with tears, are pleading with me.
I hold my hand out to her. “I could use a friend.” She’s quick to take my hand and she doesn’t let go as I walk through the hall and down the stairs.
My heartbeat seems to slow with each step and finally I’m in my dining room where an officer in uniform is sitting with my parents at the table and another officer is standing behind him.
“Olivia Bell?” the officer asks.
I clear my dry throat and try to answer, but it’s so hard. It feels as though a lump is lodged in it, so I just nod instead.