Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
By the time we reach the bathroom, it’s not only my legs that are shaking. My entire lower half pulses with pain, and I’m finding it hard to remember to breathe when fighting not to cry takes up so much of my concentration.
None of that is anything compared to what happens after the horror show of peeing with an audience. “You’re doing just great,” she insists. You would think after months of being treated like I’m not human, I’d be grateful for the kind encouragement. But it seems empty right now when I feel anything but great. I feel weak and hurt and crumpled.
And I look even worse. It’s seeing myself in the mirror for the first time that breaks me. At first, I recoil in shock. That can’t be me, the girl whose face is so swollen, the girl with those ugly bruises all over her throat. The finger marks are a hideous tattoo. Like a phantom hand. It can’t be real.
But it is. This is the proof, clear as day, thanks to the lighting mounted above the vanity. A tear rolls down my cheek. I didn’t even know I started to cry.
“All of this will get better.” The grip she has on my arm, and the hand at my waist tighten just a little. “Bruises fade. Swelling goes down. None of the damage was permanent. This will only be a memory.”
Only a memory. Like that’s not bad. I can’t get away from the mirror fast enough. “I need to lie down,” I whisper, keeping my eyes away from my reflection. She helps me back to bed, and I thank her in a weak voice. That little bit of activity exhausted me.
What I want more than anything is the emptiness of sleep. I want to forget. I want to be somewhere, anywhere it doesn’t hurt.
Instead, there’s a soft knock on the door before it opens. I hold my breath, hoping for Quinton, but it’s his mother’s golden head that pokes into the room. “Hi, there,” Ella murmurs. “I wanted to check on you. I heard it’s time for you to get up and move around a little bit.”
“She did just fine,” the nurse announces. I almost want to ask her to stop pretending I’m being heroic since I feel anything but. The words feel empty. But that’s not her fault.
The women exchange the kind of brief, tight smile people wear when they’re uncomfortable but trying their best. The nurse leaves us alone, promising she’ll be back in half an hour with more medicine. After walking to the bathroom and back, the thirty minutes can’t pass fast enough.
Ella, meanwhile, hasn’t moved. She’s so polished and put together, but not in a flashy way. It helps me feel more comfortable around her.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, taking a few slow steps closer to the bed. “You slept through breakfast, you know.”
Yes, and now that she mentions it, my stomach growls like it heard her. I just now notice how hungry I am. “It’s not easy to stay awake for long,” I admit.
“I’m sure. But you do need to rest.” She folds her hands in front of herself, and this time, her smile looks more natural. Less hesitant. “What do you say? I can have lunch brought up for both of us.”
My brows knit together before I can stop them. I’m not used to so much kindness, especially not from this family. “Unless you would rather be alone,” she adds. “I only thought you might like a little company while waiting for your next dose of medication since you’ve spent so much time alone up here, and I’m sure your first time out of bed wasn’t pleasant.”
She doesn’t know it, but that’s exactly what I need now. A little company and a little kindness. “That would be great,” I decide, and for the first time since waking up to a nightmare, I feel a sliver of content.
4
QUINTON
I deeply regret killing Rico the way I did. I let my emotions take over and acted rashly. That won’t happen with Pauli, Matteo’s uncle. When I get to him, I won’t end his life as quickly as I did Rico. I will take my time, make him suffer, and draw out his agony for many, many hours. Only when I get tired of his endless begging and pleading to end his suffering will I finally give him the mercy of death.
I haven’t been able to watch much of the videos Valentine had on his phone, but I force myself to do so in small increments. That’s all I can handle without going on an uncontrollable killing spree.
Hovering my thumb over the play button, I mentally prepare myself for what’s to come. When I press down, the screen comes to life, and the overwhelming feeling of dread and helplessness starts eating its way through my body.