Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“I’ll never be happy here,” I say.
“Then I’ll lend you some of mine. You can borrow my happiness anytime you’d like.”
“And are you really happy, Ember? Truly?”
“Not all the time,” she admits as she wraps her arms around her tiny frame. “But I hope that I will always be someday. I’m hopeful. And hope gives me some happiness. Sunshine is within reach.”
“Then give me some hope,” I say. “I need this sunshine because the darkness is pretty fucking thick right now. Tell me you’ll at least consider helping me escape if there comes an opportunity. Tell me you will at least consider it. Give me hope.”
“I don’t know that I can do that.”
Pressing on, I say, “I promise you, Ember. I promise if you help me out of here, I won’t leave you behind. I won’t abandon you no matter what. I’ll take care of you, I’ll keep you safe, and you’ll never be left alone. If you can make a promise, then so can I.”
“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she admits softly.
“You won’t be.”
She remains quiet but then finally nods. “If there comes a time I can help you, I will. I promise.”
And just like that, there is a small spark of light in the dark cave of misery I have thrust myself in. Ember is right. Hope does give some happiness. She at least lends me a small grain of sand of hope, and that little bit allows me to breathe again.
“But I know my father,” she adds. “He plans everything out. He doesn’t make mistakes. And he’s determined…” Glancing up and out the window at the falling snow, she moves a piece of her golden hair from her face. Her profile is quite striking in a raw and natural way. “I’m sorry, Christopher. I wish I were stronger. I often wish this, and if I could…” She turns to stare at me, her wide blue eyes are glassed over in pain. “I wish I could save you.”
“Come over here,” I say as I watch how she shivers beneath the thin fabric she wears. “Come sit by me in the blankets. I can see you’re cold.”
“That’s your bed,” she says, but I can see she’s eyeing the blankets.
“It’s going to be our bed for the time being.” I pat the pile of faded wool blankets and settle in to make room. “It’s cold in here, and it’s only going to get colder.”
“My cat might follow me,” she says as she hops off the crate. “If that’s okay.”
“I think we’ll need all the heat we can get.” I glance at the window and see the snow isn’t letting up in the slightest. “Your father doesn’t care that you could freeze down here?”
“Penance,” she says more to herself than me.
I can see she’s uncomfortable approaching me. “I don’t bite. Come on, let’s get warm.”
I adjust the blankets so we have one to sit on, one to wrap around our bodies and then use the third one for our laps while we remain sitting. When we sleep, we’ll have to make do with piling two blankets on us and hope it’s enough to get us through the night.
Ember kneels down beside me, but I can feel her awkward discomfort.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say as I move toward her and wrap a blanket around her, pulling her to my side.
She snuggles up closer to me. “I don’t think you will.”
“Then why do you seem afraid?”
“I think that’s just how I am.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes. In one way or the other. Fear is always knocking on my door I suppose.”
“That’s sad.” I secure the blankets around us and actually find a sense of comfort having her next to me.
Maybe fear is knocking on my door as well.
“I know you pity me. I wish you wouldn’t.” Her voice is soft, not angry, not even sad. Just soft.
“I can’t help it,” I admit honestly. “I see your truth and reality, and I see a nightmare. And what I pity is you can’t see it for yourself. You’re a victim and too blinded by that fear you speak of to know it.”
“Papa Rich loves me.”
“Maybe so. I won’t argue that. Although at the same time, why would a man who loves you lock you up in a cold cellar with a complete stranger chained to the wall? How does he know I won’t harm you in retaliation? How does he know if you’ll be all right? Wouldn’t a father be concerned if his daughter is cold at the very least?”
“He’s a strict man.”
Ember keeps her eyes focused straight ahead, but I’m a little surprised she isn’t trying to pull away or give some space between us. Our bodies are pressed snugly together, and though she is tense, she is remaining close. I don’t want to keep pressing her on her father because I could end up pushing her away, so I decide it’s best to change the subject if possible. Although there is another part of me that still wants to shake some sense into this girl. A violent urge to grab her by the throat and strangle her just to teach Richard a lesson. Just to hurt him as he’s trying to hurt me. To make him pay for his lunacy.