Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. I escaped this way from many motels in Scotland. Oftentimes, I had no money to pay for the night, and there was no way in hell I was going to sleep on the streets or in parks where anyone could find and attack me.
After I grew up, I sent those motels cheques, but at the time, jumping from second and third floors were part of my everyday life. I’m a bit out of practice, but I can make it.
The doorknob moves, and I stiffen.
He’s back.
Not that I didn’t suspect he would be, but shit, it’s too soon. I have to do it now.
“Aurora. Open up!” His voice booms from the other side and then a bang sounds at the door from his attempt to shove it open.
My spine snaps upright as if it’s about to break.
It’s now or never.
I grab the end of the rope and just like that, I jump.
My hands and legs wrap around the sheet in a lethal grip as I slowly slip towards the ground. I don’t look down, because that will fill me with fear worse than what’s already whirling inside me.
It takes me longer than I’m used to in my mission to slide down the rope. Part because Jonathan’s freaking mansion is too high and part because it’s been a long time since I last did this.
My palms scream in pain, blood soaks the sheets, and my knees burn as the early morning cold air hits me in my bones.
By the time I reach the end of the sheets, my legs dangling down and my hands gripping it tightly, I know I have no choice but to jump.
It’s a steep one, and my legs will fucking hurt. But if I do it right, I won’t break any bones. Hopefully.
Though a broken bone would be worth it if it means I’ll be out of here.
Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes and let go.
This is it.
I’m free and alive and no one will take those from me.
I’ve fought so, so hard to get here, and if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.
Then, instead of feeling the sharp sting of my legs hitting the ground, I’m enveloped in steel-like arms.
The sense of failure seeps straight under my ribcage and squeezes my heart.
My breathing hitches as I meet Jonathan’s raging grey eyes. “Fascinating, Aurora. Fascinating indeed.”
7
Aurora
For the first time in my life, my escape plan fails before it even starts.
As I stare at the fury emanating off Jonathan’s features, I know, I just know that there’s no way in hell I’ll ever be able to escape.
I’ll end up like Alicia.
Roaming the halls. Hallucinating. Poisoned.
Dead.
A rush of life shoots through my bubbling veins and I push at his chest with my bloodied palms, my limbs flailing about. I’m acting straight out of irrational anger and the need to stay alive. Gone is my logical, strategic side — it was killed when I didn’t hit the ground and fell back into Jonathan’s cage. “Let me go!”
My fight is futile. It’s like he doesn’t feel my fists against his shirt or my scratches against the skin of his collarbone. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for my fit of anger to subside and for me to go slack.
I don’t.
I squirm and wiggle and push and punch. I use every trick under the sun to get away from his merciless grip.
The silent treatment greets me as he walks me back to the house.
No, no…
My energy heightens and I kick my feet in the air in an attempt to make him loosen his hold.
All I get is a harsh squeeze on my outer thigh. Ouch.
We pass the statue of the Virgin Mary carrying the little angel as they both cry, and a scary sense of foreboding goes through me.
A realisation, too.
That statue represented Alicia’s life in the King mansion. She was crying and no one saw her. She suffered and no one helped her.
If anything, her husband and life companion poisoned her. He killed her.
He killed my sister.
Angry tears fill my eyes as I elbow and claw at his side. I know it won’t get me anywhere with his strength, but as long as I can breathe, I’ll fight.
I’m a fighter. A survivor. I’ve come this far, and I won’t allow Jonathan to dictate my end.
It doesn’t matter that my palms keep bleeding. The sting and the burn will eventually go away once I’m out of here.
Margot appears at the entrance, wearing a long nightgown. She must’ve gotten out of bed due to the commotion.
“Help me, Margot! Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
She opens her mouth, then closes it while she watches the scene like it’s out of a freak show. I’m struggling in Jonathan’s hold while his face is stone-cold as if it’s made of fucking granite.