Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Let me draw this lab work, and I promise we’ll transport her to the hospital. It’s important that I do this first since it will help tailor our position once we get there.”
“Whatever, Doc. Just do it.
He hums a noise low in his throat and quickly grabs some supplies from a nearby set of drawers. I’m not sure how my blood can help, but I’d give up anything to ensure I don’t lose her.
“You’re her best chance for hope. You know that, right?”
I glance up at him. There’s something in his tone I can’t place through the adrenaline and the fear still coursing through me. All I can think is that I can’t lose her.
I can’t. If I lose her, there is no saying how far off the rails I’ll fall. There might not be anything good left for Bel. There might not be anything left for anyone.
4
BEL
Another glorious day soaking in the despair of my trauma.
Different day, same shit.
I stare at the ceiling, wondering how much longer I can sit here, drowning myself in expensive wine. This isn’t me. I know that. But I’m lost. I let out an obnoxious sigh. If I spend another day in this bed, the staff will start making the bed around me or over me.
I check the clock on my bedside table. Getting myself out of this rut I’m in will require effort. I’m not ready to let go of her, but allowing myself to be happy and leave this miserable place I’ve put myself in makes me sick to my stomach. Your life has to go on, Bel, my mom’s voice reminds me. Don’t let this end you.
I decide to think about something else, anything else. I guess I can make it down for breakfast with Seb if he didn't stay at The Mill last night. The reminder of The Mill leads my thoughts to another person who I’d do better not to even entertain in my thoughts. I can't think about him, or I'll never drag myself out of this bed.
I throw back the covers and sit up, stretching my arms above my head and groaning as I try to work out the stiffness in my back. That’s what you get for lying in bed for a million days. I shove off the bed and cross the room, walking into the closet. The lights turn on as soon as I step over the threshold, and I run my fingers over the numerous articles of clothing. Something in here has to cost less than my old car.
Money or not, I'm not eating breakfast in thousand-dollar sweatpants.
When I find a pair of joggers and a hoodie that still seems suspiciously expensive, I throw them on. After a quick stop in the bathroom for deodorant, I catch my reflection in the mirror. Dark bags are under my eyes, and my once vibrant green eyes look duller now. I’m still me, but something is missing.
I look away from my reflection and pull my long blond hair up into a messy topknot. My fingers graze the tender flesh at the back of my head, and a memory flashes through my mind.
"It’s time for you to leave. You can take the trash out yourself, or I can take you out. You are nothing to me and never were. Nothing more than a warm little hole to sink into every once in a while. Now get up and get the fuck out and let us men do our talking.”
The hole in my chest throbs, pulsing, blood pouring from the place where he ripped my heart out. A physical scar will always remind me of what happened that day, but eventually, that will fade. What will not fade are the memories that Drew left me with. The rage in his eyes, the venom in his words. The pure, unfiltered hate. True or not, the pain he caused me that night will forever linger. I blink back the tears burning at the back of my eyes.
Do not cry for him. He does not deserve your tears.
I take a couple of calming breaths to compose myself. Then I leave the bathroom and walk through my bedroom, heading downstairs. Perhaps I can convince myself that Drew was never a part of my life. Ha. I wish. It would be possible if he would leave me alone, but he’s like an infestation of fleas. And there’s no damn exterminator that could take out Drew Marshall.
On my way downstairs, I take in the sights and sounds of the mansion. Staff bustle around the place like it's a hotel instead of a home. It’s amazing to me that it takes all these people to take care of this place. Then again, I’m not surprised due to the size of it. It’s just a gross display of wealth to hide the rotten truth beneath the surface. Or maybe that’s the grief talking.