Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I wish she’d come over to me, but I think she needs some space. What I’ve done means she’ll always be safe, but she’ll also never be truly free, and that's one of the most important tenets of her entire life, of her very identity.
I wonder if she knows that I have rules about vengeance and payback and that I will give up my own life before I let anyone I love get hurt, abused, or used.
"I was going to tell you eventually. But I think a part of me knew that you would figure it out before I had to,” she whispers.
"I understand." I do.
Quinn stands and picks up a blanket folded at the bottom of the bed, draping it over her shoulders. She looks so small and vulnerable. I want to gather her up in my arms and hold her. But I don't. I give her the distance she needs.
I knew that telling her the truth about what I did tonight would come at a cost and I am ready to pay it.
She doesn't know all of it, though; she's not even close to knowing all of it. If she reacts this way about what I did tonight…
"I'll tell you my side of the story, but I'm going to keep it brief, and I don't want to talk about details, Adriano. Eden doesn't even know this."
Staring at the wall, she begins. "Sometimes if I don't talk about it, I can pretend that it didn't happen. That the homely girl who was raised by her grandparents, who was dirt poor and made fun of, has nothing to do with the woman I am today."
I want to tell her it has everything to do with the woman she is today, but I don't want her to think I'm making fun of her, or I'm not taking her seriously. It's quite the opposite.
"When I was sixteen years old my grandparents told me about my mom. I didn't really remember her at that point. I did ask about her a couple times, but they told me that she was gone."
Gone. An easy word to misunderstand...
"But when I became old enough to find out information for myself, I did. And that's when I found out that my mother had left me, that she was sixteen years old when she had me. I turned sixteen years old the day I found out that she had me at sixteen. Talk about a mindfuck."
She flicks a look at me then over at the dresser, avoiding my eyes. "I didn't tell my grandparents that I reached out to her. They would've lost their minds. She was dead to them. Their delinquent child with a bastard child born out of wedlock, defying the laws of God. I had no idea she was mentally ill. None."
She fiddles with a tassel on the blanket. "She attempted suicide when I was eighteen. And she almost succeeded."
I don't want her to have to say this part out loud.
"You found her." She nods, and one lone tear rolls down her cheek.
"I tried to do CPR. But I was a kid and I didn't know what I was doing. I called 911 and they came and got her. They saved her life, but she suffered brain damage. She was in a coma for a very long time but finally came out of it. When she did she could no longer talk or walk.”
She’s still alive, but she lives in a residential home some distance from here. Quinn's grandparents saw to that.
"When they found out that I'd been in touch with her, that their daughter tried to commit suicide and I was the one that found her, they kicked me out.”
I'd looked up both of her grandparents, but they were already dead.
"And I've been on the road ever since," she says softly. "Some times have been better than others." She gives me a wan smile. "This is one of the better times, believe it or not."
I give her a wry smile. "I believe it. You're married to me." It looks like some of her self-confidence is rubbing off on me.
Dropping her blanket back on the foot of the bed, Quinn reaches for a small basin and wrings water out of a washcloth, then sits next to me. "Lay your head back, please," she says in a gentle voice, gentler than I've ever heard her use before. I lay my head back, my eyelids heavy from the pain meds they gave me.
"Do you always wear armor?" she asks me quietly, while she runs the cloth over my skin. It stings a little but feels good to be cleaned like this. I didn't expect the fight that I faced, but I was prepared.
If anything, it spurred me on to do what I came to do.
"What do you mean?" My words are a little slurred from the medication.