Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
I struggle for control and try to steady my breath. Mom will drop everything and be here if I ask her to, but I can’t do that. I need to process this all by myself. I need to go over everything I learned in therapy and apply it all over again. “No, no. I … I just need someone to talk to.”
“Okay, honey. I’m here. Talk to me.”
“It’s … it’s Alec. You know, my neighbor.”
“The hot one?”
Despite the heartbreak, this pulls a smile from me. “Yes, him.”
“What did he do to you? Do you need me to call the cops? Dad and I can be there in four hours at the latest.”
“No, Mom. That’s not … that’s not it. I-it’s him.”
“Him?”
“He’s the boy who saved me.” After the revelation leaves my lips, my sobs erupt in another ragged, gut-wrenching burst. Between gasping breaths, I try to speak, but the only thing I manage to get out are deep, shuddering sobs.
“Honey, are you sure?” Mom’s tone is low, and it’s as if she’s struggling to keep her emotions in check.
“Yes.”
“How did you find out?”
“I saw my old hair clip at his place, the one I left in that prison cell.”
Mom’s voice breaks, and that spears me more than anything. “We’re coming over, okay? You’re not alone, honey.”
“Mom, you said Dad has a conference.”
“I don’t care. He’ll want to be there for you too.”
“It’s fine, Mom. I need time to … to deal with my emotions alone first. I won’t do anything, I promise. I’ll just lie in bed and process everything.”
“Honey…”
“Please, Mom? I’ll let you know if I want you to come over. Knowing you’re there, one call away, is more than enough for me right now.”
“I love you, Zara. We love you. You know that, right?”
“I do. I love you too, Mom. You and Dad.”
The call ends, and I lie back on the floor, the carpet fibers rough against my skin. I don’t know where to go from here.
13
ALEC
The door closes behind her, and I can hear my heart breaking into pieces. Every step she takes farther from me cuts deep, leaving behind a raw and gaping wound that I know will take forever to heal … if at all.
I slept last night thinking of all the things I wanted to do with her—live life to the fullest mostly. The last thing I expected to wake up to was her sobbing on the living room floor with Daisy’s hair clip.
Daisy.
My mind still refuses to reconcile the girl I met with the woman I was just with. I’ve always wanted to find her—not to introduce myself or anything but to see if she’s doing well. If she’s thriving. If she’s not haunted by memories of that island with its gothic chateau.
Memories flood me, a torrent of images and emotions crashing into me.
When I met Daisy, I was the only one left in the chateau. My brothers were all shipped to boarding school, but I still had a few weeks before I turned 12. We had our suspicions, but nothing so concrete because as kids, we didn’t know human’s capacity for evil. We just knew our uncle was a monster.
Living with Jackson for years was hard. We only had each other, but it was better than nothing. We suspected something was going on, and Jackson had one rule for us—no wandering around.
Of course, we didn’t listen. We had an island and a massive chateau entirely to ourselves … or that was what we thought.
The first beating we experienced was after we discovered a small cottage by the sea. It had a cot and nothing else. Jackson could have shrugged it off and said it was for one of his men.
But no. He smacked each of us in the face, which only fueled our curiosity.
Eventually, he no longer needed an excuse to hit us. We’d sit there drinking soup loudly, and he’d hurl a ceramic bowl at us. It didn’t take long before it became clear he was not the uncle we thought he was.
I saw them shoving Daisy into a cell because Jackson was busy on the phone and I was bored playing alone. It was my first time seeing the basement, and the horror of what I witnessed never left me. Not even now.
The fact that Zara and Daisy are one and the same makes barbed wires coil in my belly. I was so worried about two parts of my life colliding, but I found out they had always been connected.
What a fucking joke.
Were her and my suffering not enough? Were both the physical and mental scars lacking?
Each time I remember the look on her face, it’s like a hot knife twisting in my gut. Jackson still has power over us, even though he’s probably half the world away. He’s still very much capable of inflicting wounds that cut deeper than any physical pain he’s caused.