Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
I wiped my face with my sleeve, picked up the pen, and finished the letter.
Dear Chase,
... I need you to move on. I’m leaving. Don’t look for me, because you won’t find me. Let me go.
Jasmine.
I set the letter on his desk, and hoped he would find it, before going crazy and searching for me. With him sleeping, I would have an hour head start, maybe even more. His guards and he would think I was out jogging. I did a lot of morning runs. I never let his security follow me, which we’d fought over weekly. But still, Chase and his guards gave in, and left me alone for those jogs.
Okay. Now where am I going?
I didn’t have a big plan. There were only two ways that I could hide from Chase. Either I could go to Benny or South End. The latter wasn’t a sure thing, but South End was the only one I felt comfortable with. Chase would never consider my hiding in the hood.
At least, I hoped not.
It took five minutes to tiptoe out of his office and get to the back entrance, where his cleaning staff usually parked and entered each day. By now, savory smoke filled the space as Maylin cooked something marvelous. My stomach growled, yet I pushed on. If I didn’t leave before Chase woke up, then I would never go. He owned my heart. I couldn’t deny him.
If he stood right in front of me and begged me to stay, I would.
I got this. Don’t look back. Walk forward. I’ll figure it out.
At the back door, I paused and held the doorknob.
Is there any other way? Maybe, I don’t have to leave. No. Stop it.
My heart beat fast in my chest, just booming in my head at this crazy pattern. Scenario after scenario flashed through my mind. Every one ended with Chase bloody and sprawled on the ground. Each one ended in tears and heartbreak.
Our love isn’t worth his death.
Maybe I really was a fairytale princess after all. The real ones never ended with some blissful and happy marriage. That was Disney’s altering of the stories. The company wanted to bring joy and make money. In the end, who would want the kids to watch a horror princess story and then race home in tears?
The original fairytales ended badly.
In the older version, Cinderella killed her first stepmother. Her dad actually married the housekeeper who then verbally abused our lovely princess years later. Perhaps, Cinderella deserved it.
The true Sleeping Beauty never woke up from the handsome prince’s kiss. Her kids did it. Instead of lip-to-lip action with a comatose chick, the prince went for it all, had sex with a sleeping princess, and impregnated her. The babies woke her up. I hated that story most of all. How much love could a violating creep provide?
And don’t let me get started on the Little Mermaid. Poor chick never got the man, and so she dove into the sea and disappeared.
I squeezed the knob hard.
Stop stalling. Leave.
I opened the door.
Benny sat on the first step, carving an apple.
What the hell is he doing here?
He wore jeans and a T-shirt. Beside him lay a gun with a silencer at the tip. Amusement wrinkled across his face. It was in the twinkle of his fucking eyes, and the wicked half-smile plastered all over his smug face. Whistling, he continued to carve his apple, sculpting it into some twisted art piece. I studied the blood red fruit between his fingers. The son of a bitch had placed a broken heart in the center. Was it mine? Did he revel in the fact that I hurt? Or was it all for Chase? Did it even matter, in this dark man?
Red peelings scattered on the floor around his feet. He sliced some of the heart away and ate it. “How are you doing, sweet Jasmine?”
“Why are you here?” I quietly shut the door behind me.
“I figured you would need a ride.”
“A ride where?”
He sliced off another inch of fruity flesh, and plopped it in his mouth. “I figured you would need a ride to a place where Chase couldn’t find you.”
“You figured wrong.” I walked past him and down the stairs, hoping he would follow and get as far away from Chase’s home as possible. “I don’t need your help. Go away. You’re getting what you want. I’m leaving him. Now, move the fuck on.”
“You never cursed around me before.”
“I never had to.”
“I don’t like it.”
I stopped on the fourth step and faced him. “I don’t give a fuck.”
What was I thinking? This man, my father, was evil, sick, a killer, and dangerous in every sense of the word.
What was I thinking?
Of Chase,
and all that we’d lost,
and all the things that would never come,
babies that looked like mixtures of us, Chase Stone the third, a tan version of him with green eyes and brown, chubby cheeks, and bouncing curls. Little Vivian, the daughter I would name after my best friend and now sister. Chase would think little Vivian was a perfect angel, whether it was true or not. He would spoil her like he pampered me, and I would be so happy with my life,