Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
The idea of taking care of my men when it’s my choice doesn’t feel icky or make me murderous.
I…like it.
I’m still really fucking bad at it, but I haven’t forgotten they kidnapped me, so…oh well.
Khalil’s face suddenly splits into a grin, revealing the most dazzling smile. “You’re bored, aren’t you?”
“So bored.”
Khalil laughs, and I decide the sound is even better than his morning voice. “Well, you have the right idea. It helps to pick a project to pass the time. The more time-consuming, the better.”
“Like what?”
Khalil frowns at my question, and I’m sure it’s because I look as lost as I feel. “Is there something you’ve wanted to try in your spare time?”
“I didn’t have spare time,” I answer simply.
His frown deepens even more. “Never?”
I shake my head and intend to leave it at that, but somehow end up spilling my guts. “When there weren’t songwriting or recording sessions, there were rehearsals, tours, performances, photoshoots, business meetings, interviews, and appearances. To tell you the embarrassing truth, those three days in the wilds were the closest I’ve ever come to a vacation. So no, I’ve never thought about what I might want to do for myself if I had the time because I haven’t had a single moment that was just for me in a very long time. My uncle was immovably rigid in how I spent my days, and he had no qualms reminding me that if I didn’t stay on top, the world would forget about me. I wasn’t irreplaceable to anyone. And you know what?”
“What?” Khalil inquires quietly. “Tell me. I got you.”
His thumb stroking my cheek does something impossible to the turmoil inside me, something I never expected to ever happen. It chases it away, if only for this moment. I know that everything will be okay if I finally break my silence and that what’s left of my world won’t disappear from under my feet or that my uncle can’t get to me because Khalil won’t let him.
I believe him.
I…trust him.
“It worked. Uncle Mars kept me so isolated that my fans were all I had. I couldn’t let them forget about me, so I did whatever he wanted. I dressed up, I sang the songs, I played the part, and told myself it didn’t matter if I liked me because they loved me.”
And when they stopped, all I had left was my self-loathing.
Khalil searches my gaze, and the jumping muscle in his cheek tells me he’s clenching his teeth—hard. “I know you, Aurelia. You didn’t take your uncle’s shit lying down. What happened when you refused?”
“I know what you’re thinking, Khalil, but he never hurt me. I was always in the public eye, so he couldn’t risk the bruises. Uncle Marston was very good at making me feel incredibly fucking worthless, though. I was no one if I wasn’t Aurelia George, the girl with the golden voice, and he made sure I never forgot it.”
“What. Did. He. Do?”
“Besides the mind games? Uh, let’s see. Sleep deprivation was one of his favorites because it meant he still got his way. Uncle Mars would keep my schedule jam-packed so that I would only get an hour or two of sleep if I was lucky. That would sometimes last for weeks. Extreme diet restriction thanks to some horse-faced bitch who went viral tweeting that I would be prettier if I lost weight. That started a week-long discourse about body image, and yours truly got to be the focal point of both sides of the argument. But hey, the first time Uncle Mars nearly starved me to death, I lost thirty pounds, and everyone congratulated me on this newer, smaller me.”
And whenever I was particularly defiant, or Uncle Mars was particularly cruel, he’d make me overeat just so he could later force his fingers down my throat and barf it all back up. It’s what sparked the rumors of me being bulimic several years ago, thanks to one of my many ex-assistants. I almost got canceled for that, too, so my uncle leaked rumors of a new album in the works to distract them, and it worked.
“He did these things to you…for telling him no?”
“Anything could set him off. If I lost an endorsement or botched an interview or canceled a show because I got the flu…you get the picture.”
“Yeah,” Khalil says tightly. “I get the picture.”
“The diabolical part of it all was that my uncle used singing, the only thing I was allowed to have, to hurt me. He took the one thing that made me whole and used it to break me.”
“He didn’t break you,” Khalil denies with absolute certainty.
“No? I seem pretty fucking messed up to me.”
“No matter what we threw at you, there hasn’t been a single moment when you haven’t pushed back. No, baby. He didn’t break you, but I won’t tell you the scars aren’t there.”