Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Her eyes are closed still, and she's too deep into the trance she's fallen into. I want to call out, to warn her, but I know she wouldn't hear me. There's nothing to do but brace myself and hope she can handle it.
Her eyes fly open and she stops moving when he leans in and says something that makes her head snap back. She doesn't flip out, nodding and offering an overly bright smile. A group of girls pushes their way past her from behind and she stumbles, but rights herself before she falls against him. My eyes are glued, and I realize I'm holding my breath. Don't you touch her. Don't you dare fucking touch her.
He says something else and she shakes her head, shrugging, and I can taste my relief when she begins moving away toward where I'm waiting. He calls out, but she shakes her head, waving her hands.
And that's when he makes his mistake. That's when his arm shoots out, his hand circling her forearm. He's even smiling. Mr. Nice Guy wanting nothing more than to buy her a drink.
He's not smiling once she pivots on her heel and drives a fist into his chest.
I can't hear him, but it's easy to read his lips. “What the fuck?” He leans down, his head tipped to the side. “What is your fucking problem?”
He's too close. I know it, and that's what gets me moving, seeing the way he leans over her, the way she shrinks back, the way she shoves him with both hands until he stumbles backward so she can flee, her blonde curls bouncing as she fights her way through the crowd and out the front door.
I should follow her, but instead I go to him, taking him by the shoulder and spinning him in place. He doesn't have time to register what's happening before I pull back my fist and drive it into his nose. There are gasps and shouts all around us, all of which we ignore in favor of shoving him to the floor before charging out after her.
I knew it. I knew this was going to happen. Why the hell can't she ever listen to reason? When will it be enough? And she wanted to come here alone?
How am I supposed to help her?
I didn't realize how warm I was until the cool air hit me in the face on emerging into the night. My head swings right and left, but there's no sign of her. She couldn't have gotten far. There are clusters of people around the entrance, vaping, smoking, and laughing. “Did a blond girl run past here?” I ask, but all I get are shrugs.
Fucking useless. Useless like I am. Unable to help her, like I've been all along. Like that night at the hotel, listening as she confirmed all of my suspicions about that bastard she was dating. I always knew he was no good, unworthy of her, bad news. It wasn't anything I could put my finger on; besides, it wasn't my place to voice my opinions. There was always something sly about him, something secretive. He was the sort of person who couldn't be trusted—I knew it instinctively, having grown up with a lot of people I wouldn't have trusted if my life depended on it.
And all I could do was stand there, listen, absorb her agony, and know there was nothing I could do to take it away. It was the same with the hospital, when she was lying there unconscious, trapped in a nightmare I couldn't wake her from—the helplessness, this sense that I had let her down somehow. I'm right back in that place, only I'm no longer sitting by a bedside. I'm searching the street, scanning the area, knowing she couldn't have gotten far in those heels but unable to find her, just the same.
Until I hear a woman crying up ahead in an alley between two darkened buildings. She made it two doors down before she gave up and retreated to the shadows where she could crouch against a brick wall and bury her face in her hands. She reminds me of a beaten puppy, trembling, her high-pitched sobs echoing in the narrow space until they're almost as deafening as the music in the club.
“Tatum.” I lower myself to one knee in front of her, careful not to crowd her too much. “You're alright. You're safe.”
All she does is unleash a fresh burst of anguished sobbing. I feel myself shutting down, pulling away, even turning my face toward the street because I can't stand watching this. Anything but this. I've never been good with tears, but there are only two people who've ever left me feeling this way. Helpless, useless, knowing there's nothing I can do or say to take it away and wanting more than anything to do just that. I'm not angry with her. I'm furious with myself for letting it go this far.