Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
When I woke up the next morning I was by myself, hating the fact that I dreamt about him, again. I was in a foul mood, hating life, hating him, and hating that I was still fucking there, and I couldn’t go home.
I was homeless yet again.
And I hated that more than anything.
The fucking dark cloud I carried around for years was back with a vengeance. Just as my life was starting to look up, one bad decision took it all away from me. Ripping away the life I’d work so hard for, finally loving where I was after all that hardship right out of my grasp. I didn’t know what God had up his sleeve for me, all I knew was I wanted to get the fuck out of there. I wanted to go back to living my life in my little bubble.
Most of all I wanted to be able to dance again.
I showered as best as I could, my body hurting even more than it did the night before. Allowing the hot water to soak my sore muscles like I had been doing ever since I was little. But this time, it wouldn’t grant me any peace like it had for years. When the water turned cold, I got out and dried off in the bathroom. Wiping the steam from my hot shower off the mirror with my hand, staring down at the sink not ready to face the woman that would be staring back at me. I needed to inspect the damage Nikolai had inflicted upon my face and body. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and almost gasped when I saw my reflection.
“Oh my God,” I breathed out not recognizing the woman through the glass.
My eyes were bloodshot, hollow, and swollen from spending most of the night crying. Dark, purplish and green bruises circled my left eye, descending to my cheekbone, disappearing into my hairline. Another bruise ascended from my right cheek over to the bridge of my nose. Turning my head side to side, I examined Nikolai’s handy work. Bringing my hand up, gently caressing my fingers over my once flawless skin. Hissing in pain as soon as they made contact. My dry lips were cracking, a sharp cut on my bottom lip making it more painful. My eyes followed my hand as I glided it down toward my chest, ribs, and stomach. Purple, blue, and black bruises covering the entire area.
My gaze never left the mirror as I took in every last inch of my broken body. Scoffing out in disappointment for how I could let this happen to me. Tears threatened in my eyes. I grew up with a predator, I should have seen the signs I should have known better than to let anyone in my life. I ended up dating a man that just waited for the right moment to strike. Leaving me more damaged now than I had ever been before. I quickly wiped away the tears that had escaped from my puffy eyes, wincing from my own touch, again. I grabbed another towel off the warming rack, and wrapped it tightly around my body, unable to look at myself any longer. Taking in my appearance was making me sick.
I opened the door, closing my eyes, welcoming the cool air on my face. Shrieking as soon as I opened my eyes to find him sitting on the corner of my bed. Placing my hand over my ribs, I bowed my head, promptly whimpering in pain.
“Fuck,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
I heard the bed creak, and immediately peered up at him, but I was too late. He was over to me in three strides, getting right in my personal space without me asking him to do so.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, expecting him to back away.
He didn’t. Not even deterred by my outburst. He just bent down, diligently picked me up off the ground as if I weighed nothing, carrying me over toward the bed, setting me down on the soft mattress. I instantly turned my rigid face away from him, not wanting to look into his tantalizing eyes. Pretending with everything I had left in me, that his touch, his kindness, his scent didn’t faze me.
He finally stepped back, but I could still feel his warm breath on my neck. I struggled to release the nervous breath I’d been holding since I opened the bathroom door.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” I asked, breathing through the anxiety threatening to attack me at any second. Hoping he wouldn’t notice, but knowing he noticed everything.
“I refuse to knock on a door I own,” he simply stated, talking to the back of my head.
I rolled my eyes still not looking at him. I fucking refused to give him that satisfaction. “Well, I’m staying here now. Without my consent, and against my will,” I added for good measure. “So knock on the damn door if you want to come in, and I’ll think about letting you in,” I stated, all proud of myself.