Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
But if I get in a row with him, there’s no way I’ll be able to execute my plan.
So I take a sip of water to douse the burning need to claw his throat. “If it wasn’t rehab, then what was it?”
“A less conventional method.”
“Like tying me up to a bed and forcing me to take medication?”
His eyes narrow and I think I catch a muscle clenching in his jaw, but the change is so fleeting that I barely notice it before he reverts to his normal façade. “Is this another one of your dreams?”
“Daydream.”
“A dream all the same.”
“It felt real.”
“You also said slicing your own throat and watching yourself die in the mirror felt real.”
My hands tremble and I have to drop the bread and knife on the plate, its clink loud in the relative silence. “How…the hell do you know that? No one does.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“You told me.”
“I don’t believe it. There’s no way in hell I’d confide in you.”
“We’ve been married for over two years, Mrs. King. I know more about you than you might think.”
“I’d never ever share something so intimate with you.”
“You’d be surprised.” His jaw tightens again and he sips on the revolting fake champagne, savoring it as if it’s centuries-old French wine.
I can’t bring myself to grab my utensils again for fear that I’ll make a mess.
No one is supposed to have access to that part of me. Even my therapist gets a diluted version of my harrowing hallucinations. Partly because being admitted to a psych ward scares the bejesus out of me.
All of a sudden, I’m hit with a memory of when it all started.
When I was about thirteen years old, I accidentally eavesdropped on my parents in our Cotswolds summer house. I was supposed to be taking a nap with Cecy and Ari, but I couldn’t sleep because of my sister’s obnoxious snoring.
I was on my way to get something to drink when I heard my parents discussing my recent nightmare. I should’ve left and pretended to be oblivious like usual, but my feet remained frozen and I couldn’t leave my position by the door.
“She’s been having them more often lately. I think we need to get her help, Cole,” Mama says, nursing a cup of tea and standing across from Papa at the kitchen island.
Papa has a wretched expression on his face, as if he’s in physical pain. I’ve never seen him like this before, not even when Ari fell and broke her arm after climbing a tree a couple of months ago.
“I was hoping it’s nothing,” he says, looking through the tall French windows at the pond outside. “I was hoping we’d be rid of this pain by now, but that was all a pipe dream. I shouldn’t have procreated.”
“Cole.” Mama abandons her cup of tea and wraps her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Please don’t say that. Ava and Ari are the best things that have happened in my life after you. I refuse to think of our future without them.”
“But can’t you see?” His hand balls in a fist, his knuckles turning white. “It’s because of my vile genes that Ava suffers. She’s scared of sleeping, Silver. I know because she keeps reading or watching lighthearted shows way past her bedtime just to escape what awaits her when she closes her eyes.”
My fingers tremble on the doorframe. I thought I was doing a marvelous job of hiding my frightening sleeping patterns, but it seems that I can never fool Papa, after all.
“That doesn’t mean anything, Cole.” Mama kisses his cheek. “Many teenagers experience an atypical surge of hormones during puberty. It might just be a phase.”
“What if it isn’t? What if, a few years down the road, she turns into…into that woman?”
“Then we’ll deal with it accordingly. Your mother had no support, and part of the reason she did what she did was due to the lack of care from anyone surrounding her. Ava will always have us, right?”
“Absolutely.” My dad turns around and wraps Mama in a tight embrace.
At that moment, two distinct feelings hit me.
One, I know nothing of my paternal grandmother except that she died in an accident.
Two, I’m a burden to my parents.
Even though Ari is the wild one who likes to do everything unconventionally, I’m the one who worries my parents more. The one who makes Papa feel guilty and forces Mama to try to put up a courageous front.
And the worst part is that I have no clue how to stop it.
“Ava?”
I look up at Eli through my blurry vision, my heart galloping so loudly, a buzz ricochets in my ear.
“Why are you crying?” His voice is a strange mixture of softness and anger. A stark contrast that pulls me apart.
He, of all people, can’t know how messed up I truly am. I couldn’t stand his mockery or, worse, his disdain.