Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
The motion is so sudden and harsh that my whole body jerks. I reach up out of instinct to loosen his grip, but he doesn’t budge.
My air is stolen, and my head swims in chaos as my lungs burn.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
Then just like that, the deathly grip disappears as suddenly as it appeared.
And so does Jeremy’s presence.
It vanishes in a fog of smoke.
It’s been three days since the cottage.
Three days of me questioning if maybe something is wrong with me.
Not only because I enjoyed what happened on the deck a bit too much and fell into every bit of the depravity Jeremy offered, but also because I’ve been on edge since.
After he nearly choked me to death—and I’m sure he did, considering the angry red marks I found around my neck when I woke up—he disappeared.
Back then, I was disoriented, not sure what was real and what was a hallucination. When I was lucid enough, I found myself lying on a sofa in front of that cozy fire in the cottage. A pair of men’s sweatpants and a hoodie were folded on the coffee table. There was also a first aid kit and some painkillers.
But there was no sign of Jeremy.
My chest still hurts thinking about how he disappeared into the night without a word. Not even a note or a text.
And I hate those emotions.
I, of all people, should know that Jeremy and I aren’t supposed to be anything.
It’s not like he was courting me for a relationship or offering me some form of a fairy tale. It was a simple arrangement to satisfy both our needs, and I have no right to feel so hurt about it.
Besides, I don’t even like Jeremy.
Behind the beautiful façade lurks a devil with a taste for blood.
Literally.
The cut on my nipple has been healing, but the one on my neck is still purple and angry, and I have to wear turtleneck tops to hide it.
The fact remains, I’ve now satisfied my curiosity and we can both move on with our lives, right?
Wrong.
I can’t help feeling that something went awry in the whole situation. Why would he have wiped me clean, massaged my sore pussy, and touched me so tenderly just so he’d nearly choke me to death after?
Because he’s dangerous and you should stay away from him, is what my mind has been telling me.
But here’s the thing—Jeremy isn’t impulsive. I know he plots things to a fault, has a methodical character, and wouldn’t have turned murderous on me just because it was on the spur of the moment.
So it doesn’t make sense for him to do that out of the blue. Especially after the way he spoke to me, provoked my darkest parts, and said he wasn’t done with me.
That one was a blatant lie.
The day after, I pretended nothing happened.
The second day, I went through his Instagram, developing unhealthy habits.
The third day, I sent him a text.
Did you take one of my mangas when you came into my room?
It was an excuse, and yes, he did take one from my boys’ love collection, and I was too embarrassed to ask for it back in the beginning.
Embarrassment was the last thing I could think of the last couple of days, though, which is why I sent that text.
Jeremy ignored me.
And I refuse to put a name on the feeling that flooded my system afterward.
Turns out, he was actually done with me, and now, I should get over it and move on.
I tuck a drunk Ava into bed after listening to her mumble everything and nothing, and once I’m sure she’s asleep, I leave and close her door. Then I cover Glyn with a blanket since she’s fallen asleep in the living room sofa. I go to check on Annika, but I recall that she’s spending the night at her brother’s mansion.
The dull ache from earlier comes back at the mere thought of him, but I ignore it and slip into my room.
I don’t want to sleep. The thought of black invisible hands, a heavy weight on my chest, and gruesome nightmares has made me terrified of closing my eyes.
Instead, I opt to study.
After fifteen minutes, I’m zoning out. This occurrence has been so frequent that it’s starting to worry me.
Lately, sleep paralysis and zoning out have become the bane of my existence. They’ve always been there, but I could cope, pretend they weren’t affecting my life.
Not anymore.
The other day, Ava said she was worried about me. Glyn, too. But I managed to wave them off.
I gently tap my cheeks and focus back on my book.
My phone vibrates on the table and I snatch it, my heart thundering back to life.
God, why am I like this?
Why do I have to have this reaction every time anyone texts me?
The name that shows on the screen isn’t the one I was waiting for, though. My shoulders hunch as I open the message.