Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 79749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
"Let's get something to eat first," Nolan says, standing instead of letting me leave the room alone.
"I'm not—" The growl of my stomach interrupts, betraying the lie I was about to tell.
The thought of eating right now makes my stomach turn, but I also know I'll need my strength for the journey ahead.
We don't go into the kitchen and just throw together a sandwich or something. Nolan pulls out pots and pans and some ground beef from the fridge.
He spends the next hour putting together some enchiladas with rice and beans as sides. As he toils in the kitchen, I feel my frustration and anger grow by leaps and bounds.
Even if I didn't have an alternate plan from theirs, this would still get on my nerves. He just saw a deranged psycho put a gun to our son's head, and he thinks cooking is the best use of his time.
I force myself to eat when he places a plate in front of me, and I'm sure the sour taste burning the back of my throat is from my situation and not his food.
I yawn several times during the meal, trying to make it as believable as possible so that when we're done eating, he won't question my need for a nap. I slept nearly all damn day already, but when I tell him I'm going to go to bed early, he doesn't argue.
I'm livid when he grabs my hand and walks up the stairs with me. I don't need an escort, and I'm at the point where I feel like a child being babysat. It grates on my nerves.
"Aren't you going to go help with Eli?"
His cheek flexes, his jaw tightening.
"They have it under control," he assures me as we step into the bedroom.
I turn to face him, wanting to tell him the truth. I try to convince myself that the help would be better, that Nolan has more skills that could end Damien's terror forever, but I just can't compromise Eli.
"You'll wake me if there are any updates?"
"Of course, Peach," he says, cupping my cheek.
I fight the urge to lean into his touch. I can't get lost in him ever again.
"Thank you," I whisper as I take a step back.
His hand falls to his side, and I kick off the slip-on shoes Zara gave me to use before climbing into the bed.
He stands there, watching me until I pull the blankets up to my shoulder.
I wish life were simpler. If lying down and forgetting actually solved problems, I'd stay here for the rest of my life, but things just don't work that way.
For the longest time, I still feel him in the room with me. I know he's staring down at my form in the bed, probably wondering what he can say to ease my mind, but his silence is telling. It means he knows there's nothing that can be said to make this better. Getting Eli away from Damien is the only thing that would improve this situation. Then there's no telling what kind of psychological damage has been done to him, not just these last few days but in the last two years that he's been away.
I don't know that I trusted Damien to keep him safe, but I figured Eli was better not being at the house where he would witness his mother getting injured or risk being used as a pawn to hurt me.
Now, I have to wonder what he's been through and the lasting effects of that.
Silent tears drip from my eyes, running toward my temple and soaking into the pillowcase. Tears don't help. They rarely ever do, and these tears aren't even cathartic. They fix nothing. They ease nothing inside of me, yet I still can't seem to make them stop.
"I'll bring him home," Nolan whispers, and then a second later, the bedroom door opens and he leaves.
The air in the room feels thinner, almost as if it's too thin for decent breaths. It forces me to sit up, wishing he was still here, although I need him gone to do what I need to do. It's not a good sign how easily I've let myself depend on him and the comfort he provides. It'll be one more thing that I have to work through losing when the dust settles with this situation.
I sit and listen, wondering if he's standing right outside of the door, waiting for me to pull a stunt, but I can't let the fear of that stop me.
I climb out of bed, and go straight to his closet, pulling clothes from hangers and layering them on top of the clothes I'm already wearing. It's freezing outside, and I know I won't make it far with only what Zara provided for me.
I stare down at the row of boots on the small rack tucked into the back of the closet, but they're not optimal at all. They're twice my size and will only slow me down. Remembering the roll of trash bags I found under the sink when looking for a toothbrush earlier, I rush in there and grab two, placing a bag over each foot before putting on more socks. It makes it a tight fit for the slip-on shoes Zara lent me, but it'll have to do.