Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
But I understood it.
“You’re afraid that her fate awaits you,” Jay spoke my greatest fear out loud.
I flinched. The words themselves, nor the way he’d delivered them, were not meant to hurt, to wound, but they did all the same.
“I know the science,” I said. “So I’m aware that her fate may await me.”
I couldn’t tell Jay what I feared. He already knew too much about me when I knew nothing about him. Fuck, he knew all of this without me having to say a single word.
“There is a scientific possibility that you will manifest her symptoms,” Jay agreed. “But there is also a scientific possibility that you’ll die in a car accident. Be sexually assaulted. Contract some deadly disease.” He moved forward so his hands went around my neck. “Your life is a ticking time bomb, Stella. But you’re a woman who feasts on fear. Don’t let your fear force you to starve yourself. In any way. Don’t disappoint me.”
Though I wasn’t proud of it, hated that I felt a need to impress Jay so much, live to up to his expectations of me, his command helped. In a warped, wicked way.
“I won’t,” I whispered, a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now get your ass into the bathroom. Take a bath. I’ll be there in one hour. Be ready to forget everything expect what I do to you.”
One hour later, I barely remembered my own names, definitely not any of my fears.
Those returned later.
THREE WEEKS LATER
Turning twenty-nine was terrifying for me. Complicated. It was an age I’d dreaded all of my life, and it had nothing to do with negative thoughts on aging, crow’s feet or the ticking of any kind of biological clock.
It was about the genes. About the silent demon that might or might not have being lying dormant in them, waiting to emerge. Of course, pinpointing a singular day to be afraid of made no sense, since my symptoms could very well start before or after my birthday. But having this one day to fear, dread, meant I was able to enjoy my life with only the slightest of shadows hanging over me the other days.
I’d been less of a mess since the night Jay cooked me dinner. I ate more. Got my curves back. Jay distracted me from the darkness hanging over me by casting his shadows over me. Maybe it was the way he’d pushed me to admit my fear out loud, cornering me in a way that forced me to submit to him. And I submitted. I gave him every part of myself. Even the most sacred and precious parts of myself, my fears. Because I loved him.
Yet another thing that helped to distract from the looming birthday, the fact I’d fallen in love with a man who promised me he’d never feel the same way, who had admitted he wasn’t capable of such a thing.
Still, I had not wanted to celebrate my birthday at all. No parties. No dinners. I’d wanted to hide away in the dark until it was over. Until my fate was decided one way or another. Even though I knew the demons would find me whether I celebrated or not. I tried to just be grateful that I wasn’t experiencing any kind of depression, paranoia, hallucinations or hearing any voices, which were all positive signs.
So against my instincts, I’d agreed to let Wren throw a party for me. Because Wren threw it, I knew there weren’t going to be any shadows, any dark corners.
We were having it at her parent’s house in Beverly Hills. There was never a mess to worry about because Wren hired people to take care of the aftermath. And anything broken was quickly replaced. There were no inconveniences when you had that much money.
Plus, Wren’s mother was delighted to have her home as the location of Wren’s parties. There were always celebrities, designers and royalty on the guest list, so it added to her already considerable social cache.
Wren outdid herself with my party.
The entire backyard had been turned in to some kind of fairy wonderland. I’d made the mistake of telling her that I’d been obsessed with fairies and all manner of magical creatures through most of my childhood and teen years. To this day, “Lord of the Rings” was still my favorite trilogy, and I had a large fairy resting on a moon tattooed on my right ribcage.
Wren had decided my twenty ninth year was the year to celebrate my childhood, to say goodbye to the last year of my twenties. So to enter the party, each guest was required to don a pair of fairy wings. Not the cheap ones that I’d ran around in when I was five, no, no. Custom made. By the people that worked with Victoria Secret. The party was for just over one hundred people, each of whom received their own custom-made set of fairy wings. Not to mention all the staff working the party. Those alone probably cost her what I made in a year. But there was no fighting with Wren. Something I’d learned long ago. Her childhood was an array of gifts, expenditures, luxuries. She had grown up under the impression that the way people showed love was through lavish gifts, parties. And she could afford it.