Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
As if my life could get any more absurd. He stands there as if he is the hero, saving me from the bad guy. It’s so comical, I almost laugh. Then I realize something even more ludicrous is the fact that I am relieved Nix is here. But that's only because Nix is still the lesser evil.
“With you here?” All he does is stare at me. I can’t see him very well in the dark, but I get the feeling he doesn’t appreciate the question. And now I’m afraid of what will happen if I challenge him. Just because he’s not his father doesn’t mean I’m with a friend right now.
I set the bookend down on my desk, then go back to bed like he said. I don’t even know whether I should thank him since I don’t know if what’s happening now is any better than what would have happened had James broken the door down. It’s not like Nix has ever held himself back from doing whatever he feels like doing to me.
And when he climbs into bed, I let out a moan of pure despair that even pressing my face to the pillow can’t muffle. “Relax,” he whispers. He settles in with a good foot or two of space between us, his body on top of the blanket I’m lying underneath.
I wait, my back to him, fear freezing my muscles. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move an inch, either. Is this all he wants? To lie here next to me?
He’s not trying to protect me, is he?
I push that thought away all at once because it’s dangerous, not to mention pathetic. He’s done absolutely nothing to protect me through all of this. He’s never even raised the slightest objection to his father’s demands. He’s getting just as much out of this as James is.
Though he did try to comfort me when he told me his father didn’t have a key. Or was he only giving me the facts? I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m too tired, too beaten down, and confused.
Somehow, while I know the danger isn’t over for good, I feel a little safer knowing he’s beside me. It’s enough that I’m able to close my eyes and drift back to sleep.
It’s still dark. I’m alone again.
The instant I register Nix’s absence, I jump out of bed and run for the door to test the knob. Relief loosens me, and I slump against the door when I find it locked. I never thought I’d be this relieved to know I can’t get out of the room. But now I know there’s a danger out there much worse than either Nix or Colt, or even both of them put together.
It’s barely five o’clock. The sun won’t rise for at least another hour. I should try to go back to sleep, but something tells me it would be a waste of time. Too much adrenaline is pumping through my veins.
That’s a shame, too, since sleep is pretty much the only time I get a reprieve from this.
It’s funny how I immediately look at my laptop when I wonder what I’m supposed to do with my time. It’s not like I can get online.
No, but I can still do something. I don’t know what puts the idea in my head or why my brain latches onto it so suddenly, but I find myself opening the machine and sitting down at my desk. I pull up a blank document, and the cursor blinks at me.
It all started at a party shortly after I moved in, I type. The words come slowly like even my fingers dread the idea of going back through everything that happened. I didn’t want to go to the party, but I didn’t have a choice. While there, Nix and Colt forced me into performing oral sex on Nix while Colt touched me. They recorded it. The video is saved on Colt’s computer.
I typed it, and I’m still alive. The shame didn’t kill me. It didn’t consume me. I’m still here.
The night of my mother’s wedding rehearsal dinner, I continue, I took a painkiller before making the mistake of drinking champagne. I could kick myself for being so stupid. Nix and Colt brought me home. While I was under the influence of these two substances mixed together, Colt had sex with me. He made an audio recording of the encounter and played it for me the following day when I confronted him. The audio was stored in his phone.
It gets easier the more I type. Even describing what’s going on with James isn’t so difficult anymore. Tears occasionally blur my vision, but I wipe them away, more irritated by the distraction than anything else. I have work to do here.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with it or if I’ll do anything at all. I only know somehow I feel better for having typed it all out. Safer, too. As far as I know, nobody has access to my machine yet—and I hope none of them will. Colt wants to keep a file on his machine? I can keep files on mine, too.