Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
It felt like I’d been sullied. Marked, stained, and contaminated. An allergic reaction if I’d ever felt one.
My windpipe narrowed. I couldn’t breathe. It still felt like she was touching me.
I needed to get her off, get her off, get her off.
And finally—goddamn fucking finally—Eileen vanished out the open double doors.
Just in time to miss her future husband collapsing onto the hardwood planks.
Weak, useless, and pathetic.
I didn’t have time to dwell on how unsuited for civilization the broken shell of my body was.
The minute Eileen disappeared, I raced to the teapot and showered my hand with its hot liquid.
When it ran out, I hustled in the direction of the nearest bathroom.
Natalie caught me halfway through my journey, a batch of documents in her hands. “Oh, hey. Mr. Costa and Mr. von Bismarck were wondering if—”
I sidestepped her, barking out behind me, “The answer is no.”
The bathroom door burst open in my rush, flinging against the wall. The crystal handle attached to the interior shattered all over the tiles.
I kicked the door shut and stepped on spiky glass shards with my bare feet, barreling to the sink.
Blood pooled at my heels. The pain didn’t even register.
I just needed to get her the hell off me.
I flipped the faucet to extra hot, thrust my hand into the pouring stream, and tipped my head back, groaning.
The water came out fire-hot, lashing my flesh, stinging every inch like electric wires. I closed my eyes, practicing deep breaths.
The “good” thumb—the one that hadn’t been contaminated by Eileen’s touch—rubbed soothing circles over my infected skin.
Images of dead, rotting flesh plastered against me assaulted my brain.
Blood.
Skin burned down to the muscle.
“Just wait, Zachary, we’re coming to get you.”
“Shit, Stan, that kid’s gonna be fucked up. No way is he coming back normal from this.”
“If that were me, I’d want to die, too.”
I slapped the faucet handle with my quivering free hand, trying to get it hotter, but it had already maxed out.
The water hissed as it scorched my skin beneath it clean to the bone. I didn’t withdraw. Couldn’t.
Not when I needed to rid myself of her touch.
No matter the price.
The door behind me jiggled, shaking on its hinges.
“G.I. Jerk, are you okay? I saw you running.”
Of course, it was her.
I couldn’t catch a break.
Another rattle. “Hey, is this thing jammed?”
“Go away,” I growled.
But she didn’t.
She wouldn’t.
She never followed instructions.
“What the…?” Her voice came from behind me, but I was too deep inside my trance to figure out how she’d managed to get inside despite the broken doorknob. “Jesus. Zach.”
The water shut off.
I still had my eyes screwed shut, my jaw rock-hard to prevent the bile lodged in my throat from projecting all over the marble.
It scorched my larynx with its sourness.
“Holy shit, dude. Your skin is pink.”
Farrow.
She was here. Inside. Right beside me.
My eyes shot open.
She came into focus like a restored painting, familiar yet new. Blue eyes flared. Full mouth opened.
Why did her stained maid uniform look more delectable than a Burberry dress suit?
Seriously. When did Farrow Ballantine start to look so breathtakingly beautiful to me?
Even now, with her hair tied up in a messy bun and her crooked wavy bangs glued to her forehead with sweat.
“How did you get here?” I snarled, shaking away these useless thoughts. “The doorknob shattered.”
“The outer lock is still intact.” She raised a bobby pin between us before tossing it into the sink. I recognized the moment she processed my current state of duress. She slapped a hand over her mouth, pupils running wild in their sockets. “What the fuck, Zach? Look at you.”
Farrow surveyed our surroundings, grabbed a decorative vase, and used it to guide me away from the sink, herding me like a shepherd.
She knows I don’t do touching.
She figured it out.
The idea that she knew my darkest, most depraved secret—and respected it—made my stomach twist into thick knots.
It was so typical of life to thrust me into such a cruel situation—just to teach me an even crueler lesson.
Salvation came from the most unexpected places. Sometimes it came from religion. Sometimes it came from forgiveness. And sometimes it came from the girl you finally realized you didn’t actually hate.
Farrow backed me all the way into the opposite wall of the bathroom. “Your skin is raw. It’s gonna blister. You have, like, third-degree burns. It’s all gonna come off if we don’t treat you.”
She returned to the faucet and flicked it on, setting the water temperature to cool but not cold.
While she waited for the temperature to change, she started tossing open cabinets, searching for something.
“Upper cabinet to your left.” I slid my back down the wall, sitting on the floor and clutching my wrist. “What kind of idiot keeps their first aid kit on the lower level?”
“Maybe the same one who voluntarily gave himself a third-degree burn because he doesn’t like being touched but doesn’t have the balls to own up to it,” she snapped, popping a red-and-white box open and rummaging through it.