Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
She blew out a breath with a shudder and turned the page. The second held a pressed rose, the once red leaves now faded to brown and halfway disintegrated into powder. She traced the thorny stem through the plastic and allowed herself to waddle in disgusting self-pity.
“I’ll always love you,” he’d said, catching her behind the school hall and pressing her back against the rough brick wall. He’d folded her fingers around the stem, the sharp prick of a thorn a reminder that she wasn’t dreaming, and whispered in her ear, “Just you and me, Princess. Forever.”
It was the very first flower he’d given her. The last one was the day of her eighteenth birthday, the day they’d slept together for the first and last time, the day he’d stripped her from her clothes and her defenses to leave her cold, vulnerable, and lonely. It had been the worst year of her life. Shortly after, her mom had committed suicide, and her grieving dad had abandoned her.
Not able to stomach more memories, she slammed the album shut. A puff of dust blew up in the air and made her sneeze. She took another sip of the wine and pulled a face. It tasted like vinegar. The rest she chucked down the sink, watching as what used to be a very good cultivar wasted down the drain. She washed and polished the glass until it shined, put the album back in the dark corner of the closet where it belonged, and crawled into bed.
A short while later, she woke in the dark from a weight on her legs. The neighbor’s cat sometimes climbed through the window and made himself comfortable on top of her covers. The curtains billowed in the breeze, letting a cloud of mist into the room. Shivering, she switched on the nightstand lamp, expecting Mr. Whiskers to be draped over the foot of the bed, but instead a woman sat perched on the edge. Her heart dropped in her ribcage like an ax splitting wood. The woman wore a costume from La Traviata, her face made up as a clown. She started to hum Addio del Passato while swinging her leg to the rhythm, causing the red shoe on her foot to slip from her heel and balance on her toes.
“Mom?” Alice said on a sob.
The woman didn’t answer. Alice tried to shut her eyes but she couldn’t. She lowered her gaze to the carpet, noticing the woman’s other foot was bare. She tried to jump from the bed but the woman sat on her legs, pinning her down.
Alice shot upright in bed, her body covered in sweat. She felt for her glasses on the nightstand. Looking around, she confirmed there was no one. Only the curtains lifted in front of the open window, giving her a view of the mist outside after the rain. She fell back on the pillow with her arm draped over her head. It had been just a dream. When her heartbeat calmed, she went downstairs, made a cup of tea, and tried to go back to sleep after drinking it but only managed to drift off in the early morning hours.
She grunted when her alarm went off at seven. With her nerves shot, she couldn’t face breakfast. After a quick shower, she went through her closet. It didn’t matter what she wore. It wasn’t like she wanted to impress him. Pulling on the first dress her hand fell on, she turned sideways to inspect her image. Her hips were wider and her thighs fuller than in high school. While Ivan had turned into a mouthwatering sculpture, she’d changed into a cupcake. To top it all off, her face was pale today.
A bit of makeup hid the dark circles under her eyes and added color to her cheeks. Even if she had no desire to look pretty, there was no point in giving him the satisfaction of knowing she’d suffered one ounce because of him.
The summer day was gray with rain as she made her way the few blocks to the theater, arriving five minutes before eight. For the rest of the day, writing and compiling press kits kept her busy, but she couldn’t help glancing at the clock on the wall with increasing frequency the closer it got to three o’clock. Several cups of tea hadn’t helped to soothe her nerves.
Tilly swept into her office fifteen minutes before the dreaded meeting.
“Hey, you look like shit. Late night?”
Alice sighed. “Thanks a lot.”
“Come here.” Tilly led her to the adjoining office where she produced a cosmetic bag. “Let’s touch you up.”
“I don’t need a touchup.”
“You’re going to meet a rock star, for heaven’s sake.”
“Tilly,” she growled. “Just let it go.”
Tilly removed Alice’s glasses. “I’ve never seen you look this bad on the job. It’s unprofessional.”