Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Each area fought for recognition.
My feet pulsed.
My wrist ached.
My ribs screamed.
My face throbbed.
And my head jackhammered.
I lay there, unable to do anything but try to breathe through it, try to fight back the wave of tears that welled up again as the pain just kept coming in endless waves.
A small, wounded animal sound escaped me as I pressed my good hand to my forehead, like pressure might be able to push some of the pain away.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Dav’s voice said, small, soft, close.
My eye slitted open to find him already beside the bed, his eyes squinted small as he looked at me.
“That good, huh?” I asked, sniffling, realizing I’d been crying without realizing it.
“You’ve looked better, pretty girl,” he said, putting something down on the nightstand, then twisting open a bottle of water. “I found some pain meds. The good shit,” he explained.
By ‘found,’ it, I imagined he sent one of his associates or soldiers out to buy some.
“It’s legit,” he added at my silence. “And it’ll help. Don’t be a hero, Cin.”
“I’m not. Give me two,” I demanded, trying to push up, only to fall back with a humiliating cry of pain.
“Let me,” he said, soft, understanding.
He came closer, putting the bottle of water in my good hand, then reaching under my head to tilt it up enough that I wouldn’t choke.
“Open up,” he demanded, then pressed the pills onto my tongue before taking the bottle from me and tipping it against my lips. “More,” he demanded when I only sipped enough to swallow the pills. “Alright,” he said, gently lowering me down, then capping the bottle and placing it on the nightstand.
“What time is it?” I asked, glancing over toward the window, but he had some thick-ass blackout curtains pulled. Likely due to his nocturnal nature, always catching sleep when the sun was up.
“Six in the morning. You haven’t been asleep long,” he told me. “But those pills should get you another couple of deep hours. Got plenty more. Figure maybe not being conscious much today might be a good move.”
“No objections here,” I said, pressing my hand to my head again, trying to breathe through it, reminding myself that in less than an hour, the pills would be kicking in, and I would feel better.
But no amount of assurances were helping me right in that moment. And no amount of ego could keep the whimpers or tears in.
“Oh, baby,” Dav said, voice soft. “It’s going to get better,” he said, and the mattress was depressing from my other side, his body slipping close to me.
His arm lifted, hovering, aware how half my body was wounded, and not wanting to hurt me.
Eventually, he wrapped it around my hips, fingers digging in, his face in my hair. Just… being there.
And as someone who’d never had anyone to be there for me, his willingness to just be there while I suffered, not asking anything of me or trying to feed me hollow reassurances, only made me fucking cry harder.
“Everything hurts,” I admitted, hating how small and weak my voice sounded, but unable to do anything about it.
“I know,” he said, arm tightening, giving me the closest thing to a hug my body would allow. “I know it does.”
Eyes squeezed shut, I found myself oddly confessional. “I almost didn’t make it.”
“You did, though. That’s all that matters. You made it. One thing I know about you, Cin, you’ll claw your way out with your nails and teeth if that’s all you got. Never met anyone as fucking strong as you.”
“Don’t be nice,” I begged, his words only making my eyes leak harder and my lower lip tremble.
I would never say I was someone who needed reassurances. If anything, I’d worked my ass off to never require external validation. But Dav’s words were doing something to me right then. And I both loved and hated it in equal turns.
“Okay,” he said, and I could feel his lips curve up against my hair. “You’re a really fucking terrible pool player. In case anyone hasn’t reminded you of that lately.”
A sound that was an odd mix of a laugh and a cry escaped me at that.
“And you make coffee way too fucking strong. It’s like drinking sludge.”
“Just because you need a pound of sugar in your coffee doesn’t mean mine isn’t good.”
“I got an immediate ulcer the last time I choked down a cup,” he insisted.
“Your weak stomach has nothing to do with me,” I said, realizing that the tears had disappeared, and my lip was dangerously close to curving up.
“Your knife throwing skills also need work,” he said.
“Those are fighting words,” I said, turning my head on the pillow, not realizing just how close he was until I was facing him, our noses practically brushing.
“Fine. Then as soon as you can move without something hurting, we will have a contest,” he said, cocky in his belief that he’d beat me.