Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“He is,” I whisper, gazing off into the distance, before coming back to her.
She continues. “I have my doctor coming tonight. I hope that’s okay?”
I roll the plastic bottle between the palms of my hands. “That is perfect. I want to be back as soon as possible, even though Brantley is going to kill me anyway. I might take a nap before then, if that’s okay.” My brain is slow, and I’m not processing things at speeds I usually would.
“Of course,” she says, standing from the sofa and placing her juice on the glass coffee table in front of it. “I’ll show you to the spare room. I arrived a few days ago. I had to prepare all of the scenarios that played through my head prior to asking you this.”
I follow her down the hallway until we reach three doors. One is already open, showing a bathroom, and the other two are closed, I’m guessing bedrooms. She swings open the door and gestures inside.
“There’s the bathroom over there, towels and everything you need, um, hey…”
I turn to face her, placing my bag on the floor inside.
“Thank you. I can’t express how grateful I am for you doing this. I had no idea how I was going—” She gulps, her eyes welling up. “To find out how or what I would do.”
I nibble on my lip, trying to stop myself from asking the question that’s on the tip of my tongue. “What do you think Bishop would say if the baby wasn’t his?”
Her eyes widen, her cheeks flushing red. “He wouldn’t want to raise it.”
I unzip my bag, taking out some Tommy lounge shorts and a tank. “That’s where I think you’re wrong.” I drop down onto the bed, watching her. “I think he loves you enough to accept that child even if it isn’t his.”
“What are you saying?” she asks softly, and I watch as her shoulders sag and her eyelids turn heavy.
“Madison,” I whisper gently, not wanting to upset her.
She’s obviously beautiful, but I can see that the stress has not been kind. Her hair is long and brown, but without the gloss of the blowouts I have seen in so many photos. There are bags under her eyes that show her lack of sleep.
“I’m saying that you should let him choose regardless of the outcome.”
Her eyes snap to mine, before a small smile tugs on the edge of her lips. “Sleep. I will wake you when he gets here.”
“A little before, please. I always need a good twenty minutes after waking to be able to talk.”
She chuckles. “Okay. Deal.”
When she shuts the door behind herself, I quickly dash into the shower and scrub my body of the sticky odor of travel, before brushing my teeth and running a brush through my hair. I’m back in my bedroom, hitting the lights off and drawing the curtains closed, when my phone starts vibrating on the bedside table.
I didn’t leave it behind. I wanted to be able to answer it and communicate with Brantley. This wasn’t me running away, and I didn’t want him to stress about me, not when I know that they’re all trying to figure out the whole drugging dilemma.
I plop down onto the mattress and fight my tired eyes to open the text messages.
12 unread texts
8 missed calls
I sigh, opening the first text message.
Brantley: Where the fuck are you?
Brantley: I got your note. You better be fucking joking.
My note was simple. It said that I would be home on Saturday, ready for the ceremony on Sunday and to not worry.
Brantley: I am going to kill you. I swear to all the gods, Saint. You’re dead.
Bishop: Where are you?
Bishop: You can’t just disappear. I can’t do another one…
That text stops me. Guilt settles inside of my belly, and before I can stop myself, I hit dial on Bishop’s name. Then I hang up. I open a text to Brantley.
Me: I am okay. Be home soon.
I click on Bishop’s name. Me: You don’t ever have to worry about that. I promise it’s important, okay? I’ll be home on Saturday.
My phone slips from my hand as my eyes slowly close.
My lashes flutter against my cheeks. I try to open them, but every time I do, I feel as though they’re being weighed down by heavy cement blocks.
The smell hits me first. Fried flesh, rotten marrow, and dried organs.
A tree.
I shoot up from the bed, my fingers clenched around the sheets while a piercing sound stabs my eardrums. It’s not until Madison crashes through my door with her hands covering her ears that I realize… that sound is me.
I stop screaming, while wrapping my knees against my chest and rocking back and forth.
“Hey!” Madison enters the room farther, closing the door behind her and sitting on the mattress. Her hand comes to mine, squeezing me gently. “It’s okay. It’s a nightmare.”