Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
"We use it for clients, but sometimes we need to crash here if we pushed ourselves too hard to drive home," Smith told me, giving me a nod. "I will bring the rest of your things up. Do you want me to grab you anything else? Food? Take-away menus for dinner?"
"I think I will be alright, thanks."
"You're Gunner's case, right?" he asked.
"Yes, The Ghost, or so he is called," I agreed, turning to face him slightly.
"He's earned the title," Smith told me, tone reassuring.
"May I ask your title?"
"The General," he offered right away, not even hesitating.
The General.
I guess that made sense.
He had a certain... ex-military air about him. It was in his posture, his confidence, the way he seemed to be taking everything in at once.
"I know you don't know me from Adam, but trust me, hon, you wouldn't want anyone else handling this for you. He might have the temperament of a dog who hasn't been fed in a week at times, but he knows what he is doing. He will get you safe."
"Thank you. It's good to hear that from someone other than the man who employs him," I admitted, giving him a small smile.
"Gunner earns his paycheck. He'll earn this one for you too," he told me with a nod before going back to the door.
He came back for another two trips, making me feel incredibly guilty for not helping, but knowing I couldn't pick up anything heavy with the stitches.
The whole reason I was paying the astronomical amount of money I was paying them was so they could take care of me, right? I could let myself be taken care of. Just once. Once in my life. Then I could go back to taking care of myself.
The hours stretched long with nothing to do, no way to keep my mind or body busy.
I wasn't someone who lazed about at home.
Not in my very admittedly little free time.
I ran errands. Rearranged my closet. Updated my social media profiles for work. Went out to plays or museums.
But even those were rare.
I worked.
I worked from just about when the sun came up until well after it went down again. That was how I had gotten ahead. That was how I had made my dreams my reality.
But with all that gone, with all this time on my hands, I felt strange. Like I was crawling out of my own skin. Like I wasn't quite normal like everyone else.
Why couldn't I just sit down and binge watch a series?
Or flip through the magazines in my room, even if they were about home improvement. Maybe I'd learn something.
In the end, I dug through my luggage, finding one of my smaller sketch pads, and taking it with me to the couch, sitting and losing myself in work I knew I would never be able to pursue again, feeling the loss as something sharp and throbbing at the same time.
My work might have been taken from me, but the passion, the dream, the creating of sketches? No one could ever take that from me. I would hold onto it. No matter where I ended up, what I ended up doing. I refused to lose all of myself. I could cling to this, let it be a secret part of me.
Secrets.
I wasn't exactly unfamiliar with them.
But this would be a whole new level.
Everything I had ever experienced in my entire life would be something I had to keep to myself. Every joy or frustration. My upbringing - no loss there. My education - something I took a lot of pride in. My business - my everything.
How far would it have to go?
Would I have to play dumb about the places I had seen? The concerts I had been to? The art exhibits that had moved me?
I guess if you were going to start over, you had to do it from scratch.
I would have to try new things, learn new hobbies, find a new job.
Daunting, but necessary.
But there would be quiet moments. Much like this one. Moments when my new world was outside closed and locked doors. Where no one could see me.
In those moments, I could be me again.
For a little while.
And as I tucked myself away in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place, my stitches aching, my head pounding, my soul hurting, that was the only bit of comfort I had left.
THREE
Sloane
The pounding woke me up.
Followed almost immediately by the yell.
"Let's go, duchess; you're burning daylight!"
My heart thudded into overdrive, making my skin instantly feel clammy, my throat tight, my chest compressed.
Sleep hung heavy around my brain, making me shoot up in bed, only remembering my stitches when the pain shot through my core. The room dark, it took me a long moment to remember.
Where I was.
Why I was here.
Who was talking to me.