Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72591 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72591 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Tonight is strange since sleep never comes easy to me. I might be able to keep my mind busy during the day, but the nightmares always seem to find me at night. Unable to keep my drooping eyes open a second longer, I succumb to the darkness.
“It’ll be our little secret…” he whispers against the clammy skin on the back of my neck. The weight of his body pushing me into my pink comforter. My heart sinks heavily into my stomach as I go through the motions of curling in on myself. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shut off my emotions and swallow down the pain that’s searing through my body. It always hurts when he does this. It hurts so bad. Tears sting my eyes, but I hold them in.
When I cry, it’s worse…so much worse, and I just want it to be over, to end.
“Fuck, Emmy girl…” he grunts, and all I can smell is expensive whiskey and smoke. The two smells mingle together and clog my lungs, making it hard to breathe. Like vines of ivy, his hands come around and wrap around my throat.
I’m drowning… suffocating… and no one cares, no one will ever know…
I wake with a jolt, gasping for air as if it wasn’t just a nightmare I had experienced. It felt so real, like he was here, then again, the events in my dreams were once my reality. A terribly dark nightmare. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you, I chant inside my head. My heart hammers against my aching chest and I quickly scan the unfamiliar room.
Sweat beads against my forehead, the tiny drops slipping down my face. My breaths come out in pants as I try and slow down the doom threatening to overtake me.
“It’s okay, Em. You’re okay, it’s just a bad dream.” Clark’s husky voice penetrates through the fog swirling around my head, his tone soothing and warm, wrapping around me like a blanket. It’s only then that I notice he’s hovering above me, his fingertips ghosting against my shoulders, and strangely I yearn for his touch. I want him to touch me, to wrap his arms around me and hold me together.
“I-I’m sorry,” I whisper as I swipe a strand of hair from my sweaty forehead.
Even in the dim lighting of the basement, I can see his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Did you just apologize for having a nightmare?”
“I’m… I should have gone to bed,” I say, ignoring his comment.
My legs are weak, my knees knocking together when I try to push up off the couch and pass him. I only take one unsure step before Clark takes me into his arms, his strong, firm arms pulling me into his warm chest.
My body stiffens for about two seconds before I actually relax into his touch. Just like that time at the party, his embrace calms me, soothes the pain and somehow makes everything all better.
“Whoever they are, whoever did this to you… I’m not them. I’ll never lay a hand on you.” His words slice through my skin, and into my rapidly beating heart. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I hope someday you trust me enough to tell me because I want to know. I want to help you, heal you.”
I want to help you, heal you.
Those words are like a beacon of light pulling me from the darkness, but I’m no fool. A man like Clark doesn’t want damaged goods like me. When he finds out the truth, he’ll run, he won’t save me, or heal me.
“Nothing happened.” I force the words past my dry lips and pull from his embrace even though it pains me to do so. I can’t get comfortable with him. I can’t fall into his touch. I don’t need him, not when everyone I’ve ever needed has turned their backs on me.
He can’t save me.
He can’t heal me.
I’m broken beyond repair.
◆◆◆
When I wake up the next morning, I’m feeling a little better than I did when I went to bed. I didn’t have another nightmare, which is rare but leaves me rested and at ease. I tell myself that, that’s all it is. I feel better because I got a good night’s sleep, but in the back of my mind I know it’s more than that.
I know it has something to do with the guy sleeping in the room next door to me. The only person who seems to be able to see through me, see through the brick wall I’ve built around myself. The only person who isn’t scared of the dark secrets hiding deep inside of me.
Crawling from the plush queen-size bed, I walk into the adjoined bathroom and brush my teeth and wash my face. Then I get dressed, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and sweatshirt before tiptoeing out of my room and into the hallway. Peeking inside his room, through the cracked door, I find he’s not there. A heavy brick of disappointment ricochets around in my gut, but before it can settle a noise coming from downstairs reaches my ears.