Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Wren was strangely calm. No, calm was not the word for it. Empty. That was it. She was empty. I was sitting beside her bed, where I’d been nonstop aside from bathroom breaks. Zoe and Yasmin were coming and going in shifts. Her parents hovered, coming in and out, talking about things that needed to be done, not looking at their delicate, broken daughter. Wren was not alone for a moment.
“There was another reason I didn’t want to have children.” Although Wren spoke softly, the tenor of her voice tore at the air around us. I held in my flinch at the defeat in my friend’s voice. Just barely.
“I didn’t talk about it because it sounded ridiculous to say out loud and because saying it out loud ...” she trailed off to look out the window. “Because saying it out loud gave it more power. Made it possible.”
Wren looked tiny in the bed. Like she’d shrunk down to half of her usual self. Wren was larger than life, despite her stature. She lit up a room. Now she was barely a glimmer. I had to press my fingernails into my palms to stop from crying.
“I went to a psychic when I was backpacking around Europe,” she continued. “One in Romania. The real deal. Didn’t speak English, lived up in the hills, an hour away from the closest village.” Wren’s gaze was faraway. “The guy with me translated as she told my fortune. She told me I’d be loved many times by many men. But I’d only ever love one man. And that man would be my destruction.” Wren paused, her fingers fisting the fabric of her blankets. “That I’d love that man until my death, but I may not share my life with him.” Now she looked toward the door. The one that Karson was standing outside of. He wouldn’t move. Not until Wren told him to come in. And if she didn’t, if she couldn’t, he’d stand there. All night.
“She told me I’d be a mother for only a short time. That my child would not breathe air, and that I’d never have another.”
When Wren’s hands went to her stomach, I clenched my fists harder, seeking something more painful than watching my friend cradle the stomach that used to hold her baby.
Wren squeezed her eyes shut then opened them. “It was a girl.” Her voice sounded stronger than it should’ve. “I thought it was bullshit. Or, at least, that’s what I told myself. But I knew. Even before the boy I was with translated what she was saying. I knew that woman spoke the truth. And she did.”
I moved across the room because I couldn’t sit there watching my friend sink into the bed, shrink into nothingness.
I grabbed her hand. “No,” I whispered. “The Wren I know doesn’t let anyone, not even an old Romanian woman who lives in the hills, tell her her future is already decided. The Wren I know makes her own future.” I stroked her face. “This is not the end for you. You will remember her. You will love her. She will live in many different ways, and you will heal. I promise.”
Wren smiled weakly and nodded, pretending to agree with me. I knew she’d already convinced herself of that truth, of a future that held only emptiness and pain.
I was leaning against the door outside Wren’s room, phone pressed to my ear, eyes directed toward Eric who had let me cry on his shoulder ten minutes ago. I didn’t know much death and violence the man had experienced before this. Working for Jay, I figured it was a lot, but he was wearing the reality of this on his handsome face, seemingly unable to grasp on to the badass mask that had been his norm before all of this.
Although I was sure their job was meant to let any and all humanity rebound from their strong exteriors, Wren had an effect on everyone. They were meant to be monsters, so the horrors of this monstrous world didn’t claim them. But the problem with Wren was she turned even the most horrific of monsters into men, made them feel, made them hurt.
“I’m leaving the office in five minutes. Does she need anything?” Zoe asked, voice strained. She was doing her level best to be strong, steadfast and unwavering for Wren, for all of us, but I knew she was struggling. Zoe was an alpha female in all of the best ways. She protected and loved her friends with a ferocity that was unbeatable, unyielding. She spoke the truth, even when it hurt. She celebrated every victory we had as if it were her own and felt the pain of every sorrow.
“No, she doesn’t need anything,” I replied, my voice low and scratchy. “Nothing that we can give her anyway.”