Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“If I leave, it would be because I can’t watch you hurt yourself. I can’t watch you torture yourself anymore.”
“You could never understand how much I love you.” I’ve tried to show her and failed. I clasp her face, but she fights me off again. “Let me touch you.”
“I do understand, Jesse, because I feel the same. Even though you’ve fucked me over completely, I still fucking love you, and I fucking hate myself for it. So don’t you dare tell me I don’t understand.”
“It’s not possible.” Anger surges through me, and I reach forward, yanking her to me on a sharp intake of breath. “It’s just not fucking possible.”
She doesn’t fight me off this time. She’s given in, letting me feel and hold her for a short while. I’ve reduced her to this.
Exhaustion.
“I’m going to get something to clean you with,” she says, trying to break away. I’m not prepared to let her go, but she finds strength from somewhere, managing to shrug me off. “I need to clean you up.”
“Don’t walk away from me.”
“I said I would never leave you.” Her words are calm and even. “I meant it.” She walks out of my office, leaving me on my knees a broken, pathetic excuse of a man. I slump down, my muscles done.
My heart done.
My mind done.
And Ava, despite her promise, looked done too.
47
It feels like hours I’m on my knees. Pins and needles have found me, but I can’t find the will to get myself up. I can’t find the will to be strong. Can barely find the will to breathe. Full control—I never felt like I’ve had any, and now, suddenly, with Ava in my life, I crave it. Need it. It keeps me . . . stable. And isn’t this proof? Here, now, what I’ve done, my back shredded, it’s all proof.
I grab fistfuls of my hair, pulling. I betrayed her. There are so many people who could take away my newfound utopia, and the most likely person is me.
Hopelessness isn’t a feeling I’m used to. Now, it seems to rule me. Along with guilt. Along with self-loathing. Every undesirable emotion is now blanketing the other more incredible feelings. Happiness. Contentment. Pure, undying love.
I glance around my office. Can I have freedom? Freedom from all of my sins? And forgiveness. Can I have that too? Will she ever forgive me? Because my failure to keep her safe isn’t the only reason to bring me here. It was the breaking point for me, yes, but truly, it was the guilt that sent me to Sarah and her whip.
My head drops, the backs of my damn eyes pinching, and that wretched hopelessness steams forward, inflicting its usual agony. I feel like I’m asking for the world. I glance up to the cabinet across my office that stores my vice. Then to the floor where smashed glasses and bottles litter the carpet. My lip curls in contempt—contempt for me and for the poison that’s ruled my life for so long. I won’t be wasted anymore. My love won’t be wasted.
“You doing this to yourself is agony for me. You are punishing me, not you. I love you, despite all of the shit you keep landing on me, but I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”
She’s right. She shouldn’t have to watch me do this to myself. That’s not how love works.
I push myself up from the floor, hissing my way through the flaming stings across my back. Reaching over my shoulder, I swipe a hand through one of the lashes, feeling the warm wetness of the weeping wound.
Ava’s gone to fetch some things to clean me up, to tend to my wounds. What kind of man are you? She shouldn’t be taking care of me, although, ironically, she has since we met, whether she realizes or not.
Stalking to the door, I yank it open and immediately hear a commotion in the distance. I frown as I pace through the summer room, and when I round the corner into the main entrance hall of The Manor, the sounds get louder. I look up to the gallery landing, taking in the scene of dozens of people all crowding around . . . what?
Taking the stairs fast, I reach the top in a heartbeat and push my way through the throngs of people, not at all fazed that I’m still shirtless and giving members of my club a good eyeful of my messed-up back. I spot Sarah propped up against a wall, her hand resting on her throat, her eyes a little glazed. Then she sees me. Swallows. And quickly looks away.
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking around at the many faces, searching for an answer. But they all back away, wary. So I return my attention to Sarah, my face demanding an answer. She closes her eyes, and I reach forward, tugging her hand away from her neck. A scattering of faint blemishes greets me, and I recoil. “Who did this?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I know damn well, and the longer I’m standing here waiting for the answer, my fear is spiraling unstoppably. “Where is she?”