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)
I breathe heavily, stunned into stillness.
“Oh my God, what happened?” Lauren’s hands cover her mouth as she takes in my wound, coming to me, taking the thread and inspecting. “Who did this to you?” She looks at John and Sarah accusingly. “Who did it?” she screams. “I’ll kill them!”
I see Alan out the corner of my eye looking on, his face a picture of horror.
Of pain.
“She needs help,” I say quietly, as Lauren stalks around the entrance hall, arms flailing, yelling.
He can only nod.
“Help?” Lauren grabs the thread that’s semi holding me together and yanks on it.
“Fuck!” I double over.
“You crazy bitch!” Sarah is on Lauren like a wolf, dragging her out of The Manor by her hair. “Keep your hands off him!” They struggle, and Lauren grabs hold of an ornament from the side table, swings, and Sarah yelps as it bounces off her head and blood pours down her forehead.
Fucking hell. I grab Lauren and push her out of the door, slamming it, and I close my eyes, resting my back against the wood. And even though I know it won’t redeem me, won’t relieve me of my guilt or sins, I apologize.
I apologize over and over again.
* * *
One huge inhale.
My chest squeezes, my stomach stings, my head pounds. I open my eyes. I’m sitting up. Rocking back and forth. It takes me a few too many tense moments to realize I’m dreaming. “Jesus.” I scrub my palm down my face, wiping away a sheen of sweat. Why? Why are these dreams haunting me? They aren’t supposed to happen when I’m with Ava. Is it a sign of the fates not letting me move forward? Trapping me in my misery and self-loathing?
I lie down and reach for Ava, to cuddle her, but I find an empty space next to me. I don’t like the cold, hollow sensation that creeps across my skin. “Ava?” I sit back up and scan the bedroom, listening, glancing at the clock. It’s three in the morning. “Ava?” I yell, moving to the edge of the bed and going to the door. “Ava, where are you?” I search every bedroom, my heart slowing more with each one I find empty. “Ava!” I run down the stairs. The terrace. The kitchen. The gym. The study.
No Ava.
Racing back upstairs, I go to the bathroom, yelling her name repeatedly. None of her cosmetics are here. I go to the dressing room. None of her clothes. I inhale, shaking, reversing my steps back into the bedroom, looking up at the clock on the wall. The minute hand hasn’t moved even a fraction. Stuck in time. And I remember, Ava didn’t have a clock put in the penthouse. I swallow, looking at the wall where the photo of the shabby old boats hangs.
There’s no picture. The wall is bare. There is no trace of her in this penthouse.
As if she never existed.
As if I dreamt her up.
* * *
I shoot up in bed, grappling at the sheets, gasping for breath. Sweat pours from my body.
Ava.
My strung body relaxes when I find her curled up. My exhale is long. My relief unspeakable. But my body still trembles and sweats. I feel like I’m surviving on borrowed time.
I edge to the side of the bed and let my feet meet the carpet, checking the time. It’s just past four thirty. I look over my shoulder. She looks so peaceful. So cozy. I’d love nothing more than to cuddle up to her, but I don’t want to wake her. I don’t want her to see me like this. It’ll only spike more questions I can’t answer.
I get up and quietly go to the dressing room, pulling on my running kit and trainers, stopping at the door when I leave, watching her for a moment. She’s safe in our bed. Safe in our penthouse. Safe from the world.
But the moment she leaves?
I take the stairs and close the door quietly behind me, getting in the elevator and walking circles until it frees me. I break out in a run immediately. It’s not dark but not light either, the streets quiet, only the odd delivery van around. It’s London at its finest. Quietest. I need my mind to quieten too. The thuds of my strides boom in my ears, and the fresh morning air against my clammy, hot skin, stings. The sky is beginning to glow with the impending sunrise.
I shake my head, my vision distorting, and all I see is me. Me running around Lusso in a crazed state searching for a woman who’s not there. Who was never there. I fight to picture Ava, pulling the visions of her closer to me, storing every detail of her features to memory.
Lauren.
My pace increases. “No, not Lauren,” I pant. “Ava.” I blink, squint, hitting the side of my temple to physically bang away the nightmare memory. But I can’t see Ava. I can only see a blade, and it comes at me fast, sinking into my side.