Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 85183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
I wake up the same way I usually do, screaming and sweating, with Caleb's name on my lips. There are no strong arms to comfort me, no rough voice mumbling reassuring words in my ear. It's just me, in a strange room. Soft morning light drifts through the window. I glance around at my surroundings as I try to calm my breathing. I'm in Lizzy's spare room.
I've been here for two days, but it still feels completely strange to me. Lizzy and I haven't really spoken. I haven't left this room, haven't left this bed. She brings me food, which I eat despite my constant nausea whenever I see food. I eat it because Jude asked me to look after the baby, and I will.
Lizzy tries to make conversation with me when she visits, but I can't. I know she hasn't done anything wrong. It's me. I'm not in the right headspace for her to ask me questions. I don't have a clue what to tell her. There isn't one facet of the truth she’ll be able to handle because the second she hears it, she'll think the same as those cops, and the shrink. She'll think I'm delusional, abused... Every time I think of Jude, all I can hear is him shouting after the police as they dragged me away. She has Stockholm syndrome. Was he just saying that or did he mean it? Does he really think I have a mental problem, and if so, does he really love me, or was he acting out of guilt for everything that happened to me while I was with him?
My heart tells me that this is Jude. I know him. He's not a man to appease some girl. But my mind is clinging to the seeds of doubt. How can it not?
I shove the duvet off me and go into the bathroom, starting the shower. I slip off my tank top and underwear, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My body is marred with scars, all from injuries inflicted during my time with Jude. There was a time when I hated them, when I couldn't see them without loathing him and everything he represented, but now every one reminds me of a time when he would kiss them better, or look at them and tell me I was beautiful regardless.
My eyes trail over the long scar running between my breasts and over my stomach, widening as the skin stretches slightly over the bump. My body is thinner. The last few months and my experience with Joe having taken their toll, except for my rounded stomach which seems to be getting bigger by the day. I want to wallow in this pit of despair, but the more I think about the baby inside me, the more I feel this indescribable urge to fight. Jude may be locked up, but I'm still here, and I'm all she will have.
I get in the shower, washing away the depression of the last few days.
After I've dressed, I step into the kitchen and take a seat at the breakfast bar, watching my sister as she bustles around the cabinets, dancing to the radio. I smile because she seems so happy. She spins around and spots me. Lizzy's eyes go wide, and she quickly turns off the music.
"Oh, my God. Are you okay?" Her accent is softer than mine, with just a hint of the American twang creeping in.
I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Um... Can... Can I get you anything?" Lizzy always did like to fuss. She's the oldest, the mother if you like.
"Coffee would be great." She moves across the kitchen, but I move around her breakfast bar, cutting her off.
"I can get it," I tell her. Her treating me like an invalid is not helping.
She doesn't say anything. I glance at her and she's standing there, mouth open with her eyes fixed on my torso.
I follow her gaze, looking at my abdomen. "They didn't tell you?"
Since I've been here, I haven't left the bed in front of my sister, and at the police station I was wearing a hoody that was five sizes too big for me. Now though, I'm wearing a tank top she donated to me, and it's showcasing a very prominent bump.
She shakes her head. "No," she chokes on a whisper.
There's a minute of silence as I pour the coffee. "It's a girl," I tell her quietly. I guess I haven't had a chance to talk about her, to consider her a person yet. I've always been on the run, unable to think that far ahead.
"Is... do you know who the father is?" she asks carefully, as though it might upset me.
"Yeah, I do." She stares at me, waiting. "It's Jude."
"Oh, God." She presses her hand to her lips, a choked sob leaving her.