Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Kade straightens, his gaze darting around, almost like he’s sizing up the scene. “You need to get up.”
I want to, but I still can’t move. Jackson might not be on top of me anymore, but my body is so numb and in shock that I can’t seem to make it move. I can’t make my body do anything. My dress is ripped, and I can’t stop shaking. “I don’t remember what happened. Why can’t I remember what happened?”
“It’s your brain’s response to trauma.” He speaks so nonchalantly like discovering me this way isn’t a big deal. When I don’t make an effort to stand, he takes me under the arms and pulls me to my feet gently, paying close attention to set me down outside the puddle of blood.
I whimper when my ripped panties slip down my legs and fall to the floor. Standing, I can see just how horrific the scene is. There’s blood everywhere.
On the floor, on the lamp. Especially on the lamp.
Is that what killed him? Did I do this?
“Why don’t I remember?” I repeat on a sob.
“I already told you.” He looks me up and down, then narrows his eyes when he sees my panties. His jaw sets a little tighter, and he takes a step away to rub his face and pace.
Does he think I would—that I—
My dress is so heavy, soaking and sticking to my skin, and the feel of it hanging now that I’m standing makes my stomach lurch. When I gag, Kade stalks back and shakes me again, more gently this time. “Pull it together. There’s shit that has to be done. Take this off and leave it on the floor. All of it, and don’t touch anything,” he adds, looking around the room. “We don’t want a shit ton of fingerprints.”
I can barely keep up with all of his orders. When I reach behind me for the zipper, my hands shake too hard for me to grab onto it. “For fuck’s sake, Allie,” he whispers, but there’s no heat in it. He takes hold of me, yanks the zipper down, and pulls the silk off. I stare down at my body. The blood soaked through and has stained my skin in so many places.
It’s like even though the dress is off, the evidence of what I’ve done lingers. When Kade is finished stripping me down to nothing, he gives me a push toward the stairs. “Go upstairs and take a shower. Scrub yourself raw. I’m going to make a phone call.” He pulls out his phone. “We have to get this cleaned up before Emma comes home.”
Mom. Oh God. How will I explain this to Mom? I wouldn’t even know where to start. How can I explain myself, explain that I didn’t kill him when I don’t know if I did or not?
He was choking me. I remember that.
My throat throbs. I touch a hand to it and wince.
But then what?
“I said go!” Kade barks, and the sound gets me moving. I race up the stairs to my room and flip on the light. Then rush straight into the bathroom.
A broken sob bursts out of me as I flip on the hot shower spray. I couldn’t have killed Jackson. I don’t see how it’s possible, yet he’s dead. We were the only two people in the room. Kade came running in after I woke up. Didn’t he?
The water is almost boiling when I step into the shower. I soap up my loofah and get to work, scrubbing away the evidence. Watching bloody water swirl around the drain while tears roll down my cheeks. Jackson tried to rape me. Did he succeed? Fresh horror sweeps over me as I reach between my legs, looking down while I hold my breath. There’s no bruising on my thighs. No blood, either. No soreness. I almost sink to my knees in relief.
He didn’t live long enough.
I wedge my knuckles into my mouth to quiet the sobs spilling out of me, then lean against the wall, afraid that if I don’t, I’ll fall to the floor.
What will I do? Who’s going to believe me? How can they when I don’t even know everything that happened?
By the time the water turns cold, my skin is bright red, and it stings, but that’s still better than the stains I washed away. My fluffy bathrobe gives me no comfort, but I pull it tight around myself after wrapping my hair in a towel.
It takes a little time to work up the courage to go back out there and force myself to look at everything again. I don’t know if I can, but I can’t stay in the bathroom forever, either. I wait for a wave of nausea to pass before I force myself out of the steamy room to face whatever is going to happen next.