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)
And Emma was humiliated. By now, she must regret throwing me away, leaving me to be bent and twisted by Roman. Look where it got her. All of Black Hollow Creek knows she was Roman’s cum dumpster. A sick sort of satisfaction cuts through me. Thoughts of Allie drift to the forefront of my mind as I scrub down under scalding water and rising steam.
Allie needs me more than she ever has. She owes me her life. Nothing less and I’m going to use this situation to my advantage to get her back.
Chapter 20
Allie
Go to town.
Act normally.
People only know about what Kade did. That’s all they’re interested in.
It doesn’t matter how many times I repeat it to myself—and I have, so many times, it’s not like I got any sleep. I fear the nightmares.
I killed someone.
He was going to rape me.
His blood was all over me.
What if Kade decides to tell the truth?
That’s the one that kept me staring at the walls for hours. I watched as the sun rose and moved across the room, inch by inch. As it did, all I could do was imagine the cops showing up at our door to bring me in for questioning. Mr. Lowry is a rich man and probably powerful. He won’t forget his son disappeared without a trace.
And of everyone I know, Kade is the only person who can help me. I would laugh if the whole thing wasn’t so damn awful. But I don’t see another way out.
The only thing that gets me out of bed is the memory of what Kade told me to do today. Having a task to complete gives me something to hold on to, even if my eyes burn and my throat feels like someone shoved sandpaper down it.
I can’t think about it, but I also can’t stop thinking about it. It’s all too much.
I sag against the bathroom door and cover my face with my hands, sobbing as quietly as I can, choking on my fear. I still can’t remember anything. Did I... dissociate? Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen to my brain when Jackson choked me out. Some kind of defense mechanism kicked in, forcing my hand.
I look back at the bed, where my phone sits on top of the blankets. Maybe I’ll look it up.
No. I need to act normal because if they suspect me, they might ask to see my phone or go through it. I can’t look it up. I have to do this. I force myself to look at my reflection in the mirror. The first glimpse makes me cringe. My eyes are swollen from crying off and on for hours. My skin is ghostly white, and my hair is a tangled mess—I never even ran a brush through it after I got out of the shower.
I’m falling apart. How am I supposed to show my face in town?
That same icy panic that has been submerging me since last night returns. Every time I close my eyes, there he is. How could I have trusted him? I made it so easy, didn’t I?
No. Fuck that. The idea that I could bring on my own rape is enough to snap through the cold. Deep in my chest, a tiny bit of warmth starts to spread slowly. It lights up the dark corners and warms me with anger. What happened wasn’t my fault. He took advantage of me. He brought this on himself. It doesn’t lessen the terror from not remembering, though.
No matter what happens after this, I know one thing. I won’t blame myself again.
Now I feel strong enough to get myself straightened out. Once my hair is brushed and pulled back in a bun, I wash my face, then start on my makeup. A scarf will hide the marks on my throat, so I focus on covering up the circles under my eyes and making myself look less like a living corpse. The mere thought of Jackson makes my hand tremble.
Push it away. There’s no time for me to fall apart. I had hours to do that. Right now, I need to focus on damage control and on making myself look less like a suspect.
Every time I go to apply eyeliner, I start crying, but eventually, I get it all done. It takes forever. By the time I’m dressed in a sweater and leggings, I’m back to feeling a little bit more like myself.
It feels like I’m pulling on armor as I slide into a pair of ankle boots, then add my leather jacket and a scarf around my neck. I look at my reflection in the mirror. Do I look like I murdered my fiancé last night? Nothing catches my attention, so I nod.
I’m still wearing the ring and everything. The sight of it makes me bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. I’d love nothing more than to toss it in the trash, but I can’t. If I want to survive this, I need to play my part. Pulling myself together, I take a deep breath and head downstairs.