Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
He takes another step closer to me, and for the first time I really get a good look in his eyes. The intensity almost makes me scoot back, but then I’d be against the wall. Trapped and cornered.
He parts his lips to answer me, but no words come out. Time passes, and the only thing I can hear is my heartbeat as he stares at me. His eyes don’t break from mine, and I’m too scared to look away.
“I’m sorry,” he says flatly, but then he turns away as if the sentiment were genuine.
For some reason, just hearing those words breaks me. The tears fall and as I wipe them away, he looks at me with distaste. I half expect him to tell me to stop, but he doesn’t.
I struggle to calm myself and somehow I do. Maybe it’s because I don’t really believe him. I don’t believe it’s hopeless. My mother will find me, and she’ll make that man pay for what he’s done. Both to me and to this boy. I know she will.
“What’s your name?” I ask to keep him from leaving me as he turns. I lick my lips, tasting the salty tears and wiping my cheeks. I don’t want to cry. I want to get out of here.
“J-” he starts to answer me, but we both whip around and face the door as it opens, silencing us and making me instinctively back away from it.
I grab onto the boy’s arm and try to hide behind him. I don’t know a thing about him and the look he gives me nearly makes me run from both him and the man stalking into the room, but I don’t get the chance. The boy grips my wrist with his other hand and pulls me closer to him, my front to his back and my back to the wall. He keeps himself deliberately positioned in between me and the man.
It’s only when I grab onto the boy, my small fingers digging into the rough denim of his jeans at his hip and my cheek pressed against his back, that he lets go of me.
* * *
The boy may scare me some, but the man terrifies me.
Chapter 4
Robin
This sabbatical was a mistake. I’m only hours into it, but I’m already feeling like I need to do something. Anything. I just can’t sit here and not focus on work. It’s what I’ve done since I was a child. It makes dealing with everything so much easier.
I pull the blanket tighter around me and toss the paperback novel onto my nightstand. I tried reading the first page at least four times. My eyes would travel along the lines, but not a word would register. I just can’t focus. I can’t relax.
I flick the switch to the lamp, turning it off and rub my tired eyes. I can’t sleep either, but that’s nothing new. My back cracks as I lie back down and try to stretch out my neck. It’s sore and so are my shoulders, so I fluff the pillow and put my head back down only to be agitated by how hot the pillow is.
I’m just not comfortable. Not physically, not emotionally. And I don’t think I should be. I deserve this.
I turn onto my side and then back onto my stomach, hugging the pillow close to me. I thought tonight I’d be haunted by the last session I had with Marie. I thought it would be her eyes I’d see that kept me from slipping into a much-needed sleep and letting the exhaustion take over. Instead, it’s his eyes.
Red-rimmed and brimming with tears. They fall down his face and he doesn’t acknowledge them, he just stares at me, whispering that he’s sorry. He hadn’t told me he was sorry other than the first day. But weeks later, my strong protector stared at me and it was all he could say. My chest tightens, and I remember how the fear weighed against me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
* * *
I try not to cry. He already feels guilty, but he shouldn’t. His father uses me to make the boy do things he doesn’t want to. It’s not fair to him. What’s worse is that I want him to protect me. How selfish I am. I’m sickened by it, but the fear of his father keeps me quiet as the days pass.
As I swallow the spiked lump in my throat, twisting my fingers around each other and ignoring the emotions rushing through my blood, my eyes dart to the boy’s arm. The bruises are already dark, and there’s a large scratch on his forearm. The blood is so bright. Such a vivid color. I’ll never forget.
“I’m sorry,” he says and his voice cracks and this time he wipes the tears away with the back of his hand as he sniffles. I’ve never seen him like this. I shake my head with my eyes closed, ignoring how my heart squeezes and my body goes cold. His father is going to come for me. He’s going to put me in the cage instead of the boy.