Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I hope your dirty knife gives me some flesh-eating infection so you can watch me slowly die. My rotten, putrid stench filling the air around you. When that happens, just remember … her name is Karma and she’s one unforgiving bitch.” If we’re dying, it’s going to be with guns blazing. I will not censor a single emotion.
He looks at me, not a crack to the iciness in his stare. “Sit.” He nods to the folding chair.
“Go to Hell.”
He barrels toward me. Six months ago I would have retreated until my bum landed in the chair. Not now. I refuse to fear this man anymore, even if he takes my last heartbeat.
“Sit. Down.” His black boots hit the toes of my neon yellow trainers.
“Go. To. Hell.” I squint at him.
Grabbing my shoulders, he shoves me back until my arse does in fact hit the chair. The back of it scrapes against my wound. I try not to grimace, but I can’t completely avoid it.
“You shouldn’t have come.” He grabs several rags from the kitchen and rips them into strips.
I bite back my words. He’s not worth them.
He ties my arms behind my back, and then he binds my legs to the chair before disappearing to the bathroom. A few seconds later, he returns with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, some tape, and gauze.
“Leave it,” I say with absolutely no emotion to my voice.
Theo squats down behind me and eases the back of my shirt up.
“I said LEAVE IT!” I heave my body to the side, sending the chair and the mad woman attached to it crashing to the ground.
“Jesus!” He grabs the chair to put us both upright.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I scream as loud as I can.
He jumps to his feet, nostrils flaring, hands fisted, and teeth bared. I don’t blink. I’m the fucking queen of stare offs. Bring it on, arsebadger.
Theo stomps off.
Door slam.
Bang!
Something hits the wall in his bedroom.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I close my eyes and let my cheek rest against the dirty gray carpet.
Twenty minutes—hell, it could be an hour later, I’ve lost sense of time—Theo comes out of his bedroom. I turn my head enough to see him filling a glass with water. His other hand has a T-shirt wrapped around it. The fabric around his knuckles is tinged with blood.
How did this happen? In a matter of days, I’ve gone from wanting everything with this man to wanting nothing—not even my next breath. It’s as if I was on life support and he pulled the plug. Again, I close my eyes and wait to escape this moment—sleep, unconsciousness, death—it no longer matters. I’m ready to tap out.
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I’m not afraid of death. My mum waits for me with open arms.
*
That voice. It comforts me. In my dreams it wraps around me like a warm cocoon. Guarding me. Saving me. Loving me.
“You need to eat and drink.”
I blink open my eyes. It’s dark except for the small lamp on the floor in the corner of the room, glowing yellow. It’s night or early morning. I don’t know. My chair and I have magically found an upright position again. My shoulders burn but my hands and feet tingle with numbness.
That voice. It’s the one from my dreams. But it’s no longer warm. It’s dull and lifeless like the eyes staring back at me. It’s no longer guarding me. Saving me. Loving me.
Why can’t this be a nightmare?
Why can’t I wake up?
“Eat.” Theo holds spaghetti twirled around a fork in front of my face.
I turn my head to the side.
“You’re going to eat.”
He’s so very wrong.
“Drink.” He jabs a straw at my lips.
I bite them together.
“So goddamn stubborn,” he mutters as he stands.
I grunt when he clutches my chin, tipping my head back enough to part my lips. Some sort of sugary juice runs into my mouth and down the sides of my face as I reject his attempts. As soon as he releases my chin, I spit it in his face.
Theo’s expression hardens even more as he lifts his shirt to wipe his face.
“I will not eat. I will not drink. I will not live for you.”
I hate him. He made me love him. He made me want to live. And then he took it all away.
The muscles in his arms shift as he clenches his fists over and over.
“Hit me. Beat me. Cut me. Rip my fucking world apart if that’s what you need. You want the guns? They’re in my car. Go get them. Load the clips. Shove the barrel down my throat and pull the trigger. But I will not let you bandage my wounds, give me food, or make me drink anything. I. Will. Not. Live. For. You.”
He launches the glass of water at the sink and it shatters. I don’t flinch. I’ll be his song. I’ll be the song that people play when they’re ready to end their life. Theo can plant his fist into the wall until his hand falls off. He can break every glass in the cupboard. He can self-destruct before my eyes, but I will not live for him.