Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Dawson helps me out of the car, and I let him do that. As much as I wish I could stand on my own and shove off his help, every muscle in my body is aching, and it takes a lot just to walk.
Thankfully, it’s late and none of the neighbors are out walking their dogs or attempting to stargaze through the Los Angeles smog because I look atrocious. Anybody who sees me would think it reasonable to call someone to help me. But then again, nobody has ever seemed to care about me. With my luck, a bystander would see it and just walk by as if it was nothing.
Dawson guides me through the house to a bedroom on the first floor and helps me get settled in bed. More than anything, I want a hot shower, but I know that’s not going to happen right now. I practically collapse against the pillow as he covers me with a blanket and stands at the edge of my bed to watch me for a moment.
“Do you need anything?” Dawson asks. There’s a hopefulness in his voice as he tries to communicate with me, but I don’t want to give him anything. I don’t respond. I don’t even shake my head. He waits a moment and then leaves.
I don’t remember closing my eyes, and I don’t remember trying to fall asleep, but I do wake up with the sun blaring in my face and birds chirping outside. It reminds me of just how normal everything else is in the world. All the light might have vanished from my life, but the sun still rises, and the birds still sing. The world carries on regardless of the terrible things that happen every single day.
The bedroom door opens, and Dawson walks in with some scrambled eggs and toast, sitting down on the corner of the bed and offering me the plate. Once again, I don’t say anything. I just look out the window at the backyard with the grass that’s a little too long and birds skipping between the blades.
“You have to eat something. If you’re going to recover, you’ll need all the strength you can get,” Dawson says in a soft voice. When I don’t answer, he eventually gives up and leaves the plate on the nightstand before leaving.
He comes back around lunchtime with some tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, which I also reject. The only help I do accept is when he helps me shower. I need to wash the filth of last night off of me more than I need to ignore him. Still, I don’t say anything to him as he helps me.
“Talk to me, please,” Dawson practically begs when he sits me back down on the bed with freshly changed sheets. I don’t say anything.
After the revelation of what happened last night, I can look back at the past with clear vision. Everything looks different.
I was told that I had to work for Dawson for a year to get into art school, but I know now that was never going to happen. Henry just used that as an excuse to get me to stay with Dawson so he could keep an eye on me. Dawson knew about that, and he let me believe it. He let me get my hopes up that one day I would actually get to live out my dream.
He knew what would happen, and he took my virginity, anyway. That’s all Malik wanted from me. He wanted a virgin bride, and I was handed to him on a silver platter, and Dawson decided he was going to ruin that. Every ache in my body is a reminder of how selfishly Dawson handled that situation.
On Wednesday when we rushed out of town for an emergency meeting with Xander, it was because of this. Looking back, I know now that’s because of the appointment Malik mentioned I missed. I was supposed to be evaluated by that doctor then to see if I was still a virgin, and they would have found out that I wasn’t. It wasn’t to keep me safe. It was so Dawson could buy himself some more time.
Everything that’s happened between us has a brand new, glaring light shining on it, and I don’t know if I can forgive him. He lied to me and betrayed my trust. He got me to tell him things that I never thought I would tell a soul, and all the while he knew I was supposed to be sold off to Malik. In my eyes, Dawson is as much of a monster as he is.
By the time the sun is setting, Dawson knocks on my door and lets himself in regardless of my clear disinterest in seeing him. He’s not carrying food this time, clearly realizing I’m not going to eat anything he makes me. Instead, he carries a brand-new sketchbook and a myriad of pencils and drawing supplies.