Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Suddenly, he lets go of my hand, but before I can think to move, he plants his boot on my shoulder and shoves me backward.
The pain from the first kick blends with the second and third, and I’m barely able to curl into a small ball as a world of hurt is unleashed on me.
(The Present . . . )
Sitting on the side of the bed, one of many memories shudders through me while I grip my cell phone tightly.
After an awful night filled with nightmares and restless sleep, I feel drained and broken.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I unlock my phone’s screen. For a moment, I stare at all of the notifications before I open the messages.
Trent: Where are you?
Trent: You better get your ass home!
Fear seizes my heart in a merciless grip, and I can’t help but start to panic about what Trent will do if we ever come face-to-face again.
Trent: What the fuck!
Trent: Okay, fine. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.
It always happens again.
Trent: In all fairness, it’s not my fault. You know not to push my buttons and that I always go out for beers with the guys on Wednesday nights. How fucking hard is it to make sure I have a clean shirt laid out on the bed when I get home?
How many times have I heard something like that from him?
Too many to count.
Trent: Come on. Don’t be like this.
Trent: Fine, be like that. But send money so I can pay the rent. Mr. Hicks is breathing down my neck, and you know how I hate it.
I spent half the rent money on gas to get to LA. I don’t have enough to send him.
Wait. I left Trent. I don’t have to pay for anything. The rent is his problem now.
Trent: I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass home, you’ll regret it.
My heartbeat speeds up, and my panic and fear spike rapidly again.
I can’t help it. Trent has beaten me so many times my immediate reaction to his anger and threats is to be terrified.
You’re safe in LA. Trent can’t get to you here.
Deep breaths.
Trent: I’m sorry. I’m just so worried about you. Where are you, darling? I’ll come get you.
Trent: I’m done being the nice guy.
Trent: I will find you.
I stare at the messages for a little while longer as I try to build up the courage, then, sucking in a deep breath that makes my ribs ache, I type out a reply with trembling fingers.
Nova: I’m done with you hurting me. We’re over, and I’m never coming back.
Letting out a shaky sigh, I press send and set the phone down on the bedside table.
It’s done. Trent doesn’t know where I am, so he can’t find me.
I’m safe here with Rachel.
I have to calm down and get ready for the day ahead. I have to be strong for Rachel.
After putting on a dress and ballet flats, I grab the same light sweater from yesterday and shrug it on so my bruises won’t be visible.
I walk to the door, and sneaking out of the bedroom, I do my best not to make a sound so I won’t wake Rachel and Lainey. As I make my way down the stairs, I take my time to look at each of the photos on the wall.
Easton, Rachel, and Lainey look so happy, and I can feel how much they love each other.
I learned what love was from watching Rachel and her family, and she’s the only person who’s ever truly loved me.
She’s the only one who’s never hurt me.
I don’t know who my dad is, and I was very young when my mother left me with my grandfather. I can barely remember her, but I know she had ginger hair like me, and I think she was loud and bubbly.
My grandfather is a mean recluse who never cared about me.
And now I’m going to lose Rachel.
I lift my hand to cover my quivering mouth while I fight not to burst out in tears.
When I reach the first floor, I glance around the open space, taking in the luxurious living room with the massive TV before turning my attention to the kitchen.
Feeling completely out of place, I walk into the kitchen and take a mug from the cupboard. Thankfully, Rachel showed me last night how the coffee machine works. I pick a flavor from the dozens, and putting the pod into the machine, I watch as the coffee pours into the mug.
Rachel’s dying.
Instead of knocking the wind from me like it did yesterday, the thought only makes the pit of fear and hopelessness grow in my chest.
Last night, she went to bed early. I had a good cry in my bedroom before deciding not to take a single second for granted and to cherish the time I still have with her. I’ll keep my breakdowns for late at night when I’m alone so she doesn’t see them.