Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
She hastily dragged on a pair of panties and some thick leggings, before grabbing her headphones, laptop, and charger, and fleeing from the room again.
It was only as she settled into what looked like a solarium that she thought about her phone.
She’d taken it with her last night but hadn’t seen it since. She had a sinking feeling that she’d lost it somewhere in her mad dash toward the river. She’d have to email her parents to let them know she would be out of touch for a while.
She did that and shot one off to Evan too. She hadn’t heard from her friend in a couple of days, and wondered if she was okay. The other woman liked to regale Iris with the minutia of her life, and it was unusual for her to remain out of touch, especially during the week when she was bored at work and not distracted by her social life.
Correspondence done, she updated her journal, bitching about Trystan’s duplicity as well as Mr. Quinn’s manipulation. She didn’t hold back since she could be as brutal as she liked in the privacy of her journal and her entries were filled with vitriol.
As she read through the entry she’d written just hours before fleeing into the cold, wet night, it was clear from her language that she’d been spiraling.
She’d written about Trystan, spending time with him, enjoying his company, feeling optimistic that maybe he was starting to like and trust her, and then the feeling of utter betrayal when he’d locked her in that room.
I don’t know how to feel. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I’m suffocating, choking on my fear, my skin is too tight on my body and I know it’s just a matter of time before I burst out of it. I’m scared, terrified, I have to get out of here before that happens. Before I lose myself.
Jesus. She stopped reading, shaking her head at the sheer irrationality of her thought processes. She’d been perfectly safe in that room, she’d nearly died out there in the dark, and yet she’d chosen out there as the lesser of two evils.
It scared her. She’d never endangered herself like that before. But then, she’d never found herself in a situation like this before either. She’d never before had to deal with being locked in day after day after day. And what had started as a controllable condition had rapidly escalated through the roof.
She shook her head and saved and closed her journal before opening her manuscript. The silly story she was working on was just for fun, but it was diverting and kept her mind occupied.
“What are you working on?” The deep voice dragged Iris back to the present with a jolt and she looked up from her laptop to stare blankly at the tall man who was sitting in the chair opposite the sofa where she’d set up office.
She blinked a few times, her mind still swimming with plot lines and bits of snatched dialogue between characters.
“How long have you been sitting there?” she finally asked, her voice thick from disuse… for that matter how long had she been sitting there? She’d lost all track of time—it was fully daylight now—and she felt stiff from being seated in one position for so long.
“I’ve been here, reading, for nearly forty minutes. I didn’t want to disturb you, but I thought maybe you needed a break.”
“What’s the time?” She set her laptop aside and got up to stretch her legs, wincing a bit when her limbs protested the movement.
“About eight-thirty.”
Which meant Iris had been sitting there, wholly absorbed in her writing, for nearly two-and-a-half hours. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. It excited her, and all she could think of was getting back to it.
“So, what are you working on?” he asked again.
She ambled over to the window and looked out. It wasn’t raining and—wonder of wonders— patches of blue were peeking through the clouds.
“A story.” She tossed the words nonchalantly over her shoulder.
“About?”
“Don’t worry, it’s not about you,” she sniped, turning back to face him.
He didn’t respond to that, merely stared, his beautiful eyes filled with gentle censure, and that annoyed Iris because it made her feel irrationally guilty. Which, in turn, made her feel defensive because if anyone should feel guilty here it should be Trystan.
“I need a new room,” she muttered, and the expression in his gaze morphed into concern.
“Of course,” he said. “Pick one and I’ll move your bags.”
“That’s fine, I’ll move my own bags.”
“Don’t be silly, Iris, I’m happy to do it.”
She nodded and picked up her laptop. As she headed toward the door, she was aware of him getting up as well, and her gaze flew up to meet his in alarm.
“What are you doing? Are you following me?”