Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“I’m not getting stuck in some random hotel with you,” she said. “If I’m going to do this… I want to do it in my own apartment. I figure I’m going to die anyway, so I might as well die at home.”
I groaned. “Elise,” I said.
“Stop,” she said. “Take it or leave it.”
I rubbed my face with both hands and messed up my hair.
“Fine,” I said. “Shit, fuck, fine. I hope whoever they send is a moron, because he’ll have to be one if we want to live through this.”
“I thought you said you could keep me safe.”
I glared at her. “I can. Don’t you start.”
She stood up. “I want to take a bath.”
“Fine.”
She marched past me. Our shoulders brushed and I grabbed her wrist hard. I held it and pulled her, making her stumble. I saw real fear in her eyes then and relief washed through my chest.
Good. She still cared whether she lived or died. That meant she might actually listen to me and get through this.
“Enjoy your bath,” I said.
She gave me a look and pulled her wrist away. I watched her ass sway as she marched down the hall, into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut behind her.
The water turned on.
I looked around her apartment. Cheerful plastic roosters lined the top of her refrigerator. Brightly colored geometric-patterned blankets lay folded on the back of the couch. It was a cute place.
I just hoped it was secure enough.
6
Elise
I sank low into the warm tub and let my hair drift into the sudsy water.
Somewhere in my apartment, an insane man wants to protect me from other insane men, all because I was born to the wrong father.
“This is so fucked up,” I whispered.
I stared up at the cracks in the ceiling then closed my eyes.
And pictured the moment I decided to leave home.
I was twelve years old. My father came home late most nights back then. I remembered staying up watching old movies on TV and wondering if maybe tonight was the night he wouldn’t bother showing up.
But he always did. He came in through the front door trailing cigar smoke and whiskey stench.
That night, I sat up on the couch as the door banged against the wall.
“Dad?” I asked.
“Help me,” he called from the entryway.
I got up and ran to the front of the house. My father was leaning against the open door, sweat dripping down his face. His white shirt was covered in blood.
I stood and stared. My mouth hung open. My hands moved up like baby birds to paw at my cheeks.
“Daddy?”
“Help me, damn it, Elise.” His teeth clenched tight. “Get your fucking ass over here.”
I ran to him. I let him put some weight on me and I nearly fell over. He always was a big man. I helped him inside, kicked the door shut behind us. He stumbled, slipped in his own blood, took us both to the floor.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “Come on. Help me.”
I helped him crawl into the kitchen where he collapsed against the cabinets, breathing hard.
“Get my shirt off.”
I tried to do the buttons but my hands shook. There was so much blood.
“Scissors,” he said.
I found kitchen shears in the knife block. I cut down his shirt and the buttons popped off. They bounced along the tile floor like pebbles.
He had a long jagged gash slashed through his abdomen. He pressed his hands against the slowly oozing wound.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Daddy, that’s bad,” I said. “There’s so much blood. I have to call an ambulance.”
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “No,” he said, eyes wild. “Help me.”
“Daddy—”
“Get me a towel. And a phone.”
I got him the towel first. He wadded it up and shoved it against his wound. He grunted in pain. I got him the house phone and he snatched it from my hand. He dialed a number then held it against his ear.
“Mark,” he said. “I need a doctor. Yeah, right now. My place. That fuck Yuri. Yeah the fucking fat one. Stabbed me with this fucking commando knife. Cut me the fuck open. Yeah, I’m bleeding, fucking bad. I need a doctor and right now. What? I put a bullet in his fucking skull. Send the doctor to my house.”
He hung up the phone and shoved it back to me.
I took it. My hands shook.
“Pretend like you didn’t hear what you just heard,” he said.
I nodded fast. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“Good girl. Now sit with your daddy. I’m going to be okay. Doc will be here soon to clean and stitch me up.”
I sat down on the tile floor next to my father. I felt his sticky blood under my legs. I leaned my head on his shoulder.
And I swore I’d get out of that house as soon as I could.
I opened my eyes again and let out a breath. I kicked my feet and splashed the water in the tub.