Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Maybe. The security Ciaran gives you is gone with his absence.”
“Yeah, but why now?”
“Have you told him about Peter? About what he did?”
Eliza gives me a look, almost as if to remind me she told me so and I’m an idiot. I ignore her and shake my head. “I told Ciaran bits and pieces but not about him.”
“Why haven’t you told Ciaran about Peter?”
“I don’t want to,” I tell her, biting my lip. “I know Ciaran will be supportive and stuff, but I don’t want to give my ex airtime in my life, honestly.”
“But obviously your guilt over not telling Ciaran about Peter is causing the dreams again,” Eliza interjects. “It’s clearly something you need to tell him since you know he’d want to know.”
I give my sister a look. “It doesn’t matter, though. I was never in love with Peter, and our marriage didn’t matter.”
“But I think you know it’ll matter to Ciaran,” Eliza throws back at me. “I think when you tell him, you’ll feel better. Plus, Ciaran being gone is a lot for you. You two have spent every waking moment together since you met, and now he’s traveling. I can understand how the past can rear its ugly head when Ciaran is not here to reassure you or distract you.”
Of course, Dr. Shaw agrees, and once more, I hate how smart and all-knowing my sister is.
I spend the rest of the day considering what was said in my therapy session, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re right, if I am guilt-ridden because I haven’t told Ciaran that part of my life. He’s been honest about his past, yet I hide my shit in the closet. I hate that I’m once more thrown back into that night. There is a reason I blocked it out, but it’s back. As I lean on the desk in the shop, the silence and stillness of the store make my mind whirl even more. I swear my back is burning, but surely that’s my imagination.
I adjust my shoulder, stretching and trying to ignore the pain as I lay my head on the desk to attempt to even out my breathing. It’s labored, and with each deep breath in, pain erupts along my back. I stay like that for a long moment before blackness takes me, and I’m catapulted back to that night.
I feel blood sliding down my back as I lie on the floor, my nose pressed into the carpet as my tears flow just as fast as the blood. I can’t move or talk or even sniff away my tears because I don’t want him to know I’m crying. I don’t want him to know he’s hurting me. He’ll take pleasure in that and cause more. I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear his footsteps around me. He circles me like I’m his prey and he’s taking his time before attacking once more.
“Louisa, Louisa, what am I going to do with you?” Peter’s voice sounds like he has glass in his throat, making it rough and diabolical.
My body tenses up, my stomach clenches as I hold my breath, waiting for the next strike. I feel him crouch down beside me, and I hear the clank of his belt buckle hitting the carpet.
“Do you know how bad it makes me look that my wife covered for her sisters as they left?”
I swallow thickly, my heart beating so hard it’s making me light-headed.
“I come before your sisters. You’d do well to remember that.”
The fuck I do. And the fuck he does. I try to remind myself that Eliza, Austen, and Elliot are safe, and for that, I’ll take this beating. It was a risk to cover for them, to steal Peter’s money for them to get to safety, but I had no choice. I had to save them before they were put in this position. Under the hand of a man who doesn’t love them but only wants to dominate them. To keep them for their sexual usefulness.
When I feel the coolness of a blade along my shoulder, I gasp, squeezing my eyes closed.
“Did you really help them, Louisa?” I push myself up, but he stops me, grasping my neck and slamming my face back into the carpet. “Answer me!” he roars, and I hold in my cry.
“Yes,” I say as proudly as I can.
“You stole from me?”
“Yes.”
“How dare you!” he yells, gripping my neck. “Do you realize I am being accused of not having control over you?”
“Fuck you,” I mutter without hesitating, and I wish I had thought that through.
“Such a mouth,” he murmurs, moving the blade along my back. “Maybe I should cut that tongue out your fucking mouth and see how that goes for you.”
I tense up, fear replacing my pride. I don’t say a thing because I know he will.