Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 170747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 683(@250wpm)___ 569(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 683(@250wpm)___ 569(@300wpm)
“Rafe.” Sucking in a sharp breath, I try and pull myself together before I stand and face Samuel.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Honestly? I’ve never been this far from okay.”
“She’ll pull through. She always does.”
I shake my head. “This is different. It’s like…like she barely recognizes me.”
“Give it time.” He places a hand on my shoulder and guides me towards the stairs. “Come on. You look like you need a drink.” I do. An entire bottle of the stuff.
I never could stay away from Anna for long. Sitting in the corner of my room, I watch her sleep as I tip back brandy. She’s on her side, curled into a tight ball, her bandaged hand pulled against her chest. She always used to look so peaceful in sleep like the years of bad memories had been wiped. Now though…she looks tense and haunted, even at rest.
A small whimper slips from her, and then she flips on her back and lets out a single cry. “No.”
I’m up and crossing the room in a heartbeat, sitting on the mattress beside her. I stroke my fingers over her face and she settles, leaning into my touch slightly. After a few moments she wakes up, and for a second, just a second, I see my Anna. But then her expression shutters, as though something is pulling her away from me. Her eyes grow cold, and she shifts away.
“You were having a nightmare,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
Fuck, I can’t take this. How am I supposed to fix this? She’s worse than when I first got her from the Sinaloa. Or maybe she’s not, and it’s simply that I didn’t love her then. Her pain didn’t hurt me then. I need to know what’s made her this way.
I close my eyes, bracing for what’s next. “Anna, I need you to tell me what happened to you…in that place.”
She looks at me blankly. “Why?”
“So I can help you.”
“You can’t help me.”
I fear more than anything that she’s right. “Please. Just…let me try. I need to know.”
Her gaze pulls from mine, and she focuses on the ceiling. “They tried to get me pregnant,” she says, completely emotionless. Bile rises in my throat, and my fists tighten. “And then Una cut off my finger.” There’s the slightest waver, the tiniest hitch in her voice.
“I’m sorry.” I drop my chin to my chest, feeling like I’m literally buckling under the weight of everything. “I promised to protect you, and I failed.”
“You can’t protect me. You can’t save me.” I fucking hate this. I hate the resignation in her voice. I hate that she’s given up. My little warrior has laid down her weapons and surrendered.
Pushing to my feet, I swipe the bottle of brandy from the side table where I left it. “I love you, avecita.” And then I leave the room because I need a minute.
Maria walks into my office, her hands clasped in front of her and a grim expression on her face.
“How is she?” I ask.
“The same.” Of course. She’s always the same.
Weeks have passed and Anna just exists. And it feels as though I slowly cease to exist too.
“I’ll get you some food,” Maria says hopefully.
“I’m not hungry.”
On a resigned sigh she walks out of the room and I open my office drawer, reaching for the flask of brandy I keep there. This has become my only means of survival; to become as numb as Anna.
Leaving the office, I walk aimlessly through the house until I find myself in her room, my room. Though I never sleep in the bed anymore, but I don’t want her anywhere else. She lays on her side, staring blankly through the open balcony doors. She doesn’t even seek out the sun like she once did. She’s just…destroyed. Every day I come in here and see her like this, I lose a little more of myself.
I never thought I’d be rendered this weak, but my little warrior has me on my fucking knees, begging her to fight just one more time.
44
Anna
I don’t know how much time passes. Weeks? Months? I don’t leave that room. I don’t want to. Maria comes in and forces me to eat and shower. Rafael comes in every day, though I can see him deteriorating right along with me.
I know who I was. I know who I am, but I can’t seem to find her.
It’s like I’m locked inside a glass room, and I can see out, I can hear what’s happening, but I can’t be heard. I can’t be seen. There are two versions of me: the one who lives and loves and laughs. And this: a girl who survives, no matter what the cost. In that place, I was alternating, flipping between the two. Hope kept me coming back. Hope stopped me from going dark altogether, but the second my sister walked out of that room, my severed finger in her hand…well, the switch flipped, and I can’t turn it back.