Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Well, I’m not positive. I mean–”
“There it is.” Oops. Did I say that out loud?
“Did you even take a test?” Lake explodes. His anger has now fully redirected her way.
“No, but I’m late, and–”
“So let’s go to the clinic.” I’m just fucking tired at this point.
“I can do a home test. Let’s pick up a home test.”
I curse under my breath and whip a U’y to head to a pharmacy.
Twenty minutes later, we’re back in her apartment, and she’s talked us into waiting until tomorrow for her first morning pee, when the hormones are stronger.
I just get up and walk out.
“Okay, I’ll call you!” she calls after me.
“There’s no baby,” I say. I don’t know if I’m saying it to myself or to Lake or to her.
I think, really, I’m saying it to Nadia although it seems like our problems go beyond this situation. I knew there was a piece I was missing, but now I think I understand.
I still don’t know how I’m going to fix it, though.
As I walk back out to the van, I take out my phone to try to call her then change my mind and put it back in my pocket. I need to think this through. Figure out what I can say or do that will show her that she’s more than a fix-up project for me.
That she’s my everything.
I need to find a way to show her that before I try to beg back into her life.
Nadia
The scent of cigar smoke fills my nose, suffocating me. The links of the chains that bind my wrists and collar my throat clang against the metal frame of the cot.
Open that pretty little Russian mouth, whore.
“Nyet!”
I jolt awake in bed, my heart pounding, my shirt damp with sweat.
The nightmares have gotten worse since I broke up with Flynn. Much, much worse. So bad that I don’t even want to go to sleep at night.
This time, though, the nightmare seemed clear. More like a memory and less like a dream. The edges weren’t as fuzzy as usual.
And that horrific scent…it lingers in my nostrils.
This time, I saw a face. I remember his face.
I catch my breath and cover my mouth with my hand. Tears spill over my fingers. I know that face. I saw it outside the basement of the sofa factory.
I saw it last week at Rue’s.
That was what triggered my attack. It wasn’t just a random scent of a cigar–it was his.
The man who raped me night after night for months. The man I want to kill.
My heart pounds. I get up to use the bathroom and wash my face, my mind churning. I could tell Adrian. Maybe this mudak is a regular for burlesque night. Maybe he’ll be there tomorrow night.
I missed rehearsal this past week. I spent my days in bed crying over Flynn. Every time I thought about him living his life out with Cadence and their baby, I wanted to hurl myself out the window. But it was the right choice. I made it in a moment of strength, and I wasn’t going to change it in a moment of weakness. So I didn’t allow myself to answer his texts or check his Tiktok to see his beautiful face.
Between my bouts of crying, I sewed the costumes, which I should have finished by tomorrow. I texted Danica early in the week to say I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t know whether I’d make it to the show.
I spent all week going back and forth over whether I could try to perform again–not just this week, but ever.
Doing it without Flynn there to make me feel strong seems impossible.
And yet, that’s precisely why I had to end things with him. I need to stand on my own two feet.
I couldn’t face them this week. I thought I might send Adrian over with the costumes but didn’t think I’d be able to do much more than lock myself in my bedroom and cry my eyes dry tomorrow.
But now–I gasp and meet my own gaze in the mirror, shocked by my thoughts.
I can prove to myself how strong I am. I can take the ultimate action–enact my own vengeance.
I don’t need Adrian to do it for me.
All I need is his gun.
Adrian
I grill a couple of steaks up on the roof for dinner Thursday night and bring them down to our apartment. Kat’s in the kitchen making a salad.
Nadia has been a holy mess all week, but she refuses to talk to me or even to Kat about what happened with Flynn. I still want to kill the kid because I saw this outcome from a million miles away, but I guess it’s not his fault.
Nadia broke it off with him.
“Nadia,” I call. “Dinner is ready.”
I’m not surprised when she doesn’t answer. It just breaks my fucking heart. She’s been this way before– refusing to leave the apartment, not even showering or taking care of her basic needs.