Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Oh goodness, I forgot you were still there.” Tanya smirks at me, her eyes dropping to the floor to assess my work.
Yup, time to disappear.
Whirling around on the heels of my shoes, I start back the way I came, but I make it all of one step before a hand lands on my shoulder, stopping me.
The touch catches me off guard, and I twist back around, my heart racing in my chest.
Sebastian. Shit.
“Wait, we need to talk,” Sebastian says and drops his hand from my shoulder. I nod but say nothing. I doubt he wants to talk about anything good. I should probably start packing up the minuscule box of things I own and prepare for what’s to come.
My throat tightens as bubbles of panic rise slowly to the surface.
He abruptly turns his attention back to Tanya. “It’s been nice chatting with you, Tanya, but I need to discuss some things with Elyse, so carry on with whatever it was you were doing before.”
“Excuse me, but you cannot just dismiss me like that,” Tanya huffs.
“I’m not dismissing you. The conversation is over; now move along.”
Shaking her head, she sneers at me, her gaze sending pinpricks of awareness across my skin. After a second, she looks back at Sebastian, and only then can I breathe again.
“Each day, I have to wonder how you turned into the cold, callous man you are today. I know I raised you to be more respectful than this.”
“Tanya,” he growls impatiently.
“Whatever, but we’re not done with this conversation,” she warns and stalks away, but not before she slams her shoulder into mine.
It's a miracle I keep all the items locked tight in my grip. Can’t say the same about my body since I sway like a leaf being carried away by a gust of wind.
Sebastian notices and steadies me with both hands pressing down on my shoulders.
I look up at him, trying to read his features. There’s nothing there. Not even a hint. It's hard to tell what he’s thinking when he’s wearing that stupid mask to hide his emotions.
“Uh, what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask nonchalantly, trying to act like I’m not close to my third nervous breakdown of the day.
“Did you not realize you hit your head when you fell?”
I shrug. “I did, but I was more concerned about cleaning up the mess. I don’t want to upset Tanya any more than I already do.”
He shakes his head. “Fuck her. I don’t give a fuck about the mess. You could’ve left it there; someone else would’ve cleaned it up.” The bitterness in his voice drains out into his words. I don’t tell him that I care about the mess, especially since I’m the one who made it.
“It’s okay. It’s my job to clean stuff up, and it’s done now, so it doesn’t matter.”
We haven’t talked, but maybe a few words here and there recently, more so him telling me what he needs done or what I should be cleaning, so it’s weird to have a full conversation with him right now.
“Sure.” He sighs. “How does your head feel?”
I’m confused. Why does he care? He’s bound to have some kind of ulterior motive…right?
But no…he’s not the one who left me for dead after beating me and shooting me. “Fine,” I say finally. “It feels like a head should feel.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look like he’s okay with that response. Every inch of his body is rigid and drawn tight like a bow. Shit, is he going to fire me now? Maybe he was just bringing up my head so he had something to lead the conversation with.
“Dr. Brooks wants to do a checkup soon. He asked me to ask if you remembered anything from that night or if you’ve had any flashbacks?”
I tighten my grip on the supplies. This conversation makes me feel incredibly vulnerable, but outside of Sebastian being a total prick most days, he’s never used that night against me, so I’ve never felt uncomfortable talking to him about anything pertaining to it. Not until now, that is.
I have this sudden urge to lie to him, and I don’t understand why. Fighting against it, I force the words out. “I mean, there have been some things, but it’s nothing major. I’ve been a little spacey lately.”
The flicker from earlier resurfaces in my mind.
Yanov beating me and dragging my body across the ground.
I could feel the bruises, feel the impact of his knuckles as they landed on my skin, jarring my bones, dousing my entire body in pain. It felt like a memory, as if I had experienced the events in real time.
“There’s no reason to lie to me, Elyse. If you remember something, you can tell me.”
I look up at him and stare deep into his penetrating gaze. Yes, I want to know if it was my imagination or a suppressed memory from that night, but I also wonder if that will make things worse. Because what if it was a memory, and what if what I’ve thought or come to know all along hasn’t been the truth at all?