Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I don’t blame him for his disbelief, because I can’t believe it, either.
“Do you know where he lives?” I ask when what I really want to do is take him and shake him and make him tell me everything I need to know. She needs us, and it might be too late already. I don’t want to believe that, but too much time has passed. Anything could’ve happened.
28
MAYA
Itry my best to sit up in the chair and clear my mind, but the drugs in my system keep me loopy and weak. My head is foggy, and my limbs useless. Looking around the room, I search for a way out, or maybe a weapon I can use to defend myself. Unfortunately, there is nothing here but two grown men who won’t let me leave.
“Stop crying already,” my father snaps. “You are being dramatic. All you have to do is marry Clark and be a good wife to him,” he says like it’s no big deal that he is dictating my whole life.
More tears run down my cheek as my chest aches for Tucker. I didn’t even realize how much he means to me until now. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way I fell for him…I fell for my bully, and now it’s too late. I probably won’t ever have a chance to tell him how I feel.
“Here it is,” Clark shoves a piece of paper onto the table in front of me.
I look down, barely able to read the header of the Marriage Certificate through my blurry vision.
“Sign,” Clark orders, handing me a silver pen.
His hand hovers inches from my chest. I glare at it but don’t make a move to take it.
“Come on,” my father huffs before coming around to stand next to me.
He takes the pen from Clark and grabs my hand. He wraps my fingers around the pen and covers my hand with his before guiding the tip of the pen to the paper. He forces me to write my name, and I watch in horror as my signature appears on the dotted line.
This can’t be legally binding. There is no way.
“There you go,” my father says. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He drops my hand, and my arm falls down beside me.
Clark takes the pen back and signs his name next to mine. “That’s it. We are legally married,” he cheers, and my heart sinks.
“Congratulations to you two!” My father has the audacity to sound happy. “I’m sure it will be an adjustment, but I know you will get used to this, especially once you have children… your mother did.”
I can’t even wrap my mind around my father’s words, so much is packed in his one statement. Does he really believe I’ll get used to this? Is he so deranged that he thinks I’m going to accept my fate? Then the comment about my mother. What does that mean? Was she forced to marry my father?
All these questions are running through my mind at a million miles per hour. I can’t process any of it right now. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“What now?” I manage to croak out. My throat is so dry, and my tongue is heavy.
“Well, my dear, I’m going to leave you two lovebirds,” my father answers. “Clark is going to take care of you from now on.”
“You don’t even have to go to school anymore. I’ll be happy with a stay-at-home wife,” Clark announces. “Everything you could ever need is right here. You won’t even have to leave the house.” He gives me a leery smile and bile rises in my throat.
He doesn’t want a wife. He wants a prisoner and sex slave. And my father just sold me to him. Fuck this. I’m leaving the first chance I get.
“All right, I’ll leave you to it,” my father says, buttoning up his jacket.
I look into his cold eyes, giving him one more pleading gaze. I remember the time when I thought my father loved me, when I loved him. Was that all a lie, or was there ever a part of him that cared for me?
Right now, I’m hoping for the latter. I’m praying that there is a little shred of decency left in him, a tiny spark of the dad he once was to me.
“Dad, please don’t leave.” My voice cracks at the end, the same way my heart cracks in two when I look at him.
He stares at me blankly, his lips pressed in a thin line as he shakes his head slowly. “You’ll get used to this arrangement eventually,” he says, and I’m not sure if he is talking to me or to himself.
Without another word, he turns around and walks toward the door. I watch him leave the room, grieving for the man I used to call dad. I don’t know if I can ever bring myself to call him that again. I feel like that person is dead now. I didn’t even know I was still holding on to a piece of him, but now that the piece has shattered, I feel the absence.