Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 66503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I toil and tug at him as he raises himself up the steps by the railing. He takes each step as slow as a snail. Even though it takes a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, we make it up.
When we finally get to the top, I breathe out ragged breaths and open the doors.
There’s a hallway in front of us with lots of rooms.
We skipped right past the check-in area, just as the man said.
My father whips out his card and checks the number. “Fifty-two.”
Down the hall and to the right. I put my arm under his shoulder to support him while we walk there. Only a few more steps…
When the door finally opens, I help him inside. But when I’ve put him down on a seat, and the door shuts behind us, I immediately exit the room again.
“Wait—”
I ignore my father’s voice and peek through the hallways until I find what I’m looking for. The cleaning lady’s cart and the bag filled with clothes destined for the cleaners.
When I’m sure no one is around, I rummage through the bag and fish out a white shirt that’s not too dirty, along with a pair of fancy suit trousers. Nothing I’d normally ever wear, but perfect to blend in.
I blow out a sigh.
I promise to bring these back once I get to safety.
Then I head back into the room and shut the door.
My father stares at me and the clothes in my hands. “What the hell are you up to?”
I don’t respond as I lock myself in the bathroom and look at the woman in the mirror. At her bloodied fingertips and stained purple dress.
I tear off the dress, ripping it at the seams until all that remains are the pieces on the floor. I wash my face and my hands under the sink, watching the blood slowly disappear down the drain. But no amount of rubbing can get rid of this smudge darkening my heart.
I clean myself off and quickly put on the clothes I stole. They don’t smell that bad. Anything is better than that dress bought with lives.
When I’m ready, I exit the bathroom and stand there for a moment while my father glares at me.
“Just a change of clothes? That’s it?” he asks. “Where did you get them?”
“I stole them,” I say. “But I’ll bring them back once we’re in a safer space, I promise.”
He simply makes a hmpf sound, and I recognize it from when he always used to berate me. But now, my father’s judgment is the least of my worries.
Besides, it’s not like he didn’t make a business out of stealing. He has no right to judge.
I collapse onto the bed and stay there for a while. Just breathing. Just … existing.
And then the tears come.
“Are you crying?” my father mutters. “Jesus, Aurora. We made it. Be happy.” He laughs.
“We did, yes,” I reply, gazing at him with tearstained eyes. “But he didn’t.”
“Who?” My father raises his brow, but the ire on my face finally makes him realize. “That Beast?”
He says his name like it’s something vile.
Suddenly, he hisses as he moves around in the chair, and I sit up to look at him.
“Fuck, it hurts,” he growls, touching the open wounds on his legs and arms.
I wipe away my tears, get off the bed, and rummage around in the room, opening all the closets. I even look in the bathroom until I find what I’m looking for: a first-aid kit.
I carry it to my father and kneel before him so I can bandage his leg. I don’t say anything at all, even though he looks at me like I should. But I have absolutely nothing to say to him.
“Why do you even care at all about that Beast?” he asks.
I fixate the bandage with some tape. “Because he deserved to survive too.”
He rolls his eyes. “That thing was nothing but a killer.”
“That thing was a man with a beating heart,” I say, standing up in front of him. “And he was a better man than you’ll ever be.”
I blink away the tears, refusing to cry in front of my father as I throw everything back into the box and chuck it onto the table. Then I lie down in the bed and bury my face into the pillow.
It’s been so long since I last felt a semblance of humanity, and this bed right here gives me so much of it. Something Beast didn’t have for years on end.
Until he met me.
That one night we had in the hotel room must’ve been a rare experience.
“So you’re just going to lie there?” my father asks.
I don’t know what to say.
I’m just trying not to die from sorrow.
Because when I think of Beast lying there in a pool of his own blood, shot down like his life meant nothing, all I want to do is scream until my lungs cave in on me.