Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Say it, Blue.”
The pulse on her neck jumps. She licks her lips. “You killed them. You killed your father and the woman he was with.”
Does it make me a monster that my heartbeat remains level, that nothing shifts inside me to hear the words spoken aloud
I murdered my father. Patricide. Where are the Furies who should be taunting me? Driving me mad. Sending me to an early grave.
No such luck.
“Does it scare you to know I’m capable of such an act?”
She considers this for a long moment before she finally answers. And, on this night of nights, after all that’s transpired between us, her answer is the thing that makes me stop. It is the single most surprising and stunning thing of all.
“No. Not all fathers protect their children. He must have done something terrible to you. And it gives me hope. Because I want to kill mine.”
15
Blue
There was one thing, one detail, I never told anyone. One secret I kept.
When I got home that day, when I went into the bathroom to find my father holding Wren’s head under water, she was naked. And his pants were undone, open and pushed half-way down his ass. There was blood on the fronts of his thighs and his face was badly scratched.
“Go upstairs,” Zeke says, and, for the first time since I’ve been in this house, I know I’ve rattled him. What I said, did I know it was true before? Did I know this was what I wanted before saying it out loud?
I wipe a stray tear. It’s not for myself or for what I have to do. What I will do. It’s for Wren. It’s for the life she lost, because even if she’s alive, she lost the life she should have had.
“Go to bed. Now,” he says.
“My sister. Tomorrow, she’ll—”
“I said go to bed, Blue.”
“Promise me you’ll take me to see her first. Promise me. Please.”
He nods once but is no longer looking at me, so I get up, and I go upstairs, making my way to the same room as earlier and closing the door. I don’t even care if he’ll lock it. It doesn’t matter. I strip off my clothes and without bothering to find anything to sleep in, I climb into the bed, exhausted, and crawl under the covers to sleep.
My mind wanders to what happened between us. No. Not between us. To what he did. Making me come like that. What he said. But I force the thoughts away and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore the fluttering of wings in my belly, the memory of how it felt when I came.
When I open my eyes, it’s to bright light shining on my face. I slept hard. I can’t remember the last time I slept so hard.
I turn to the window, take in the warmth of the sun. Sunday. Wren’s birthday. I sit up and nearly have a fucking heart attach when I find Zeke comfortably ensconced in the chair across the room watching me.
“Jesus!” I put my hand over my heart, half-up on one elbow. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
He studies me, eyes intent, and I’m not sure if he just got here or if he’s been here all night.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, sitting up, careful to keep the duvet over myself. I note I’m not chained to the bed. That’s positive, I guess.
He pushes a hand through his hair and blinks, then stands. I wonder where his mind was.
“Morning,” he says.
“How long have you been in here?”
“A while,” he says shamelessly. He walks toward the suitcase picking my discarded skirt and sweater up from the floor on his way. “You should take care of the clothes. They’re on loan.” He drapes last night’s things neatly over the back of a chair and rifles through the suitcase to pick out a dress. He comes to the bed and lays it there. It’s pretty. Midnight blue with a cinched waist and short, A-line skirt.
“It’s a little cold for this maybe?” It’s March and mornings and evenings are still cold, and the dress has short sleeves.
He digs around in the suitcase to find a sweater. He tosses that onto the bed as well.
“I’m taking you to visit your sister. Then you and I have an appointment.”
I am relieved. One victory at a time. “I can be ready in ten minutes. But I need my makeup. It’s in my purse.”
“You don’t need that.”
“I do. People will stare—”
“Doesn’t matter what people think.”
“No. It’s Wren… It upsets her.”
At that he stops. “Does she have any memory of that night?”
“I… I hope not.”
“Good. Get dressed. I’ll see you downstairs.” He walks toward the door.
“What appointment do we have after?”
He stops and turns back into the room. “Well, I was going to have you submit to a virginity test, but I don’t think there’s a need.” He grins. Remembering last night, I feel my face burn and try to ignore the heat. “But I do need to be sure you’re clean and that I’m protected.”