Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 8
Juniper
Pacing the hotel room, I rub my arms. My skin itches like I’m about to come out of it. It’s a combination of anxiety, fear and a smattering of hope.
Not a day has gone by since Joshua first showed me his dark side that I haven’t dreamed of an escape. There were even times when I went as far as to make serious plans. I once visited a divorce lawyer who was confident he could help me dissolve the marriage and leave with a sizable financial settlement. What he couldn’t guarantee me was my father’s continued excellent medical care, citing that there was no way the courts would force Joshua to provide for him. Because it could take months for us to finalize the money issues between us, my father would have to go to a state-run facility and I couldn’t do that to him.
My father is in what’s called a vegetative state. The car accident that killed my mother and damaged his brain has left him with a permanent lack of consciousness these last thirteen years. He’s not able to speak or respond to commands, but he does sleep and have awake cycles where his eyes are open. He’s able to chew and swallow food but past the basic functions that prolong his life, he’s utterly helpless and requires around-the-clock care.
Even though my dad doesn’t know I visit him several times a week, nor does he have a conscious understanding of what’s going on around him, I can’t let him go to a substandard facility. My heart won’t allow it, and so, as it always happened, I resolved to bear the brunt of Joshua’s abuse.
But now… Callum has me out of that house. He’s taken care of my dad. I’ve even made the bold move of telling Joshua I’m not coming back.
I think I’m so on edge right now because I have no clue how to survive past today. Right now, I’m waiting on Callum. He’s been gone all day but texted me a bit ago that he was bringing dinner and we needed to talk. I’m assuming he has potential solutions but every bit of this is scary as hell because I have no control anymore. I’m caught up in a vortex of circumstances spinning me around so violently, I’m afraid my decisions aren’t the best.
The soft knock on the door has me jumping and for a split second, I have the terrifying feeling it’s Joshua on the other side. He’s been blowing up my phone all day but I’ve sent every call to voicemail and refused to read his texts.
Slowly, I walk to the door and put my eye to the peephole. I’m relieved to see Callum there carrying a large brown paper bag.
As I open the door, the smell of Chinese food wafts toward me. While I’m hungry and grateful Callum is here, I realize I need something else. I turn my back on him as he enters, listening for the click of the lock. I head straight for the mini bar that I’ve been eyeballing for the last twenty minutes and pull out a single-shot bottle of Jack Daniels.
Holding it up, I ask him, “Want one?”
Callum shakes his head. “No, but by all means… I’m sure you could use it.”
When Joshua married me, he turned me into a socialite. A beauty to rest on his arm—look pretty, keep my mouth shut. I know how to function in polite society but I don’t have to do that anymore.
I twist off the cap and don’t bother with a glass, instead chugging it down until my eyes leak tears and my throat burns.
Sucking in air, I toss the bottle in the garbage and open another one. I shoot a glance at Callum and I’m grateful he doesn’t look put out by my behavior. He watches as I act like a lady for the second drink and pour it into a glass.
Callum moves to the small desk where I was working and pushes my laptop to the side. I closed it over an hour ago, having finished my work, and started pacing the floor. He unloads a variety of containers from the bag and my stomach rumbles. I didn’t eat lunch. I had not thought myself hungry until I opened the door and smelled the food.
“I take it you’re still a fan of the sweet-and-sour pork?” Callum asks before looking over his shoulder at me.
“Haven’t had it in years, but that sounds amazing.” I walk toward the table, carrying my whiskey.
Callum’s brow creases, indicating his confusion. “You haven’t eaten Chinese in years?”
“Oh, I’ve eaten Chinese. Just not sweet-and-sour pork. Joshua said it wasn’t good for me.”
“Wait! What?” Callum faces me. “Why would he say that?”
“Because it’s too fattening.”
“And you let him dictate what you eat?” he asks, a sharp edge to his tone.