Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I moved out of Jones’s apartment when I turned seventeen. Got a job, supported myself. I think we were both relieved to be apart, although we were never far from each other. Jones tried to put more distance between us with all the moves, but I always followed with the excuse of watching out for him. Saying that he needed me. He didn’t need me, though. He needed to be away from me because I know every time he looked at me, he saw what we did. That was one thing I was better at than him. I could block it. I did it while it was happening. I did it when I left. It’s like it wasn’t me at all.
“Cilla,” Kill’s hand is on my shoulder.
Startled, I look up at his face.
“One of the nurses forgot something in his room and returned after giving him his medication. It’s lucky for him that she did because she found him quickly enough and they were able to cut him down before it was too late.”
“So he’ll be okay?” The question doesn’t fit. I know Jones will never be okay, not like other people.
“He’ll survive this without permanent damage, yes.”
There’s more in the way he doesn’t say things than in the words he says. He knows it too. He knows Jones will never really be okay.
“He was lucky,” Kill continues. “This time.”
I look at him when he adds on that last part. “I’ll stay with him. He won’t do it again.”
“Are you going to watch him 24/7?”
“I can’t abandon my brother.”
“He’s heavily sedated, Cilla. He may need to be—”
“I won’t abandon my brother,” I repeat more slowly.
“He needs a different sort of care than you can provide.”
He’s right, I know, but it still feels like abandonment, and I can’t face that right now. Instead, I rise to my feet. Face Kill.
“You did this,” I say.
“What?”
“You did it. It’s because of you. All of this happened because of you.”
His eyes narrow, but inside them, I still see pity. Fucking pity. Now, after everything.
“Get out,” I say, planting my hands on his chest, attempting to shove him.
“You’re in shock—”
“Get the fuck out of my brother’s room!”
The doctor says something, walks toward us, but Kill puts his hand up to stop him without ever taking his eyes from me.
“I’ll call the police,” I say. “Tell them about our contract. Tell them about your business.” I shove again, this time, he captures my wrists. “Get out. Right now.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t let me,” he says, but his calm is a thin façade.
“I don’t want your help. I never asked for it and neither did he!”
“You did ask for it,” he reminds me.
“So this is my fault?”
“No, it’s no one’s fault, but you can’t put your life on permanent hold to help your brother and that’s exactly what you’d be doing if you think you could handle this yourself.”
I try to pull free, but can’t. “Let me go.”
He watches me, and I want to know what he sees, what he thinks, but he doesn’t let on. Just keeps hold of me and all those damn machines are too loud. Too fucking loud. And it’s like he knows it’ll only be another minute, another second, before I break down again because that’s all I can seem to do these days. All I can do around him unless I fight him. There’s no in-between for us. He knows the truth. I see it in his eyes. He learned it when he went to get my pound of flesh.
“Cilla,” he says, a hint of tenderness in the way he says it.
“Stop. Let me help you.”
I shake my head, drop my gaze, but his words, God how I want to say yes. How I want to melt into his strong arms, let him hold me. Keep me.
Hide me.
“Cilla.” The way he’s holding me changes. He pulls me to him, or tries but, but I can’t. I can’t want this. Can’t have it. It’s too hard and I want to go back to the way it was before. Before I asked for his help. Before he found out.
A machine starts to beep. I turn, we both do, and a team of doctors and nurses rushes in.
“You need to go,” one of them says.
“No!” They’re calling out orders, words that don’t make sense to me. I can’t see my brother anymore.
“You need to take her outside,” someone says again.
Kill nods, takes me by the arm and forces me out.
“What happening?” I’m frantic, but Kill won’t let me go. He just keeps holding me, keeps pulling me into his chest, keeps petting my hair, trying to soothe me.
The frantic sounds from the room quiet a few moments later. That’s when Kill loosens his hold on me, let’s me turn toward the door. He’s still got my wrist and won’t let go.