Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 207002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1035(@200wpm)___ 828(@250wpm)___ 690(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1035(@200wpm)___ 828(@250wpm)___ 690(@300wpm)
I kept my spine straight as the ambulance drove away unneeded and the police escorted us to our trusty old Jeep. They waited until my mother took the steering wheel, my dad winced in the front seat, and I’d buckled my seatbelt in the back.
“We’ll meet you there. You know the way?” the short cop asked through the open window.
My dad nodded. “Yes. One of our neighbours is a detective. We share a beer every now and again.”
“Is that Wayne Gratt?”
“That’s him.” Dad rubbed his temples, revealing the headache I’d given him hurt worse than he wanted to admit.
“He was called in earlier today. He should still be at the station. He can take Ms Taylor’s statement, if you want. I’ll radio ahead.”
“That would be good. Cheers.” Jack forced a smile and glanced at my mum who shoved the rickety Wrangler into gear.
“See you there.” The cop tipped his chin and stepped away.
“See you soon.” Mum nodded tightly, her eyes catching mine in the rear-view mirror as she reversed off our driveway.
Neither of us spoke but tension tightened, along with aching grief.
Once on the road, she stomped on the accelerator and took off.
I stiffened as I peered down darkened streets, my heart pounding painfully.
I looked for shadows.
I searched for signs.
Nothing.
No nudges that Aslan was safe.
No knowing that he was okay.
Just emptiness and bone-chilling fear.
Aslan...where are you?
Chapter Two
*
Nerida
*
(Love in Turkish: Aşk)
“WAIT A MINUTE. YOU GAVE THE POLICE the identity of the man who raped you, all while knowing that Aslan had brutally chopped off two of his fingers, almost cut off his cock, and then tossed him overboard while still alive?” Margot sat back on my quaint wicker furniture, her eyes wider than moons. “Are you...are you mad?”
I laughed under my breath. “Oh, I’m entirely mad. I’m seventy-two years old. I’ve lived a life that’s almost killed me through heartbreak multiple times. I’ve done things I never thought I would be capable of...all in the name of love.”
“But you had to have known how risky that was? Admitting that Ethan was the one who hurt you? A crime you admitted that no one else knew about but Aslan? A rapist who suddenly went missing on the same night you were hurt?” Dylan scratched his bearded cheek with his pen. “I mean...you had to have guessed where the police’s suspicions would’ve instantly led them.”
“I did. But...all I was thinking about was saving Aslan that night. Tomorrow night didn’t matter if I couldn’t save him. One day at a time. One problem at a time.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that would’ve been, confessing what Ethan did to you in front of your parents.”
“I didn’t let them into the room with me when I told Detective Gratt. Apart from my confession that it wasn’t Aslan who raped me, I never told my parents exactly what happened. It was enough for them to know I’d been abused in that way. More than enough.” I rubbed at the chills on my arms and wished for a shawl. The sun had gone to bed, sinking like it always did into the horizon, cooling the tropical heat.
“Did it set you back emotionally? Answering such graphic questions?” Margot whispered, her notebook completely ignored at this point, her gaze locked on mine.
“No. It helped actually.” I gave her a smile. “The thing with trauma is you can say you’re done living in its shadow and pretend that you’re okay, but until that trauma is done with you...you can’t be free.”
“What do you mean?” Margot whispered.
“I mean, you can choose to be free and still be trapped. You can convince others with words that you’re okay, but those words won’t save you. Until you can prove to your trauma that you’re ready to do whatever it takes to truly be free and not just desperately cling to words that have no strength to make it so, then it won’t stop. I didn’t know that at the time. I was only seventeen, after all. I thought the power of my mind and the repetition of positive words would eventually heal me, but...Aslan was right. Until I stopped running and accepted it, I kept giving away my strength with denial.”
I spun my wedding ring, remembering the surge of that strength. “Who would’ve thought that the best cure for my trauma was to fight for the life of another? To realise that everything I’d endured only carved me into who I was meant to be? And I liked who I was meant to be because that girl would do anything to protect those she loved.”
“So...you told the police everything?” Dylan asked.
“Everything about the rape? Oh, yes. I held nothing back. I ensured they hated Ethan as much as I did by the time I finished. Of course, I told them nothing about what happened afterward. I’m not that mad.”