Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Seething through my clenched teeth, my eyes open wide as I bolt awake in the late morning and I struggle not to vomit.
I wish I could say I was drunk when I lost my shit last night. That’s exactly what I did. I have lost all composure when it comes to this man.
It takes me a long time, longer than it should, to realize I’m alone in the bedroom. I expected to see him on the chair watching me, or in bed. I’m not sure why I expected it. I shouldn’t have. He’s never here in the morning. But we’ve never been like this before. So broken and each of us hurting the other.
We aren’t throwing stones; we’re tipping boulders over a steep cliff while the other lies helplessly in the dirt below.
I chose him. I wanted to be with him, and he’s choosing to make me feel so fucking alone. The thin top sheet gathers in my hands as fists form and I struggle to hold back the pain from everything.
Waking up alone hurts more than it ever has before. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to be hurting. I don’t want to be the cause of Carter’s pain either. And I think that’s all I’ll ever be. After last night, I don’t know how I could ever be anything but a painful reminder to him.
Cradling my sore shoulder, I sit up on the bed and let my legs hang off the side as I test out my arm. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s my own damn fault. The deep gouges in my wrist are worse though.
The floor’s cold under my bare feet as I make my way to the bathroom in search of more painkillers and something I can use to clean the cuts. I don’t find either, but I get ready, thinking about the bathroom located off the foyer. I bet there’s some in there.
All the while I brush my teeth, I stare at myself in the mirror. As I brush my hair, my reflection does the same, watching the woman I am. There’s not an ounce of happiness. There’s nothing but darkness.
I read in some article a while back, that pets start to look like their owners because they learn to mimic their facial expressions. It’s the same with adopted children resembling parents who aren’t biological. The more time spent with someone, the more you inherit their features.
And as I stare at myself, all I see is the darkness that is Carter. The brewing pain deep inside. It inhabits me in a way I hadn’t seen before.
The room is silent as I turn off the water and carefully set my brush on the granite counter.
None of this belongs to me. None of it is mine.
Every piece was a gift, comfort items meant to placate me. With a step back, it’s hard to swallow. With a peek up in the mirror, it’s hard to withstand the sight.
It’s never been more clear to me that I need to leave than in this moment. Carter Cross is a drug I’ll never kick. A drug that’s seeped into my veins and wrapped its way around every small piece of me.
I’m addicted to what he does to me and he’ll just continue to hurt me. He knows how much he hurts me, as do I, and yet here I am.
When I turn my back, it feels like someone else is there, someone behind me. The girl in the mirror maybe. She’s watching me and it sends pricks down my neck as I slowly leave the bathroom, too cold and disturbed to dare shut the door.
Even as I dress, slowly and with a searing burn every time I have to move my left shoulder, I stare at the bathroom as if somewhere deep inside, a part of me is waiting for a person to leave it.
I can’t shake this feeling. Not until I leave the bedroom. At least for a moment.
It feels too empty as I walk alone to the foyer bathroom. I’m hollow inside with the wretched truth so clear in my mind.
Leaving someone who hurts you shouldn’t feel like this. Like you’re losing a part of your soul. As if inside, there’s a fissure that’s expanding, and as it does, it’s damaging whatever it is that makes a person alive. Whatever makes me feel is being scarred with every step I take.
Because the closer I get to the front door, the more I want to leave and never look back.
I could never, even for a second, look behind. I can already imagine his face and the way he’d look at me if I left him.
I can feel his pain.
As I round the corner, I’m careful to contain my emotions so I don’t break down again.