Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
My fingers are shaking as I peck at the keys. My stomach is churning, and my throat tight.
M-A-C-K-E-N-Z-I-E
W-I-L-D-E-R
I don’t expect much. I don’t expect anything at all. She doesn’t have facebook. But she does have an email. One I don’t have any intention of using. I just want to see her. I just want something.
We have so much history together. For as long as I can remember, Mack has been at my side. She was the first person to see past the walls I’d erected around myself. She befriended me in foster care and then took it upon herself to look out for me.
And when we got separated and she discovered what my new foster dad was doing, she came to my rescue. She left her warm bed and a comfortable home to live on the streets with me. So that we could be together. And she taught me everything I know about being tough.
We don’t have to be blood because we are sisters. No matter what anyone says. The only warmth I’ve ever felt in my heart has been for her. She’s the toughest, craziest bitch I know and I love her.
I miss her.
I miss her so much the thought of never seeing her again makes me sick. But how can I?
How can I face her like this?
When she was right about everything. She was right to believe that there are monsters in everyone. I can’t even imagine what my disappearance must have done to her. How much it would have hurt her. And it isn’t fair to go back now when I’m still in pieces. When I can’t even promise her that I want to live to see another day.
None of that would be fair to her.
So I tell myself as I scroll through the results that I am only seeking validation for those thoughts. That she is happy now. That’s all I need to know, and then it will be okay. No matter how much misery lives inside of me, as long as she is happy, it will be okay.
But what I find hurts more than I expect it to. And it’s also the thing I wanted most. For her to move on with her life. Forget I ever existed or dragged her down with the problems she couldn’t fix for me but desperately wanted to.
It’s her name, on a wedding registry. Mackenzie Wilder and Lachlan Crow.
The name is not unfamiliar. He is my old boss. The man who ran the club I worked at when Dmitri locked me in his sights. I was an easy target.
I always have been.
That’s the dangerous thing about hope and want. Believing that this one might be different. That this one might not hurt you too. Other people have happy endings. But I never will. I was never born to.
Mack is different. She deserves her happy ending. But I can’t understand it. Why him? Why Lachlan? And how?
I know the answers. Deep down, I know she went looking for me.
And she found him instead.
There are no photos of them. I want to see her face. But I know it’s asking too much. My fragile mind can’t handle that. I would want to see her and believe that somehow it would be okay.
That can’t happen.
She can’t ever see me like this. What I’ve become. She will still try to fix me. And I can’t be fixed.
It’s better this way.
Magda looks up at me, and I realize I’ve said the words aloud.
“It’s better,” I repeat. “I’m happy for her.”
I tell myself those same things over and over as I shut the computer. And it’s true.
So I don’t know why it feels like I’m dying inside.
19
Talia
When Alexei comes to see me again, any reminder of what happened between us is gone. His face is calm, vacant of emotion as he studies me.
“Have you learned your lesson?” he asks.
“Have you learned yours?” I reply.
He moves to stand up and leave me again, and I stop him.
“I can’t make any promises,” I tell him. “But I won’t do that particular thing again.”
He returns to sit beside me. The soft gray of his sweater stretches across his muscular frame, and my fingers itch to touch it. To touch all of him. To have him make me forget.
His fingers find my face, hard and unyielding as his eyes bore into mine.
“You won’t try anything again,” he tells me.
It isn’t a question, or a threat. Simply a command. As though he believes I will obey. I have no question about his authority. His power over me is absolute. But it still feels like maybe I have some power too. Like I remind him of his darkest wound. As if I am the very salt that burns it and brings all of that concealed pain to the surface.
He takes my silence for approval, and undoes my binds, rubbing my wrists and ankles when he finishes. His eyes are on my body. Moving over the pale expanse of my legs and the skin hidden beneath the shorts and cami.