Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Unless…she picked another way to leave.
My blood pumps harder and faster as memories of when she rushed into the ocean during a moment of despertion slam back into me.
No, no…
The clouds condense in the sky turning dark gray in full sync with my mood.
My breathing becomes deeper, less controlled, and absolutely chaotic.
“Annika!” I yell, but my voice is stolen and broken by the vicious wind.
The more I run and call for her, the less the chances of finding her seem to become.
Droplets of rain line the distance before it’s proper pouring. Giant waves crash and shatter on the shore displaying the anger of the ocean. The tropical island is soaked in a second and so am I.
But I don’t stop running, battling the wind, and scanning every nook and cranny.
I’m about to swim into the deadly waves in search of her when I see her.
Annika stands at the top of the rocky shore, arms spread wide and head thrown back. The rain has soaked her black dress, a color she’s been wearing the past two days, and has glued it to her petite frame that’s being swayed by the wind.
I storm in her direction, pumped by the worst-case scenarios that play in my head. For a second, as she sways violently, I think the wind will steal her away before I reach her.
That she will fall and drown, and I’ll lose her for good.
You’ve already lost her. You just refuse to admit it, a bloody bastard who lives in my brain says, but I shut him out with plans to murder him later.
The moment I’m about two meters behind her, she turns around abruptly.
Streaks of her hair stick to her pasty pale neck, her cheeks are colorless, her lips are nude, and her eyes are so dim, I’d kill someone if it meant splashing color into them.
Including myself.
The rain soaks her, coming down so hard that she’s almost blurry.
“What are you doing here?” I take a step forward and she takes a step back.
Toward the fucking edge.
I do it again and she does the same, her eyes never leaving mine.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I strain, the words nearly ripping my vocal cords on their way out.
She says nothing, and I have to inhale and exhale a few times to keep from reaching out and choking the fuck out of her.
“Whatever it is you’re upset about, we can talk about it.” I soften my voice—as much as I’m able to soften it under the circumstances. “Just come here, little purple.”
Her lips tremble and a flash of light rises in the depths of her eyes before it’s pushed right down.
She shakes her head.
“I swear to fuck, Annika—” I cut myself off and release a long breath, summoning patience I don’t feel. “What do you want?”
“I want to go home,” she says easily, assertively. The first sentence she’s spoken in days is dedicated to her fucking parents.
“Anything but that.”
She takes another step back. This time, her eyes are so lifeless, she looks like she’s in a casket.
“Annika, stop!”
“You stop!” she yells back. “I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of this, of you. You’re not the Creighton I know. You’re not the Creighton who made me feel safe and loved, you’re not the Creighton who gave me the courage to go after what I loved. Creighton would never hurt me like this, he wouldn’t rip my heart open over and over again no matter how much I beg him to stop. It’s like I’m stuck with an imposter and I hate it. I hate it so much.”
I grind my back teeth together and my jaw clenches so hard that I’m surprised no tendons are snapped.
“Is that why you refuse to talk to me or let me touch you? Because you think I’m an imposter?”
She nods.
I can hear the shattering sound of my world splintering to pieces. Pieces so small, I will never be able to find them, let alone mend them together again.
When I first brought Annika to this island, I thought we’d find what we once had. Yes, she fought me a little, but she also laughed and fooled around. She danced for me, flirted, and sighed contently in my arms. She loved laying her head on my lap and looking at my face when I read for her and then demanded more.
It felt as if she still loved me.
When she apologized for shooting me, I believed her.
I believed that she had to make a choice, but the bitter truth is that she’ll never choose me over her family.
It’s probably unfair for me to make her do that, but I wanted her to pick me like she picked her brother that time.
I wanted it to be me.
I just never thought that my fixation and my plan to bring us close would push us further apart. I never thought I’d rob her of light and leave her as this broken person.