Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
But knowing that I don’t fight back because he’s a monster and I refuse to be a monster too suddenly makes horrible sense inside my body. I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want my son to see me like that, ever, not even the smallest chance. I am protecting my boy, but I’m not doing a good enough job at it. I need to escape this man, and I need to do everything in my power to make sure my baby is safe.
I have no other choice.
“Baby,” Reece says, kneeling down and reaching for me.
I jerk back, eyes wide. “Don’t, don’t touch me.”
“You’re hurt, let me make it better.”
“Get out of my house, or I will call the police. If I call the police, you’ll not see your son again. I don’t want to do that, because he loves you. So, if you love him like you say you do, you need to get the hell out of my house and never come back.”
His eyes tear up and I want to scream and hit him and hug him all at the same time. Why am I so broken that I feel anything toward this monster? What is wrong with me? I hold my ground, though. I’m not letting him touch me. Not now. Not again.
I’m done.
It’s my time to fight back.
“Please, let me help you. You could be injured.”
“You going to take me to the hospital and tell them what you’ve done?”
He looks pained at my response.
“I didn’t think so. Now leave.”
“Zariah ...”
“God dammit, leave!” I scream.
He backs up, his face shocked, his hands trembling. My whole body feels like it’s going to just give up on me and my bottom lip trembles with the tears I’ve been holding back for the last few minutes. I can barely breathe, barely think. I just need him to leave. I need him gone.
Now.
He turns and walks to the door, looking back when he reaches it.
“Get out,” I rasp, clutching my ribs.
The pain is like a searing hot knife rolling through my body.
I’m scared.
I’m in agony.
I need him gone.
He walks out and shuts the front door. I wait a few moments, part of me terrified he’s going to walk back in and finish what he’s always come so close to finishing. I push to my hands and knees, letting the tears leak free as I sob my way to the door. When I’m there, I flick the deadbolt. He might have a key, but when I’m inside this house, he can’t get in. I fall against the door.
I need help.
I know I need help.
The problem now is, who the hell do I call?
11
ZARIAH
I pass out.
While waiting to decide who I can call for help, the pain gets the better of me and I fall asleep right where I lie. I don’t even realize it has happened until I wake in the morning to a pounding on the door. My eyes open and I move just slightly only to feel the incredible pain that I somehow managed to sleep through. The copious amounts of alcohol I drank probably did the job, and I’m somewhat grateful.
I move and cry out, pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt tearing through my body. I try to get up, but I can’t move. I can’t stand. I can’t do anything but cry out. The banging on the door continues and I hear Kendric yell out, “Zariah, you home?”
I no longer have a choice.
I should have gotten help last night.
Now I’m in so much pain I can’t be picky about who I ask to make it go away.
“Kendric?” I croak, reaching out and banging my fist onto the door.
“Zariah?”
“She’s by the door.”
Bohdi’s deep voice echoes through.
“Zariah, you okay?” Kendric calls out, banging his fist on the door again. “Open the door.”
“I can’t,” I croak and then tears burst forth and roll down my cheeks again. “I can’t. Please.”
“She’s hurt, find a way in,” I hear Kendric order.
I hear doors and windows rattle, and then a moment later I hear the shattering sound of glass as the window to my left is busted into a thousand tiny pieces. I don’t even care. I honestly don’t. More smashing sounds, then a towel is thrown down and Kendric climbs through the window. His eyes move over my house, the upturned coffee table and the scattered things on the ground, and then he looks to me.
He sees me and his eyes flash with an unfamiliar expression. He strides over with purpose and immediately kneels on the ground, carefully lifting my head into his hands. “Who did this?”
I can’t tell him.
I can’t.
Not until my son is safe.
“I don’t know,” I lie. “I just ... I came home and there was a man in my house. I tried to fight him off but ...”