Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
It felt like all that trust was crumbling now that I realized he hadn’t been.
I paced around the grounds for a while, but I was aware of everyone inside, likely talking about me, discussing how to handle me and my outburst.
A bitter little laugh escaped me as I rushed away from the clubhouse, deciding this was as good a time as ever to take my first little solo walk.
I needed to cool down.
I knew I was probably overreacting, but I couldn’t seem to reason with my overwrought emotions right then. Even if the flashing memories had stopped, they felt like they still had a hold on me.
But I found myself all the way into town and it was all still right there, asking to be acknowledged instead of tamped down.
On a desperate hope for some calming, I found myself walking up to my therapist’s office, knowing she told me she had an open-door policy for me. If she was with another client, I could just wait until she had a few minutes.
So that was exactly what I did, sitting in the uncomfortable chair in her waiting room, ignoring the way the secretary kept casting sympathetic glances my way.
Until, finally, the door opened, and Dr. Swift was walking out with another young woman whose eyes were still red and puffy from crying.
I’d been there so many times too.
Silently, I hoped she had someone to go home to, someone to support her.
“Vienna,” Dr. Swift said, voice surprised. Then, “Come on in,” she said, waving toward the open door to her office.
Dr. Swift had been nothing like I’d been expecting. I guess I’d imagined her being much older, kind of sedate in her dress, with one of those generic, kind faces.
But Dr. Swift was tall, statuesque, a gorgeous blonde with icy blue eyes and a charming cleft chin. She was always dressed professionally, of course, but her suits and suit dresses were always perfectly tailored to fit her lithe body, making her look more like she belonged in a board room for a billion-dollar company rather than in a tiny little therapy office in a nowhere town like Shady Valley.
“What happened?” she asked, already knowing that something must have if I was showing up out of the blue.
“He went back to the house,” I told her. There were no secrets between us. She knew every ugly detail of what had happened to me. In the van after I’d been taken. In the shed. And everything since. “He went back and he didn’t tell me.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, sitting calmly at the edge of her desk as I paced her office.
“I found my old purse shoved in the back of his wardrobe. He must have found it there.”
“You’re upset because he lied to you,” she assumed.
“Yes,” I said, sniffling but refusing to cry about it. Not until I gauged if she thought I was being irrational or not. “He’s been so easy to trust because he’s never lied to you.”
“And now, by omission, he has.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say when you confronted him?”
“That he could explain.”
“And did he?” she asked. I must have looked guilty then, because she nodded. “You didn’t give him a chance to.”
“No,” I admitted. “I know I’m probably overreacting, but I was just—“
“It was a shock,” she said, shrugging a bit. “More so than the feelings of betrayal, I believe it might be the shock of seeing that item, evidence of the past, that is making you react so strongly.”
That… well, that was likely true.
The second I picked it up, knew it was mine, it all came flooding back. In bright, cinematic detail.
The way I’d been walking down the street toward my car, thinking about my bank account, about giving myself a little coffee splurge, maybe flirting with the handsome barista because I was really feeling myself in my new dress.
Then the blur of something dark maroon pulling up beside me, jarring enough to make me gasp, but I hadn’t been quick enough to clock the danger, to remember all the programs I’d seen about vans with sliding doors, and how easily a woman could be abducted into their depths before she even knew she was in trouble.
I couldn’t quite remember if the door had already been open as the van pulled up next to me, or if it had slid open.
All I knew was that hands were grabbing me before I could even fully turn to see what was going on, hot fingers sinking into my hips, dragging me until I was airborne, my legs pedaling in the air, a surprised cry escaping me.
It was too late to scream, though, as I was yanked back against a body, a hand slapping over my mouth as the door slammed shut, cutting off any hope of freedom.
“Vienna,” Dr. Swift called, like she was sensing me back there again.