Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I remind myself that I’m not there. Not in any basement. But the dream has a dark power. It’s ever present, just at the edges of my consciousness. Just out of reach. The stench of that room, of sweat and beer and breath, clings to my nostrils, and I squeeze my eyes shut to remind myself it’s not real. It’s not real. It was never real.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, princess.
My father is right. I need to remember that. I’m not dead. They are.
The words make everything suddenly stop and the dream is gone. Vanished. All that’s left is the sweat coating my forehead. I open my eyes. A glance at the clock tells me it’s half past ten at night.
I look at my hands. I turn them over back and front and back and front. They look the same as ever.
A movement across the room catches my eye. My heart drops to my stomach, and I nearly scream. But then a light goes on. The reading lamp beside the cushioned chair. Ice clinks against crystal as Amadeo, eyes an almost animal silver in this light, brings the tumbler to his lips.
How long has he been in here? What did he see? Hear?
I blink, look away, wipe the sweat off my face and lick my lips. I’m thirsty. Beside me on the nightstand is a glass of water. I drink it, forcing myself to do it slowly. To breathe.
When the glass is empty, I set it down and make myself look at him again. He’s quietly watching. All-seeing. All-knowing.
No, that can’t be. He can’t see inside my head. Can’t know the void in my mind now that I’m awake. Now that I’ve escaped that place.
“Bad dream?” he asks casually.
I remember what happened earlier. I remember our kiss. The way he looked at me. And I remember his punishment.
His hungry gaze sweeps over me as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I wonder if he’s thinking about what happened earlier too. If he’s remembering the kiss.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, princess.
My life has been torn from me. The stability of it. The solidity of my father’s protection. The routine. It kept me together in a way. Now, all of this, it’s unraveling me.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Long enough.”
I glance away. The room is dark, so maybe he can’t see my face. My eyes.
“What was it?” he asks. He stands, glass in hand, and I’m reminded how tall he is as he crosses the room toward me. How big and powerful. So much stronger than me.
There’s a sickness inside me. A darkness. It’s always been there. Flashes of it return when I least expect them. Like the dream. A thing hidden deep within. And that twisted thing, that sickness, he stirs it up, awakens it, because no matter what I may want or what I may tell myself, I’m attracted to this man. To both of the brothers.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him, standing too. I try to slip past him into the bathroom, but he catches my arm to stop me. He sets his drink on the nightstand, takes my other arm as well and studies me. Even in this dim light, I think his steely eyes can see right inside me. Through to all those dark, hidden places.
To the blood staining my hands. The death marking my soul.
I shake my head, unsure where that thought came from.
“Tell me the dream, Dandelion.”
“Why do you care?”
“Tell me.”
I push against him. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“I need to use the bathroom.”
He grins and makes a show of releasing me. It’s too easy, though. I don’t trust him. I study him for a long moment but can read nothing in his eyes, so I walk to the bathroom. He follows, standing in the doorway when I try to close it.
“Go on. Use the bathroom,” he tells me. “Or do you suddenly have your period and need a tampon?”
“What do you want with me?” He gestures into the room, and I set my jaw, narrow my eyes. Fine. “Will you get some sick joy out of watching me pee?”
“Tell me the dream.”
“I don’t remember it. Do you often remember your nightmares?”
“Yes, actually. There’s just the one when your brother and father invade our home, our lives, and destroy what’s left of our family.”
I walked into that one. But he won’t get a response from me. I turn and go to the toilet. Facing him, I sit down, and although it takes all I have to hold his gaze, I do it, feeling my cheeks grow hot as he watches me pee. When I’m finished, I clean myself, flush, then wash my hands and my face. I look drawn and tired, my hair dried into tangles. I swear I still taste soap when I pick up the toothbrush and brush my teeth all while he watches. All while I’m hyper aware of how close he is. How much space he takes up.