Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 35602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Still, Xavier is never far from my mind. I always wonder about him, what he’s doing, if he’s thinking about me, if he started seeing a new woman to get over me. That’s my worst fear, that he’s replaced me. And yet I can stop myself from feeling guilty about wanting him.
This was all meant to be a part of me growing up. My experience as an adult began when I plunged a blade into Xavier’s body. And even before I poisoned him, I knew what was going to happen. With the dose I gave him, there was no way Xavier was going to survive my assault. I’m still wondering whether he’s alive. But something deep inside me tells me he has to be. I’m convinced that if he really was dead, I would somehow know it. That I would feel it in my bones. Maybe it’s just foolishness, trying to prevent myself from admitting I’m a murderer. And yet, every day, every second, I keep hoping Xavier is still alive, even though it means he’s going to set a trap for me, like a hunter for his prey. Once I’m returned to him, and if he’s alive, I know what’s going to happen.
He’s going to punish me hard for everything I’ve done to him. So it’s important to me to stay as anonymous as I can and avoid any human contact. It’s not safe for me out here. And as soon as I make friends, that’ll ensure that it’s not safe for them, either.
“Lola, we don’t need you anymore,” Dorothea tells me with a wide grin as I finish up the cooking. “We’ve got it from here. Why don’t you take some time off? You’ve been working all day. I’m sure you’re tired.”
I’m grateful she’s noticed my hard work. I’ve been feeling guilty because I have brought no money to pay for my stay. But Dorothea assured me that everyone here is this way. And they all get to working together to make the house look better, because they don’t count on money coming from the women that are kept inside its walls.
On my way to the room I’m sharing with one girl, I pass one of the few solitary rooms in this house. Inside I see that girl Ivy, the ghost-like one. She’s writing on a notebook piece of paper. This is the most animated I’ve ever seen her. Her pen is dashing across the pages, filling it with scrawly, looped handwriting. She looks so engaged in whatever she’s doing.
Despite my best efforts, I have gotten nothing out of Ivy. She seems to be determined not to speak. And it makes me wonder what’s keeping her mouth shut. It’s clear Ivy has a sound mind, and I want to understand her secrets. I don’t know why I’m getting so obsessed with her. But there’s something about the ghost-like figure that intrigues me. Maybe she could be my friend. She could never let go of my secrets if I shared any with her. She doesn’t speak, which means we’re both safe.
I still have to figure out whether she’s not speaking of her own volition or if something happened to her that prevents her from shaping the words I’m sure are running through her mind. I look at her as she scribbles the letter. Once she finishes it with a flourish, she carefully packs it in an envelope which she addresses. She doesn’t add a stamp, but pushes the envelope into a suitcase. My eyes follow her actions. The suitcase on the floor is made of leather, and it’s overstuffed with so many letters, I can’t even count them all. Just as she’s putting her latest creation inside the tattered leather, Ivy looks over her shoulder and notices me. She smiles.
This is the most I get out of her, a stray smile here and there. She seems to show no interest in ever talking to me, or anybody else.
I spend the rest of the day in my room. I don’t come out for dinner because I end up falling asleep when it’s time for it, and Dorothea later tells me she didn’t have the heart to wake me up when I was clearly so tired from doing chores around the house all day. It’s not until late night that I emerge from my room, sleepy and thirsty.
I pour a glass of ice cold water in the kitchen, which is when I notice Ivy sitting at one table alone. There’s a wad of striped paper in front of her, but she’s not writing this time. It seems like she’s waiting for me.
I take over my glass of water and sit down at the table she’s sitting at. I want to talk to her, but I’m always afraid of upsetting her. Dorothea has told me there have been some violent incidents involving Ivy in the past. Even so, she never spoke, not even when the other girls provoked her. Not even one everyone tried to get up in her business and have her admit where she came from, who she was hiding from. But it seems like Dorothea has some idea of who or what Ivy is hiding from.