Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Whatever is left of my soul cracks apart and breaks. Loss falls over me like a cold tsunami, sucking me underneath its churning, dark currents and dragging me into their depths. The old man wipes at his face then nods toward Tor. “We worry with her right now ‘cause there ain’t nowhere to take Caleb but home.”
And I can’t deal with that thought, so I block out everything as I climb into the front cab of the truck with Tor in my arms.
Chapter Tor
Hospitals have certain sounds, certain smells. The beep of machines, the lingering, sterile scent of bleach. Things that not so long ago were familiar, an everyday part of my life, now feel foreign.
Outside the hospital room, a flock of white coats brush past, charts in hand. That used to be me, and now, I’m here. In a bed, hooked up to IVs, while the man who took me away from all that sits in the corner. I can feel Jude’s gaze on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.
He lost his brother. I lost myself. And now I’m just numb, unable to process my own pain or the grief, incapable of facing his.
There's a knock on the ajar door. A young doctor steps into the room, flashing me a broad smile that I don't return. “I'm Doctor Perry. How are you feeling?"
Like shit, that’s what I want to tell him, that while the painkillers have muted the physical pain, they’ve done nothing to abate the mental anguish. I want them to dose me with enough drugs to make it all go away.
The doctor glances at Jude, and I don’t miss the accusation in his eyes. I’ve been where he is, with an abused wife too scared to accuse her piece of shit husband, and I hated it.
“Mr Pearson, could you give me a moment alone with your wife please.” They think I’m his wife. The thought vaguely registers before slipping away like everything else.
With a glare, Jude pushes up from the chair and turns to me. “I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette, doll. I’ll be right back…”
The door shuts behind him and the doctor clears his throat.
“Can I go?” I ask, before he can start on the victim speech. I’ve given it myself and know he’s only trying to help, but I’m beyond help, certainly any he could get me.
His brows tug together as he glances down at the chart in his hand. “All your labs came back normal.” Then he hesitates. “Were you aware that you are pregnant?”
The words are like a bucket of ice cold water over my head, seizing the breath from my lungs, paralyzing me.
"No." I'm going to be sick. "No, no, no," This isn't happening.
The doctor walks to the bedside. "Mrs Pearson..."
"I want it out."
"Please, I understand this is difficult–."
“Get it out!” Hysteria crawls up my throat and all I can think is that I have part of that monster in me.
“If that is what you want, we can organize it.” His voice is full of sympathy, and I hate it. “You’re around three weeks gestation…” A shred of rational thought creeps back in. I don’t know how long I’ve been gone, when Tom– when he did that.
I try to recall every brand, one for each day, but I can’t. The memories are blurred together; one endless torrent of pain and horror. "How many brands are on my back?" I breathe, daring to hope, praying to anyone who will listen.
There's a beat of silence where he checks my notes. "Six," he says, his voice hushed. Only six? I was there only six days? And while it felt like months, all I can focus on right now is that it can’t be Tom’s baby.
The doctor places a soft hand on my shoulder. “Miss Pearson, I am—”
I can tell just from that sympathetic tone that he’s about to offer me some kind of condolences. “When can I leave?” I cut him off.
“We’d like to have a caseworker speak with you. A psychiatrist… I know you checked the non-report option, but I’d highly advise you to reconsider.”
“I don’t want to report it.” Reporting it would be useless, and I don’t want the paper trail.
Jude walks back into the room, but I can’t look at him.
“I don’t want to report it,” I repeat, already removing the surgical tape holding my IV in place. “I just want to leave.”
“Miss Pearson, I’d—”
“I know my rights. I would like to self-discharge.”
There’s a moment of tense silence where the doctor glances between Jude and me. “I have to advise that it’s in your best interest to stay until—”
“Until what? My labs are fine,” I say. “Nothing is broken.” Physically at least. I pull out the IV and toss it on the bed, already swinging my legs over the edge. My entire body hurts, but I ignore it.