Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I left the ranch a week after that, after everyone heard about what I said, after my cousins brutally mocked me, after my aunts and uncles all joined the chorus of liar, liar, liar, after everyone kept singing the praises of Rosie and made her sound like a saint.
Rosie wasn’t a saint. She was an abusive bully and a part of me thinks she deserved what she got. I hated Rosie so much, hated her with all my body and soul, and to be called a liar, called a fake, called selfish and terrible, while they all acted as if she was the decent one—
I couldn’t handle it.
I left and promised myself I’d never come back. And now here I am.
War leaves the main house a few hours after dark. I watch him walk through the night, barely more than a shadow. He’s coming for me, and I don’t care. I’m too tired to do much more than listen to the door open, listen to him come up toward me. I roll onto my side and prop my back to the window as he emerges through the trap door and crouches there looking at me like a hungry wolf.
“You’ve been up here for a while,” he says.
I look down at my lap. “I just want to be alone.”
“You’ve been alone long enough.” He moves closer. “How’s your face?”
“Fine. You can go.”
“Your lip?”
“War.”
“I’m just trying to check on you.” He stops about a foot away, staring at my wounds. “You’re dead set on pushing me away, huh?”
I feel a tingle run down my spine. My lips throb, whether from the cut or from something else, I’m not sure. “I don’t want to be checked on.”
“Here I am anyway. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “You want to know? I’m thinking this was a mistake.”
“Don’t forget why we’re here.”
“Money,” I say and glance out the window, out toward the fields. I’m here for money, for Bomber, to prove I can be independent, but maybe that was all some foolish dream. “But there doesn’t seem to be that much around here these days. And I’m wondering how much my pride is worth.”
“I spoke with your father’s nurse earlier after I got done snooping through Daisy’s room. She says he doesn’t have dementia.”
My mouth drops open and I stare at him. There’s a lot to unpack, and I sit up straight. “You went through Daisy’s room?”
“Didn’t find anything,” he says, still gazing into my eyes. “What do you think about that? Your father doesn’t have dementia. Daisy’s story was bullshit.”
“She’s just a nurse,” I say, brushing him off. “You can’t go through Daisy’s stuff. That’s just—”
“I’ve done worse,” he says, coming nearer. “I didn’t think you’d give a fuck about that though.” God, he’s so big and handsome, and I think of his mouth between my legs, and a strange patter takes over my heart. Excitement courses into my veins. He’s close, and it’s dark, and we’re very alone up here.
“We’re staying for as long as it takes to get paid and then we’re leaving,” I tell him. “Don’t do anything that’ll make things harder. What’s it matter if she’s lying? None of this stuff is important.”
“Why is she lying? That matters to me. It should matter to you.” His head tilts, his eyes narrow. “You should give a shit.”
“I don’t.” I try not to let him notice my lips trembling. “I told you I didn’t want to come back, and I don’t want to stay. We’re hanging around for a few more days, getting paid, and that’ll be that.”
“You really don’t want to know what Daisy’s doing to this place? You’re not curious why she’s the one in charge and not one of your uncles or your aunts? Something’s broken here, Melody.” His tone is serious, like he genuinely cares, but why? I don’t understand what War has to gain from getting involved in my family’s drama.
“I don’t care,” I say harsher than I wanted, but my nerves are raw. “This place isn’t mine anymore.”
“Melody—”
“No War, no, just stop it. Stop snooping. Stop asking around. I know you probably think you’re helping, but you’re not. I want you to stop.”
He’s quiet, letting my words drill into him, and a sickening hate slithers down into my guts. I hate myself, and I hate Daisy, and I hate War for bringing me here, and I hate him for kissing me and getting me off, and I hate him for making me confront the lies I’ve told, and the lies I’ll keep on telling, because so much of my world is based on those lies.
“I think you’re stuck in a cycle and you’re unable to break free,” he says, and my hands tremble. “I think you’re going to keep on lying to yourself, pretending like you don’t care about any of this, until it eats you up inside.” He puts his hand on my thigh, his fingers digging into my skin. “I think you’re rotting.”