Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
The door closes behind me with a loud click and I don’t stop walking until I get to the office to retrieve the house keys. I’ll lock the door. I’ll keep her here until she understands.
There’s no fucking way I’m letting her leave. She’ll figure it out eventually; she’s always been mine. It was only a matter of me finding her.
Jules
Although my eyes are tired and my head and limbs ache, I don’t move. Not an inch. Not since I took the engagement ring off my finger and flung it across the room.
I’m far too aware of every event that led to this. It’s as if I’ve lived my life under the warm silk sheets of the most welcoming bed, only to be kicked out, landing face-first on the cold, cracked concrete floor.
More than anything, one word keeps coming to mind. Unprepared. I have no idea what to do, or even what to think. It’s all a mess. My life is a jumbled mess of chaos and tragedy. It’s hard enough to grasp the fact that Jace was murdered. Much harder still to think that I fell in love with his murderer.
I need to get away. Far away from Mason just so I can think straight.
I can’t focus on anything else other than that one truth: I need to get the hell out of this room.
The bedroom door’s locked from the outside; the telltale jingle of keys and then the loud click of the lock a few moments ago alerted me to that. I already know it’s the case without even trying to turn the knob. I suppose that’s better than having to face him. To my left, the curtain sways and draws my eyes.
My throat closes at the thought of seeing him again. I loved him. My heart feels like a vise is clamped around it, squeezing tighter each time I think about who Mason really is and what I’ve done. I fell in love with my husband’s killer.
The shock is still there, but it’s not enough to keep the sickness of my reality at bay.
My head feels dizzy—from exhaustion maybe, I’m not sure, but I don’t have time to think. I don’t have time for anything until I’m far away from here.
I stare at the lone window in this room. I know it’s an idiotic notion to think I can climb down from the second story and land safely below, but I have no other choice and I refuse not to try.
If there’s one thing the recollection of the events leading up to this have screamed at me, it’s that I need to take action and stop allowing life to railroad me.
I don’t have my keys, my phone or wallet. With the groan of the bed seemingly chiding me as I stand up and make my way to the window, I peek outside to see there’s already a thin layer of snow on the ground. Given its late November in New York, I’m not shocked but it’s still frustrating. If I make it down there alive without breaking my neck, he’ll be able to see where I’ve gone. A part of me huffs at the thought, knowing this is foolish, trying to escape.
But I only need to flag someone down on the road or bang on a neighbor’s door. I have to try, and I’m not waiting another second.
The floor in the bedroom is creaky and every little sound forces me to check that the door is still closed. I know he’ll be able to hear me from downstairs if he’s listening. I’m careful with each step and do my best to limit the noise as I move around. I inhale deeply through clenched teeth as I open the dresser as quietly as I can but it’s loud just the same as I slowly pull on the drawer. I’ve never noticed it before, but right now every single noise is far too loud.
My heart rampages in protest at each squeak and groan from the wooden floors. I’m only getting dressed, I tell myself over and over. If he comes up now, if he hears me and storms into the room to check on me, I’m only getting dressed. Surely that’s what he must think.
My eyes burn with unshed tears thinking about Mason coming up here. Realizing the fear I now have for a man I once loved makes my chest feel unbearably tight.
What if he catches me?
What will he do when he’s realized I’ve left?
Even worse: What would he do to me?
I swallow down the insecurity and fear; I can’t be paralyzed by them. I can’t wait here in this damn room for him to decide what to do with me. I’m stronger than that.
The first shirt and pair of leggings I pull out are good enough and then from the drawer below, I grab a pair of jeans to pull over top of the leggings. It’s freezing outside. I don’t have a coat because they’re all downstairs in the hall closet, but I layer a sweater and then another one over my long-sleeved shirt. It’s hard to tell if the burning heat is from the fabrics or from the anxiety that rages through me.