Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
So I sat there, naked and tied up and angry.
Although my anger turned into frustration and despair real soon. So after sitting on my ass for a couple of hours, I curled into myself and started crying into the pillow. At which point, he came into the room but I didn’t give him a chance to state his intentions. I threw a pillow at him and told him to get the fuck out. And then I somehow went to sleep.
I think I slept — on and off; when I was off I could sense him coming into the room to check on me but I pretended to be asleep — until dinnertime when he came over again with the food and by then I was so tired that I didn’t say a word and simply ate what he gave me.
Even though I hated how tasty it was: lasagna.
I hated that he also gave me dessert: cotton candy ice cream, my favorite that he must’ve bought for me specifically when we drove to the cabin.
But more than that I hated that after a while, coming in and out of slumber, I couldn’t hold on to my anger. I couldn’t hold on to my ire and outrage and the sense of unfairness and blame. Because well I did lie to him, knowing that it was wrong. That it was extremely fucking unethical and of course as unethical as his actions from last year. Which was the whole point but still.
So I deserved his anger and his wrath.
However that came about.
But.
That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to take advantage of this opportunity.
This opportunity being: I’m untied.
I woke up about ten minutes ago and realized that I’m finally, finally untied and God, I have to get out of here. I have to run. I can’t stay here all tied up until he’s done with his anger. Not to mention, how ballistic he got when he assumed — rightfully — that it was Ezra that I was going to go to after I got pregnant.
Which I’m still going to do, aren’t I?
I have to.
It’s not like I have a choice.
So yeah, I need to run. I need to leave because we can’t do this.
We can’t make a baby.
So with bated breath, I move his heavy arm off my body and ignore how I instantly miss his heat, the weight of his corded muscles. Somehow it was keeping me grounded and safe.
I clench my eyes shut at the thought.
I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to think that this was the first time since I got forcibly engaged that I’d felt safe somewhere. Actually this was the first time I’d felt safe ever since he left me in that dorm room over a year ago.
I need to focus.
Once his arm is off and I’m sure that he’s still sleeping, I slowly creep out of bed and put my feet on the floor, hoping for no loose floorboards. But the threat of a creaking floor isn’t enough to stop me from making my attempt. And neither is the fact that I notice something around my wrist.
It shines in the darkness. Under the pearly moonlight streaming through the window.
A stark white bandage.
He’s taped up my wrists that were bound the whole day. Probably because I kept twisting and twisting them, trying to get free but mostly trying to rebel against what he’d told me. I push away all the angsty, tender feelings at the thought of him taking care of me and tiptoe around — thankfully, no loose floorboards so far — and hunt for something to put on. I pick up the first thing I encounter, his discarded t-shirt, lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. I put it on and once again ignore the cozy warmth that slides over my skin and how soft his t-shirts are.
Once I’m dressed, it’s go time.
I realize that not only is it the middle of the night but we’re also in the middle of the woods. I have no idea where I’m going or how to get out of here. But I don’t care; I need to leave. Taking a deep but quiet breath, I walk toward the bedroom door, which is thankfully open.
But before I step out of it, I pause and look at him.
I study his slumbering form for a second, trying to commit it to memory. He’s lying on his side just like he was yesterday when I woke up, all lusty and warm. He’s got his one arm under the pillow and the other that I removed from my body lies right beside it.
I’m momentarily entranced by how the moonlight dances over the ridges and curves of his muscles, creating shadows and patterns. How his hair’s all messy and almost fanning out on the pillow, his soft lips relaxed and parted. How even in his sleep, he doesn’t lose even a drop of his power, his beauty.