Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
No one has ever said those things to me.
“Don’t believe me?” he asks like it’s a test.
I shake my head. “No, how do you—?”
“I’ve seen enough to know it’s true.”
I’m too shocked to even know what to say. “How?”
“You cried when you had to give up your papa to save yourself. You still defend him. You tried to defend me.”
Good God, I didn’t think I could blush any harder, but apparently, I can.
“I don’t know your name, but I know you have a good soul.”
Tears well up in my eyes. “My name is Aurora.” I can’t hold them back. “But I am not beautiful.”
CHAPTER 19
Aurora
Past, age 10
“Hey, Aurora,” my bully echoes through the hallways. “Oink oink, pig!”
I’m mortified. People all around me laugh. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Even though not all of them know me, I still feel watched. Like they know he’s talking about me.
And it makes me do a u-turn into the girl’s bathroom and slam the door to my stall shut.
I sit down on the toilet and bury my face into my gloved hands, rubbing at the tears which refuse to stop
Why can’t I stop? I don’t want to cry, not because of him.
I wish things could’ve been different. That I’d listened to my father’s warnings about kids my age. That I’d trusted him when he told me they wouldn’t accept me.
My hand dives into my pocket, and I fish out my phone, vigorously typing in the chat to let it all out.
Me: It happened again. Timmy called me a pig. I can’t deal with this. I’m in the bathroom. What do I do?
It takes my father a while to respond, but when he does, my head hangs, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Papa: That’s it. I’m taking you out of this fucking English school. Fuck the laws here in the Netherlands. You’re old enough anyway. I’ll have my driver pick you up in ten.
Wait, what?
The laws?
What do the laws have anything to do with—oh.
It slowly begins to dawn on me.
Father didn’t just send me to this school because I begged him to. He probably didn’t even have a choice and had to send me here, regardless of whether he wanted to.
No wonder he kept me at home for as long as he could.
Tears roll down my cheeks and stain my gloves. My beautiful, beautiful gloves.
If only I hadn’t taken them off, even if it was only for a second so I could wash my hands in the girl’s bathroom. Maybe then I could’ve stayed here and pretended, if only just for a little longer, that everything in my life was picture perfect.
Beast
Present
Tears have never persuaded me to feel anything.
Except with this girl.
“Aurora,” I repeat, my voice dark, heavy, obsessive.
The word rests on my tongue like a piece of candy I can’t wait to suck.
A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.
Yet she doesn’t see it like that.
I scoot closer to her, closing the gap between us. Even though I was mad at myself for kissing her and wanting her more than anything I’ve ever wanted before, more than freedom itself.
But I can’t stop myself from inching closer and closer, and I grab her face and press my lips onto hers before she can stop me. Before I stop myself.
Her lips are tantalizing, hot, and everything I could ever dream of.
But that’s not why I want to kiss her.
Why I want to steal her tears and kiss them away.
“Stop,” she mutters, and even though she says the words, her lips still move with mine.
“Then show me why,” I say as her tongue twirls around mine. “Because you are beautiful in my eyes.”
When she pulls away, all I want to do is hold her tight.
I don’t know why. I don’t recognize these feelings.
It’s too hard to look away from her tearful face, and I want nothing more than to take those feelings away.
What does it mean?
All my life, I believed I favored nothing but freedom until she stumbled into my life.
She gets up from the ground but struggles to stay put, her legs quaking. She almost falls back against the bars, and I instantly jump to my feet.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies, shaking her head, but I can tell she’s not. Her eyes have been unfocused, and she’s clearly straining to stay awake.
“You need sleep,” I say.
“What?” She looks up at me. “No, I’m fine.”
But after that sentence, she immediately yawns.
I move to my stash of straw and pile it up into a neat pillow. Then I march to her and grab her hand, forcing her to come with me as I direct her to the makeshift bed. With my hands on her shoulder, I push her down slowly until her legs crumple. She finally caves to the pressure and lies down.
“I don’t understand,” she murmurs as her head rests on the straw.