Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I get out of the shower, dry off, and put on a cozy bathrobe. Thank goodness this one has a belt to go with it. Walking out of the bathroom, I pause to take a look in the mirror. Tilting my head in varying degrees, I begin to assess the fading bruises along my neck. Looking at me now, one wouldn’t know I was almost strangled to death. I close my eyes at the thought; that night seems so long ago.
For some reason, I’m feeling a little groggy this morning, and I entertain the idea of having a nice, hot cup of coffee. I thought I slept fairly well, but it could be the stresses of having one hell of a week. I smirk at myself in the mirror, proud of my sly abilities to trick that stupid ‘Intelligent’ toilet. The idiom isn’t lost on me. It’s been three days straight I haven’t taken those drugs. I got the idea when I recently took a scalding hot bath, trying to sweat the drugs out of my system. There was so much condensation on the walls I figured there would be no way in hell a camera could see through the steamy fog. So I made it a habit to run the shower full steam ahead both morning and night, pretending it’s my normal routine to bathe twice a day.
I keep an empty water bottle in the tank of the toilet, filling it with shower water once the steam is thick and heavy in the room. I break open the capsule I hide between my cheek and gum, and then let it dissipate in the water bottle. I don’t think these people have cameras in the bathroom, because I haven’t been called out on it yet. Every time I use the restroom, I dump about a fourth of the contaminated contents into the toilet bowl. I take extra security measures during the daytime, when I’m not running the shower for its camouflage, and try my damnedest to be as discreet as possible. I’ve been off them for a couple of days, and I can finally feel my head beginning to clear.
I stifle a yawn, thinking about that cup of coffee again, and make my way to the kitchen. When I’m halfway there, I stop dead in my tracks. A colorfully-wrapped gift with a bow on top catches my eye as it sits on the kitchenette table. I gasp in a breath; I totally forgot today is my birthday. I back up until I collide against the wall with a thud. My stomach is twisted in knots and I feel like I’m going to be sick. In a daze, my face is cradled in my hands, which cover my eyes as I begin to cry.
Thoughts rush in like a tidal wave. My father had a huge bash planned for me today. Some of my friends who were home on summer break planned to celebrate with me, some I hadn’t seen for over a year. This was my big two-one. It was supposed to mark a new era for me, the beginning of my life as an adult with my fiancée. I cry out loud, holding nothing back, and my body is wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. Yes, this is a new era in my life, indeed…one of epic proportions.
I can feel my body shaking uncontrollably, my eyes and nose stinging from the torrent of tears. It’s my birthday, and I am giving myself a present—the gift of allowing myself to finally have a major breakdown, full of self-pity and all wrapped up with a gigantic, sobbing bow on top.
I feel my body sliding down the wall, just like a falling tree that has been struck by a bolt of lightning. It’s what I feel like, too—Nick struck me with a lightning bolt, severing me right at the base. I fall to the floor sobbing with loud, convulsive gasps. They’re breaking me down; I can feel it, and I don’t know how much fight I have left in me before I become a mindless drone. With every new thought of my father and accumulated loss, I find new tears to shed.
I’ve lost all track of time, and out of nowhere, I feel a set of strong, muscled arms scoot under my lifeless body, lifting me up. I didn’t even hear him come in. I know it’s Travis without even looking, just from his scent of leather and the way he touches me. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he whispers. I wrap my arms around his neck and gasp for air through my pitiful tirade.
I feel hollow inside, so cold and empty. I’m beginning to think I’m fighting a losing battle, losing all hope. I can’t take this despair much longer. I don’t think I will ever make it home. I feel Travis moving, making his way to the bed, and he gently lays me down on the soft comforter. He climbs in beside me and pulls me into his arms, kissing the side of my head.