Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“I knew I hated your father, and eventually I hated everything. I hated you for letting me live.” Aria is silent, waiting with bated breath to see what else I’ll say.
“I’m condemned to hell. Of everyone on this Earth, God knows I deserve to burn. And it’s because I was allowed to live. It’s because of you.”
“It has nothing to do with me. My father--”
“It has everything to do with you,” I tell her, feeling the rage from the memory take over. “You’re the one who banged on the door and pleaded with your father. I was so foolish. For a long time, I thought when you were crying out, ‘I need you,’ that in some fucked up way, you were calling out for me.”
As I take another step closer to her, the wildness returns to Aria’s eyes, the fear I know and love swirls within them. Her cunt is still feeling the pleasure I give her, while her heart beats with the knowing fear of me.
“I didn’t--” she starts to protest, and I stop her.
“You’re the bird in the forest who lured the child out of safety until he fell into a black hole he could never get out of. And still, the bird sings so beautifully, taunting the child as he becomes a man of hardness and hate, stuck in a hell he didn’t know was coming. Do you know what that man dreams of more than anything?” I ask her, remembering the moment my gratitude changed to hate for the very girl who sits in front of me.
She barely shakes her head, not taking her gaze from me.
“First to get out, for the longest time, just a way to get out. But when he realizes he can’t, that there’s no changing who he is and where he’s damned to, he searches for the songbird. Eager to capture it. Just to silence the song forever. That’s why I wanted you.”
I lean forward, pinning her with my gaze as I tell her, “Aria, that was before I held you. No matter how much you choose to hate me, I swear I’ll never let you go. You mean so much more to me than I would dare to admit to anyone.”
Chapter 19
Aria
Banged on the door.
The stove ticks with the flame licking up from the burner and I turn it to medium before setting the pot of water on it.
I can’t get over Carter’s confession.
I would never go to the half of the estate where my father does his business. My mother died on the second floor in that half of the house and I swear I can still feel her there.
Whatever he thinks happened, didn’t.
I never interrupted my father’s work or even attempted to be anywhere near his business. I never banged on the door. I never called out that I needed anyone for anything.
I wouldn’t dare.
Carter chose wrong. The woman who called out to him and saved him… she wasn’t me.
I’m not his songbird luring him into the forest. I’m not the girl he thought he loved yet grew to hate.
It was never supposed to be me.
The hollow emptiness I’ve felt since he left me there in the den all alone, is unexplainable. I should be happy; I should tell him how wrong he was to take me. I should confess that voice he heard didn’t belong to me. Instead, I swallow the dark secret down and let it choke me as I watch the pot of water boil.
“What are you making?” Daniel asks me and disrupts my thoughts. “Damn, you look like hell,” he says, scratching the back of his head. In bare feet, faded jeans, and a plain white t-shirt, he looks relaxed, but he can’t hide the exhaustion in his expression.
“Ditto,” I tell him and spoon the potatoes into the pot. I’ve already cut everything else I need to make potato salad. Now I just wait. My mother used to make the best potato salad. I swear it’s better the day after though, once it sits in the fridge for a full night.
I’m not hungry at all. I’m simply going through the motions, pretending the truth of my situation doesn’t destroy every fiber inside of me.
Daniel opens the fridge as I spoon in the last few chunks. With the door open and his face hidden from me as he reaches for something, he asks me, “Want to talk about it?”
A genuine, yet sad smile tugs at my lips.
“You want to talk about your problems?” I ask him back.
“I asked you first,” he says with a hint of humor, shutting the door and revealing a jug of orange juice.
“You sound like your brother,” I tell him absently.
“Well shit,” he tells me, pulling out a glass. It clinks on the counter as he smiles at me. “Don’t go offending me left and right there, Aria,” he jokes, and I let the small laugh bubble up although it sounds subdued and futile.