Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“That’s good.” She lapses into silence as she eats.
A few moments later, she says, “Will my death be quick and painless or will Gideon torture me?”
“He’s not going to lay a hand on you,” I say fiercely.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m here.”
She turns her head until her eyes meet mine. I hold her gaze steadily until she nods. “Okay.”
As she readies for bed, I clean up. The easiest thing would be to kill Gideon myself. I clench the table knife in my hand and try to envision myself stabbing him. I can’t do it. He’s still a child himself. A sixteen-year-old child with an ugly temper and a propensity for cruelty, but still a child.
I have dozens of photographs of animals he’s killed—mostly small creatures like birds and rats which the city has in abundance—but no actual proof that it’s him. Jasmine and I know that he’s the one behind it because he told her, the day after he moved in, that she’d better watch her back because he was going to take everything she has—her father, her family, her home. The first warning offering was a mouse left on her window sill, which means he crept in while she was sleeping and placed the animal there.
Jasmine woke up and screamed her head off. Her dad was home and came rushing in. I suggested it was planted. Thomas Ware called the exterminator. Three dead mice were discovered outside of Jasmine’s window in weird, contorted shapes. Ware believed this was the result of the exterminator, but Jasmine and I knew it was Gideon.
A week later, there was a family dinner. Gideon arrived first. Jasmine came second. I hovered outside the door, so I saw her jump up from the table, and something gray and small flew off in her direction. I heard Gideon laugh. When Ware arrived with Roberta, I had Jasmine in my arms. She was crying and stammering about a mouse on her plate, but the plate wasn’t empty. Instead, there was paté in the shape of a panda that wasn’t there before. Gideon said that Jasmine was seeing dead mice everywhere because of what happened earlier. Ware agreed, and the next day, a trauma therapist showed up.
Jasmine didn’t say a word in those sessions, though. Somehow, she knew that she would never be believed, and ever since then, I have been the only one she told when she found a dead animal near her room or around her belongings. And I knew I could never leave her after that. She’d never be safe alone.
“I’m sorry I’m holding you here.” Jasmine rubs her lips together and hugs her big, floppy bear close to her chest.
“I’m not. I love being here.” I shut out the memories of my past and focus on the present. I do love Jasmine. Ever since I pulled her from the ocean five years ago, I’ve loved her. She’s a precious, sweet child.
“You’re alone though. Even Daddy has somebody.”
That somebody being Roberta. He must have been lonely because why else would he hook his carriage to such a terrible human being? I guess she doesn’t look terrible to a man. She’s tall and blonde with a big rack, and despite being in her mid-thirties, she still looks dewy fresh. I should give Ware credit for marrying someone his age instead of a twenty-something model.
“I don’t think I’m meant to be with anyone, Jasmine. Some people are okay being alone. Plus, I’m not really alone. I have you.”
“Don’t you want a husband some day?”
I stroke her small head. “What’s brought this on? Why are you trying to marry me off?”
“I’m not. It’s just like, even in some of the Minecraft sims I watch, there are couples. You’ve never been a couple, Jasmine. Aren’t you lonely?”
“No.” I need to get out of here. I give her a swift kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stay up too late reading.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I try not to rush out, to make it look like she’s hit a nerve, but for some reason, her words are causing me to tear up. Yes, Jasmine, I’m lonely because I have been a couple before. I was one half of a perfect whole, and because of that, I will never be able to love another. I gave my heart to someone a long time ago, and even though he no longer loves me, he no longer wants my heart, it is still in his hands.
I close my bedroom door quietly and sink to the floor. That someone lives here in this city. He’s only a few miles away. I can’t text him, can’t reach out to him. I severed that connection long ago, and I don’t deserve to ask him for help. He probably hates me. Even if he doesn’t hate me, I know he’s moved on. I agonize about it, avoiding all society pages so I don’t have to read about who he’s seen with. I know he’s with someone. How could he not be? He’s too attractive—and now too rich—to be single. I try not to think about it but sometimes, particularly at night, it torments me. Images of him with another woman, him kissing another woman, him putting his hands and mouth on her body. Him sliding his cock inside of another woman’s sex. I cry out, the sound startling me in the silence of the room. I bite the back of my hand and reach between my legs with my free one.