Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
It's enough food for four people, possibly five, and it’s exactly the kind of breakfast I can easily imagine someone like Chase Everford would grow up having. It’s also not the kind of breakfast a commoner—make that, an American commoner—like me is used to, but I love it all the same, and so does Judy, albeit for different reasons.
“A good appetite is always a good sign,” she tells me with a smile.
“A good sign for what?” I really want to know.
“It means you haven't given up on life."
The words make my eyes prick, but I'm not worried, and Judy isn't either. We both know the tears that are now tracking down my cheeks...
They're the good and hopeful kind, and after making it clear to Judy that there's truly more than enough for both of us, we talk and get to know each other over delicious slices of cheese, ham, and pastries.
(I do, eventually, ask about the egg situation, and Judy assures me an egg can be arranged for tomorrow, in any style I prefer, and in any quantity.)
Anyway, we really had a pleasant time all the way to dessert, and I really thought I was doing great and all, but it's when I get to the shower that the panic comes out of nowhere.
It's the steam, I think. Or the small enclosed space or the feeling of being undressed and not being able to hear what's outside the room. Whatever it is, my chest seizes up so hard I can't catch a breath, and a moment later I'm on the tile floor with the water still running over my shoulders, and my whole body is shaking, and all I can suddenly see is him, and all I feel is him. His sweaty hands pawing at me, and his alcohol-laced breath—
"Nicole? Are you okay in there?"
I want to answer. I really do. But I can't speak. I'm crying too hard to breathe, and even if I could speak, the words wouldn't come because my throat has closed up. Stockroom-shut.
I’m going to die here.
Naked and in the shower.
And all because I can’t forget—
Oh!
Is that the door opening, and...and Judy coming in with a small ring of keys in her hand?
She kneels beside me on the wet tile without a word, drapes a thick towel over my shoulders, and turns the shower off, and through it all she keeps one hand lightly between my shoulder blades like an anchor.
I’ll learn later on that it’s part of Judy’s training to require the keys to every room that her patient may have access to—
Because flashbacks are common among trauma victims, and this sadly might not be the last.
—along with a set of emergency “tools”, in case keys aren’t available. What those tools are, I thought it best not to ask, mostly because of the way she says it.
What matters is what she says that matters.
I’m safe. I’m alive. And I really am thankful about that.
I’m grateful for Judy, this house, and most of all, I’m grateful for...him.
My stranger by the piano, and whose name I just don’t feel I have the right to use...for now.
He just keeps saving me. Again and again. And even now, even when he’s not here...
I know it’s him saving me, through the people he hired and this house he owns—
I can’t promise not to make a move on you if I stay here.
I can feel my face turning red the moment I remember his words.
Stop! Thinking! Such! Silly! Thoughts!
The rest of the day is thankfully uneventful. Or at least it's as uneventful as it can be for someone who caught her husband cheating with a girl half his age (and mine) before becoming broke, homeless, and nearly raped.
It almost makes me laugh and cry at the same time, like I'm losing my mind a little bit, when I think about everything that's happened. I keep wanting to pinch myself just to make sure I'm not dreaming, that this isn't a nightmare I'm trapped in.
How can so many bad things happen so quickly, and how can they all happen to me?
None of this should be real, but it is.
And yet...
When I'm alone with my thoughts at night, I find myself asking—
If you had the chance to turn back time, would you?
It should've been easy to answer this. But I can't, and that's what terrifies me the most.
Chapter Sixteen
DAY TWO.
The next day is easier but...busier.
Judy has decided it's safe for me to have breakfast outside my room, and it honestly feels like being let out of prison. I mean, my room is hands-down beautiful in the most luxurious way possible, but I guess I just needed to know and feel that I'm free to leave it if I want to.
There is, I’m pleased to report, an egg waiting for me in the dining room. Or make that three eggs—scrambled, poached, and one done sunny-side up with a runny middle so perfect it can only mean whoever is cooking actually likes you.