Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I head to the bathroom, the tiles cold under my feet, and strip off my clothes. I try to avoid looking at myself in the mirror, but ultimately, I give in. My reflection in the mirror is one of a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, filthy, smudged with grief.
The shower is lovely and hot, and it quickly washes away the smoke and soot.
Afterwards, I find a can of beans in the kitchen and toast some bread to eat it with. It’s comforting enough, but once I’m finished, I’m nearly inconsolable once again. I do the dishes sitting in the sink, tidy up the kitchen, and sink onto the sofa, a lumpy green thing with a frayed throw. I close my eyes and try to take a nap.
But my mind won’t rest. I don’t even have my phone. It was burnt in the fire so I can't even call Sandy. I’m trapped, stuck here until Annabel returns, with nothing but my thoughts, my anger, my loss.
When Annabel comes back, her face tired but warm, she brings a loaf of fresh bread, cheese, sausages and meat. We cook together and eat at the tiny kitchen table.
“What are you going to do, Lauren?” Her voice is gentle and careful.
I shake my head. I have no idea, no plan, no strength left. “I don’t know,” I say, my voice small and sad. “But I’ll figure something out soon. Can I borrow some money until I can call my bank and sort a card out for me?”
“Of course,” she says instantly. “As long as I can afford it, you can have it.”
“Thank you, Annabel.”
“I know we’ve only been friends for a while, but please stay here as long as you need to recover and re-group.
I am immensely touched once again by her kindness. “I don’t know what I would have done today without you,” I say sincerely, and she pulls me into a tight hug.
Chapter
Fifty
HUGH
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uxk7aSCLj4g
-don’t leave me this way-
I’m slumped in my office chair, my tongue numb with the taste the smoky tang of the old Caribbean cask Scotch whiskey. The late afternoon sun filters through the arched windows, and it is beautiful, but I don’t appreciate it. I can’t. I feel nothing but burning anger. It’s been simmering in my chest for days, and despite doing my hardest to shift It and forget about her because she really doesn’t deserve even a sliver of attention from me, the rage has refused to relent.
My fingers drum a restless rhythm on the desk’s edge as her words—“Were you responsible for this fire?”—sear through me.
She cried that I betrayed her, but I’m the one who feels betrayed, and it’s a wound that I wonder if it will ever heal.
How could she think I’d do that, risk her life, my life, for a fucking piece of land? After I ran into the flames for her, after I held her in the hospital, my heart pounding with fear and relief. After all of that, she dares to see me as a monster?
It hurts, God, it hurts, a raw, aching pain that twists my insides.
I know she’s in town, holed up with Annabel in some cramped apartment near the market, and part of me—buried deep under the fury—aches to check on her, to know if she’s okay. If she’s sleeping, eating, surviving. If she needs money?
But I’ve stayed away, ignored the urge to call, to drive to her, because I’m too angry, too wounded by her distrust, by her ugly accusation that I could stoop so low. She knows me not at all.
I take another sip of the amber liquid.
Truth is, she’s messing me up, unraveling me from the inside, stealing my focus, and my control. I have come to hate this power she has over me, and I am determined to rip her from my chest. It is my fault. I allowed her to burrow so deep. I gave her this much access to my heart. It is the height of foolishness, and I cannot believe it myself that I have fallen so hard for a mere woman. They are always trouble. I should have known better.
I feel mocked. The scotch tempts me, calls out to me again, its burn promising numbness, and I reach for it and down it all in one go.
There is a knock on the door, and my plan is to ignore it. The staff know better than to bother me when I'm here, which is why I'm pretty sure the knock is a mistake. Whoever it is will come to their senses and walk away. But it comes again, and I look up, my gaze lethal. I swear to myself right then that whoever it is, is going to get fired.
To my surprise, the door swings open without my permission.
“For fuck’s sake-” I start, but the rest of the curse dies on my tongue when I see that it’s my mother, her silver hair swept elegantly, her navy coat crisp. Her presence is a surprise that douses my rage like cold water. She’s not supposed to be here, not for another month.