Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
The other option was to keep running ahead. Make it to the other side of the lake and ask for help. There was Eddie and the Abbots. They could help me.
I booked it, launching myself forward, past Twilight Oaks. I ran so hard my lungs began to ache. I could hear Alex grunting behind me, shouting for me to stop.
I refused.
For all I knew, Rory had made that story up and her brothers had killed Eve. She could’ve lied about seeing Eve and some man afterward. But the red car . . . she’d seen the red car too, just like Lincoln had. That car had likely come by more than once.
Being so lost in thought caused me to trip up. My foot snagged on a root, and I shrieked as I tumbled forward and slammed down on my knees. My palms sank into the damp ground and leaves clung to my hands. I shook them off and stood up, ready to run again. Before I could, something clutched my hood and stopped me.
“Come here!” Alex yanked on my hood and hauled me backwards.
He pulled so hard I collapsed on my ass. Then he stood above me, nostrils flaring. Streaks of moonlight streamed through the towering trees and the shadows made his face look like a demon’s. The sharpness of his cheekbones, the dark furrow beneath his blond brows making it hard to see his eyes—it was terrifying.
My heart slammed in my chest as I slid back on one hand. With my other, I snatched my gun out of the holster and pointed it at him. I could see his eyes now, big, blue, and round.
“If you don’t get away from me, I’ll shoot you!” I yelled.
“You wouldn’t shoot,” he said. He hadn’t backed up, but he hadn’t moved forward either.
I pressed down on the safety. “I swear to God I will.”
He breathed raggedly through flared nostrils, throwing his hands up. I used that moment to push myself to a stand but kept the gun pointed at him.
“I don’t know what you did to Eve, but you’re not getting away with it.”
“I didn’t do shit to her!” he bit back.
“That’s a lie. You slept with her!”
Alex blinked. “She wanted that! She told us that was what she wanted! Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t believe this shit is happening again!”
“And then you killed her, right? You took all her things and you’ve hidden her body.” I applied a little pressure to the trigger. “Where the hell is she, Alex?”
“You’re so wrong about all of this. So fucking wrong,” he grumbled, then he lunged forward and tried to grab my gun.
So, I pulled the trigger.
Eve Castillo journal entry
My therapist explained why I might be allowing the people who’ve wronged me back into my life so easily. I was groomed to be this way. When Pa abused us, he would also reward us the next day.
Whenever he was too harsh on a Saturday, that Sunday he’d be in a much better mood. Smiling. Laughing. Hugging us. Kissing our foreheads. He’d bring home treats—cookies, ice cream, donuts, Popsicles. When he brought them, he’d tell us that he was thinking about us and he loved us so much he wanted to bring us something special. Then two or three days later, he’d be at it again.
Shouting.
Hitting.
Punishing.
It was an ongoing cycle. It’s probably bad to admit this, but I was ready for the punishments to happen just so he could love us again the next day. For a while, I assumed he felt guilty for hurting us. I’m not quite sure that was ever the case though.
He would do different things, like take us to amusement parks. Drive us to the mountains for hikes. Take us to the mall and let us shop for whatever we wanted. He’d also take us to the movies and buy us popcorn, slushies, and all the candy we wanted.
It’s like he wanted us to think he wasn’t that bad of a person. He wanted us to think he was a good man with flaws. Someone we should understand and accept because he was human, and humans made mistakes.
But good people don’t accidentally break your arm.
Or accidentally hit you in the face.
Or force you to take freezing-cold showers because you spent too much time taking a warm one the night before.
Good people don’t mock you when you start your period. They don’t look at you and say, “Look at that. You’re a woman now,” just to follow it up with, “Shut the hell up, little girl. You don’t know shit,” the next hour.
Goodness was never within him. I realize now the rewards were just another form of control. My therapist thinks I accepted Lincoln again because he rewarded me with the funnel cakes and kettle corn. He treated me to a nice night out after hurting me badly. He wasn’t doing it for my sake, but for his. He needed that cycle to continue, just to prove to himself that he could be a good person.