Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Mads. She's reckless and selfish. She leaves me to clean up her mess without a care in the world. She's clearly up to something she's not supposed to be. Again.
Fuck, I don't have the luxury of spiraling. Not right now. I yank out my shoes from the back of the closet until I find them—the black hiking boots Domhnall bought for me. They were new, pristine, before a few weeks ago.
I flip them over.
Dammit. The soles are even more scuffed now, dirt caked in the ridges, telling stories of places I've never been.
My stomach clenches. How the hell did she have time to fuck Domhnall as vigorously as it feels like she did and still sneak out somewhere? The timeline doesn't make sense, but Mads has always been good at making the impossible happen.
I check our shared journal, heart thumping with apprehension. There's only a single line entry—
Don't tell Donny. If you do, I'll tell him your secret.
I slam the journal shut.
Bitch.
She's literally taking my body out on joyrides, God knows where, doing God knows what. And now she's threatening me. Holding my own secret over my head.
I grab a fistful of my hair and bring it to my nose, inhaling sharply. No hints of smoke. No foreign cologne. Just the lingering hint of Domhnall's scent, cedar and something uniquely him.
At least I can rest in the fact that she's obsessed with him. If anything, she's as desperate for his attention as I am. Even more so, maybe.
So where the hell did she go last night?
I'd go to Donny's office to pull up the security footage, but of course, there'd be nothing. Just like last time. She covers her tracks well. The Librarian trained us both, after all. Not just Domhnall. Our monster of a father made sure we knew how to hide, how to lie, and how to not leave traces that we'd ever been there.
I heft the laundry basket and carry it to the laundry room. If I can't get answers, I can at least erase the part of the night I can't explain. I'll wash away the evidence like Lady Macbeth trying to clean blood from her hands. Out damn spot. I may not have gotten to go to college, but I did get an e-reader and read everything I could get my hands on, new and old.
The scent of detergent and warm linen wraps around me as I shove the clothes into the washing machine. I pour in an extra dose of washing liquid, pressing the button with more force than necessary. The drum rumbles to life, swallowing up the evidence.
I brace my hands on the edge of the machine, breath uneven.
"You were just a terrified kid following orders," I whisper to myself, the mantra Dr. Ezra taught me.
But the past laughs at me in a voice that sounds far too much like Mads. What about the last few years? You weren't a kid anymore by then.
"Mads?" I whisper. "Is that you?"
Nothing. Just the hollow echo of my own voice.
I roll my eyes at myself. At her. I walk back to the kitchen, pausing for a second to listen, tracking Domhnall's movements.
The water in the shower has stopped running. Domhnall will be out soon, warm and damp, his hair curling at the edges like it always does when it's wet. The thought makes my heart skip, my fingers suddenly itching to touch those curls and wrap them around my fingertips.
I swallow hard, my throat dry.
My feet move on their own to the drawer beside the silverware. To the little plastic container that holds my birth control. The pastel case looks innocent enough, but its presence suddenly feels like a betrayal.
I hesitate. I don't have to do this.
I shouldn't do this.
But my fingers pop the pill out of the foil, and I step to the sink. I check over my shoulder. Once. Twice.
Then I toss the pill down the garbage disposal and flip the switch at the same time I turn on the water. The timing is perfect. Practiced.
The grinding sound fills the kitchen, loud, drowning out the tiny voice of conscience in my head.
I close my eyes and take a slow breath, bracing my hands on the counter. The ache between my legs is still there, a reminder of last night, of what Mads did in our body, with him. My palms press harder against the cool granite.
I can fix this. If Mads is reckless, then I will be methodical. If she takes, I will take more. I will win the life I deserve.
I've just turned off the water when I feel him behind me. His presence fills the kitchen, warm and solid, making the air seem thicker. My senses heighten, so attuned to him.
"Morning, love," he murmurs, his voice still rough from sleep, sending delicious shivers down my spine. His arms slide around my waist, and his lips find the curve of my neck, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin there.