Chapter 2
Lake
Time haunts me. Every morning. Every day. All night until exhaustion forces my body to rest. Nothing ever changes, though. Not with the help of sleep aids or anxiety medication. Not music, light, or meditation. I’m bound by time because it’s when my life ended.
Fighting my way out of the tank top and sleep shorts, I toss them in the hamper in the corner of my room before slogging to the shower.
Warm sweat slides down my body, making my skin crawl as I recall that hot, humid Texas night.
Their fingers digging into my skin, bruising me with every touch.
Their hot breath on my face as they taunted.
The evil in their eyes, unmatched to this day.
Turning on the cold water, I step under the spray and wash it all down the drain. My face pushes into the stream, whisking away the hot tears rolling down my cheeks, and I stay that way until the pinpricks of cold turn to tiny icicles stabbing my face.
Lathering up my hair and body takes only a few minutes before I rinse, turn off the valves, and step out into the cool air.
Despite winter having made an appearance in the majority of the country, Florida still remains warm. Sometimes, I hate it; I’d like to experience a proper winter for once, with snow, cold air, and frigid temperatures.
Maybe that’s what I need…a change of scenery.
Changes in my life.
The idea has merit and takes root. I think, for once, it might be time to step out of my comfort zone and pursue something away from home, where my safety net has been my entire life. My dad will hate it, my brothers will object, and Saint…
Saint can’t know.
He would stop me. Or follow me. Possibly kidnap me.
I’ll never understand why he’s so…enamored with me. I’m uninteresting, not that smart, and not so pretty, given all the scars I carry now. Running away from my troubles is something I can do. Since Texas, I’ve become a hermit, and a change doesn’t seem likely anytime soon.
Once upon a time, I dreamed of becoming a social worker—helping the helpless.
When Bea came into our lives, the idea resurfaced, and I’ve been thinking about it again.
Even spoke to Hadley about it once. She was enthusiastic and encouraging, but I’m not sure if I have it in me to attend college.
I only made it through high school because of homeschooling.
Brushing through my thick hair, my eyes inspect the nude body reflecting in the mirror.
The puckered white scars stand out starkly against my naturally tan skin.
Much more than I’d like. Tiny ones, large ones, ones that look like beauty marks.
They’re there, ever present, always mocking, nothing I can do about them.
Setting down my hairbrush, I brush my teeth, then head back into my room. My eyes linger on my bed as I move past it to the windows and draw back the curtains. I freeze.
There he is. The man I’ve dreamt about often. The man who will protect me at any cost. Saint Rivers stands in the garden behind our house, bruised, bloody, and looking partly deranged while he stares up at me.
It’s hard to read him. What he’s thinking, how he feels. His mask is a second skin, and I’d love to know how to penetrate his thoughts. To catch a glimpse of what he thinks about the changes in me over the years.
Before my world ended, I had a massive crush on him. I’d have handed my heart over if he ever asked for it.
Raising a hand to the windowpane, I press all five fingers against the coolness, watching as his fists ball at his sides. Is he angry? At what he sees? Or that I won’t cover up?
Glimpsing down my body, I attempt to view myself the way he must, and all I feel is disgust. The scars, the protruding bones, the outline of a body that could never satisfy a man like him. Nothing about me is attractive. My body is repulsive.
Slamming my fists against the glass once…
twice…I catch the alarm in his eyes as I do it a third time, and it shatters, nearly propelling me outward.
Blood streaks down my hands and arms. I study it, utterly fascinated as drops spill freely to the green grass below my window.
Falling, falling, disappearing when they land.
Tempting me to climb onto the ledge of the window, wondering if I’ll disappear when I fall, as well.
Pain belatedly penetrates the fog as there is pounding on my bedroom door before wood splinters and a roared protest pierces the silence.
Hands encircle my waist, tugging me from the ledge, as my mom cries and my dad curses from somewhere nearby. But I can’t come back. I don’t want to come back.
“Let me go.” The words are a plea from my soul.
“Never.” It’s painful to hear Saint’s feral protest.
He wants me to stay.
I wish they’d killed me.
“Oh, baby.” I open my eyes at Mom’s teary voice, as she places a blanket over my naked body. “Please.” It’s a bid for me to fight. To stay. To live a life I hate.
“Please, Mama, let me die.” Vicious sobs crack me open, and all my strength vanishes as dad enters with towels for my hands and a phone to his ear as he speaks quietly to someone—probably Nolan or Uncle King.
I shut my eyes and turn my face away from them.
Handling their sadness, their worry, their disappointment with my actions is impossible right now.
They have no idea how much breathing hurts.
Not just physically, either, but emotionally.
Being alive and waking up day after day is sheer agony and misery.