Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
He’s a monster, and I hate him.
I mean it—I really, really hate him.
My biggest regret is not telling Ms. Maggie how awful he is when I was still allowed to see her, because now I’m trapped here with no way out.
Worried, Nora
Dear Diary,
This entry might be hard to read, but I have to write it down.
Back when Mama first gave you to me, she told me to put my pain to paper, so maybe if I let it all out—and I mean all of it—the crack of Rand’s palm and the heel of his boot won’t hurt as bad.
I’m pretty sure he broke two of my fingers and cracked my ribs tonight. I was able to tape my fingers together pretty good, but I’m pretty sure my ribs are a lost cause.
I know from movies that I need to wrap them, but it hurts too much.
Moving in any kind of way hurts. Even breathing hurts.
I guess I should start at the beginning though, huh?
Mama’s still sick. Sick-sick. This so-called virus has gone on for months now, but she and Rand keep acting like everything’s fine and dandy.
You know, I never got the saying about “denial being more than a river in Egypt” until now. Mama talks like she’s going to wake up better any day now, but she won’t.
I’m starting to wonder if she’ll ever get better. I’ve learned better than to ask, though. That lesson came courtesy of two black eyes, a busted nose, and a split lip.
But what hurt even more than that was Mama’s indifference.
It sounds bad, but I think she doesn’t speak up when he hurts me for fear of him hurting her instead.
If she wasn’t sick, maybe we could leave. Maybe we could run away and never look back. But she is, and I can’t leave her here alone with him. I won’t.
Mama hasn’t left her bed for almost two weeks now, which means it’s now my job to keep the house clean and to make all of Rand’s meals. Meals I’m still not allowed to enjoy.
Today was hard, though. He wanted a roast for dinner, and I don’t know how to make it. I tried asking Mama, but she wouldn’t wake up. I’m not allowed to use the internet, and Rand took my phone away months ago, so… I winged it.
Which was apparently the wrong thing to do, because Rand was furious when dinner was not only late but inedible.
I watched from the doorway as he took his first bite, and before he could even swallow it, the entire plate was flying at my head. It missed me by centimeters, shattering against the wall instead of my face.
I wanted to run back to the safety of my room, but my fear kept me rooted to the spot as Rand stomped his way across the room. “Stupid, useless bitch,” he muttered before grabbing me by the back of my neck and shoving me down to my knees, hurting my fingers in the process.
He shouted for me to clean up the mess I made, and like the stupid girl I am, I asked him for the broom and dustpan.
“Use. Your. Fucking. Hands,” he snarled, punctuating each word with a hard kick. Each time the toe of his boot met my body, pain like nothing I’d ever felt before exploded beneath my skin.
I sobbed and begged for him to stop, but he didn’t care. It’s like my suffering brings him joy. He’s demented. Twisted in a way I thought was only in books and on television.
But I did it. With aching fingers and throbbing ribs, I picked up every last shard from the floor, and then I dragged myself into the kitchen to get a rag and some spray to clean up the food.
Once the dining room was spotless, Rand tossed me into my room with a cookbook and locked me in, telling me to read it front to back.
And I will. I’ll read it cover to cover and memorize every recipe if it means a repeat of tonight never happens again.
Aching, Nora
CHAPTER 6
ATLAS
Islam the damn diary shut with an anguished roar as white-hot fury courses through my veins like molten lava, burning me up from the inside out.
Tremors rack my body as the weight of Nora’s suffering threatens to crush me.
All these years, he’s been hurting her—and yet, all these years, she’s persevered.
Every single person in her life has let her down, which is why I won’t stop until I find her; until I know she’s safe. Ellis has asked me about bringing the diary into the station, but I can’t do that until I read every word.
But at the same time, every part of me is terrified to read any more. Each entry is worse than the one before it, and I honestly don’t know how much more I can take.