Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
He walks around the table and tosses a picture of it between us. “I was more shocked you got my eyes right than anything, Delilah. I’m impressed.” I go stock-still. “Safe to say if you mess up a damn frog when you’re this good you’re not getting hired for shit, understood?”
“Yes.” My voice cracks.
“And Lilah?” His voice is closer now, warmer.
I can feel him behind me. I can barely breathe. He doesn’t touch me at all, but he’s right there, right behind me, breathing, existing. He inhales, exhales. I hold my breath.
“Put some ice on your lip, we wouldn’t want it to swell.”
“Maybe you should stop biting.” I snap. It’s a lie. I liked the bite. I can still feel it, the way his tongue lingered.
“I would if you really wanted me to, but you know you dreamt of that bite all night long. I wonder how long you’ll last.”
“How long I’ll last?” I look over my shoulder.
“Until you force more tears for my benefit. I can’t fucking wait.”
“You said my body was mine.” I lower my voice.
“Your tears, however…” He nods. “Aren’t.”
I’m quiet.
“You’re dismissed.”
Again.
I stomp up the stairs, grab my bag and walk out the door and when I get to the studio and try to start practicing my frog all I see is his face.
And all I feel is my lip.
Until I can’t breathe.
Until he’s the only air in my lungs.
And for some sick reason when I want to cry, I stupidly save my tears in hopes that one day he’ll be worthy of them.
13
“Do not pity the man in chains. Fear the one who survives them. He has had time to think.” The Count of Monte Cristo
JUDE
My hands are shaking. Another note came. Another confession.
Stop running from her. Face the truth. Face your truth with her. She’s been closer than you think all this time. It wasn’t just your tears that were shed.
What the hell does that even mean? I’ve kept an eye on her and chose to come here because of the first note knowing that she went to school, knowing that I’d be getting my revenge a lot sooner so why does this feel different, why does it feel like a set up?
My foot’s tapping anxiously across the floor like a tic I can’t stop that suddenly developed in her presence. I hate that I feel like I’m cracking or maybe it’s just anxious energy.
I spent years preparing for this.
Years imagining it.
Years convincing myself that when I finally stood in front of her again I'd be in complete control and lately all I’ve been doing is thinking of all the memories of us together and wondering why and how my body is betraying me so brilliantly. Every time I think I’m done, I engage with her, I prod her, and then I forget the reason why and want to pull at her until she unravels in my arms, boneless, needy. Mine.
And now, I'm standing outside a recording studio waiting for Axel and wondering why the hell my pulse is acting like I'm nineteen again hoping I’ll see her. Stupid. I have no clue where she works in this place just that she does, I’m assuming a secretary of some sorts. An intern? It shouldn’t matter, but since touching her mouth it fucking does.
Revenge is supposed to feel cleaner than this. She thinks I’m here to ruin her, to expose her, if only it were that simple, if only there weren’t so many balls in play. My own dad doesn’t even know I’m here yet but it’s only a matter of time before the huge faculty event at the observatory where I’ll be forced to show up as his favorite son who took the fall for a crime he didn’t even commit.
The golden child.
The perfect one who studied all through prison, got into Harvard, graduated early. I’m his pride and joy on the outside, but on the inside he hates me thinks he owns me, I think I’m just a really great actor and smarter than he is. He thinks he has me right where he wants me.
It’s the opposite. He’s the pawn now; he’ll know it soon. I just need to get my hands on the ledger so I can hold it over his head, carry out what my mom would have wanted and see justice served.
Easy.
Not.
I can’t afford to get distracted by the past. I’ll use her however I want and try to figure out who’s sending the cryptic notes in the first place. It’s possible he knows both of us are here and he’s trying to shift blame between us. We’ll have to play into it to make him think it’s working. I’ll know more if he reaches out, and I’ll know even more than that if Axel does what Axel does best—talk.
Because fear fades.