Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
My fist smashes into the mirror, sending glass flying. Blood runs between my fingers from a gash splitting the side of my hand.
I feel nothing.
Drip. Drip.
Three years being traumatized, fifteen becoming a weapon to dismantle people just like him. And it takes Asher fucking Jameson less than that to pull all my training apart. None of the training I ever did prepared me for this. For watching a man I...
My throat closes. You don’t get to fall apart.
I drop to the floor, clutching my hand. What the fuck are you doing.
Pulling the first aid kit from the cabinet, I flip through the items and grab my phone with my other hand, hitting dial on the group chat. I don’t care who answers. So long as it’s one of them.
Punk’s name flashes over the screen. She picks up on the first ring. “Hey, you!”
I sniff. “I need your help.”
She pauses. I know what she’s thinking. Oh shit. Someone’s about to die.
“You ok?” She shuts out the noise with a click of a door.
“Yes,” I tug the thread and needle and draw it through the hole. “I just need you. And Punk?”
Silence.
My mouth curves. “Bring everyone.”
The first stitch goes in clean. Needle through skin, then pull, tie, and trim. I’ve done this a hundred times. This I know. Everything becomes steady, my breathing, my pulse. My pain.
Cleaning the wound, I press the edges together. “Don’t pull too tight or you’ll tear the tissue, Ivanya. Don’t leave it loose or it opens again.”
I miss Nonna. What was she thinking? Did she know that David was Asher?
Wrapping up the wound, I toss everything into the bin before burying myself in the closet to find something to distract me.
Footsteps echo down the hall. Heavy, then slower, stopping right outside my door.
Air stalls in my chest as I creep closer, pulse swelling with each inch until I flatten my palm against the wood and slide down.
A soft thud vibrates through the door against my spine.
Everything hits me at once. From the stitches in my hand, to the ones you can’t see.
Love.
I understand now why it was considered a contaminant in the Codex.
I’m sorry, Asher. For everything, but more than anything, for loving you.
Eventually, his breathing changes, and the footsteps retreat down the hall.
I turn my face just enough to hear better, committed to my own humiliation all the way down.
“Sinead.” His voice cuts through the door. “Camille and I won’t be home tonight.”
The room tilts beneath me, ribs crushing down on organs that feel too heavy.
I can’t breathe.
Camille and I won’t be home tonight.
Everything blurs around me as the first tear drops.
I deserve every fucking second of this.
Playing the jealousy card would make me a hypocrite. I shot him, and with each day that passes I’m starting to think he’d never believe me if I told him how much I regretted it. How much I suffered that first year, feeling like part of myself died with him.
Camille and I won’t be home tonight.
There’s only one thing to do to fix this.
Play into it.
I stand at the top of the spiral staircase, watching my plan unfold below.
Bodies grind across the living room as strobe lights flash and music shakes the floor. Coke lines the coffee table. A girl covered in glitter snorts a whole rail while a guy fucks her from behind.
Punk bumps my shoulder with hers. “I didn’t know this kind of insanity lived inside you, Vanya. Have you been holding out on us all these years?”
I swallow champagne straight from the bottle and let the bubbles burn my throat. “Oh, this is new.”
And it’s true.
“Ah, sweet love,” she sings, skimming the crowd.
I lift a shoulder as two guys climb onto the couch.
“I plan to tear that particular problem out before it does more damage.”
My phone buzzes in my palm. Atlas.
Wow. You really outdid yourself, Ice Mommy. I brought friends too…
Ice mommy? Is he joking?
Punk stays on my shoulder, following me through the crush of skin and perfume. Influencers, tourists, whoever the hell she dragged in from the island. Did I expect there to be two hundred? No. But… whoops. I didn’t expect to open a door and see him fucking his ex either, so here we are.
Atlas props himself against the doorframe with one arm draped over some girl’s shoulders, smirking.
“Ivy.” He spreads both arms wide. “My beautiful disaster.”
People snap photos, lights flashing across the room.
He brings a joint to his mouth, and I steal it before he can light it, catching it between my teeth.
Flicking open his zippo, he shields the flame with his hand. “You good?”
I grab his collar and yank him close. “No, I’m not okay! These feelings are all new to me, Atlas, and I don’t know what to do with them except make shit burn.”
Smoke fills my lungs as I hand it back to him.