Page 28 of Wrecked
I love him, despite not getting what I need from him. He willneverunderstand what I sacrificed to keep him, and I’ll never tell him either. He doesn’t need to know what a monster his father was, not when he spent his life idolizing that man. I’ll never tell him what that bastard did to me—the threat, the extortion, the proposition. I had never been so happy to hear about someone’s death.
I hope it was excruciating.
His death meant my freedom. Freedom to make my own life choices. Freedom from the threat against my family. Freedom from his leering gaze and the smirk that always followed,knowing I was uncomfortable. I wasn’t lying to Ellie when I told her I thought he knew about her and Nathan’s high school…friendship. I can’t help but wonder if Nathan’s choices were not his own to make either.
That thought devastates me. It would mean thatIwas not his choice. As much as I hate to even think it, I can’t deny it would make sense. He’s always been distant, reserved in our relationship. I keep thinking that Ellie is getting in the way of me and Nathan, but what if I got in the way ofherand Nathan? What if she was meant to be his happy ending?
A wave of nausea erupts deep in my belly. The thought is pure agony. I grab the side of the bathtub and push myself up. Standing under the showerhead, I’m tempted to turn on the cold-water faucet and let the spigot soak me where I stand. The plain white tile on my bathroom wall mocks me with its monotony, forcing me to acknowledge that I never made this house feel like a home, and pushing me to recognize why. A numbness has taken root in the center of my chest, preparing me for the heartache I know is coming. I am taking the love of my life to the airport tomorrow to pick up my wedding dress. And when he returns home, he’s going to tell me our relationship is over.
I reach down and twist the faucet to the right. Freezing cold water cascades down from the showerhead, saturating my hair and pajamas with the icy downpour. I lower myself back down into the tub, sitting directly under the spray, but I don’t feel a thing. I don’t do a thing.
I just cry.
CHAPTER 14
ELLIE (PRESENT)
Ijolt awake and spring into a sitting position, thumping my head against the cream-colored bedpost behind me. The lingering influence of my nightmare has my heart galloping like the front-runner at the Kentucky Derby. I rub the back of my head, trying to alleviate the sting as I control my labored breathing. The strong aroma of coffee and bacon wafts into the guest room, letting me know my sister is awake. The thought of facing her after what happened last night has me scratching imaginary hives.
I have a bad feeling. There is no other way to put it. Fragments of my nightmare feel within grasp, but the details are hazy. The ominous remnants of my dreams are projecting into my consciousness, leaving behind a weary sense of impending doom. The depths of my stomach feel hollow, prickling with an anxiousness that extends beyond what happened with Nate last night. It’s as though my subconscious is screaming at me to listen, but the language is foreign.
So, I do what I do best. I ignore the flashing warning signs that foreshadow the consequences on the horizon.
The relentless sunshine pokes through the gap between thetwo beige curtains that adorn casement-style windows, bringing me out of my troubling thoughts. Beige. Cream. White. Grey. My sister’s color scheme certainly doesn’t represent her normal eccentric tastes. How have I never noticed?
The bright rays blind me with their aggression, making my eyes water with the sudden intensity of the sunlight. This really is going to be my eternal punishment, isn’t it?
I rub away the sleep from my eyes and refocus my blurry vision on the bedroom door. Walking out there means facing last night, lying to my sister, and flying to an exotic destination with a man I try so hard not to love. He asked me to do it forhim, but the truth is, I’m going to do it forme.
I want to go.
Lucifer sure is going to love it when I come traipsing through his fiery gates. I bet he has a whole spider dungeon with my name on it.
I scoot to the edge of the bed, stretching my arms above my head as I glance at the alarm clock. I have thirty minutes to consume my daily light-roasted cup of sanity before we need to be on the road to the airport. My mouth waters thinking about the dark, creamy liquid, and it quells any remaining apprehension about leaving this room. Coffee—bringer of life, suppresser of guilt.
I scramble around the room, pulling items from my luggage to bring with me to the attached bathroom. Leggings, T-shirt, toothbrush, concealer, and mascara. Always mascara. I load the items into my arms and make my way into the bathroom, nudging the door open with my hip. I flip the light on with my elbow and set my clothing on the closed toilet seat lid. I turn toward the bathroom mirror and let out a soft yelp.
My reflection has me gasping in horror. I take a deep breath, puffing out my cheeks as I slowly release the air. My eyes are encircled with dark bruises that rival a Mike Tyson opponent. Smudges of mascara decorate the sides of my cheeks, courtesyof the tears that lulled me to sleep. My face is puffy and swollen and in serious need of an ice bath. The whites of my eyes are streaked in red from the virtually sleepless night of tossing and turning.
And my neck.
My neck is definitely sporting the evidence of Nate’s kiss.
All in all—I’m a complete mess.
Well, this might make things easier. Nate could take one look at me and decide he doesn’t want to go anymore. I certainly wouldn’t blame him.
I swallow hard, the joke falling flat in my mind. I can’t fathom not seeing this through anymore. I’ve already resigned myself to a lifetime of guilt.
I turn on the faucet and scoop cold water into my hands, splashing the liquid against my face to wash away the leftover makeup. I brush my teeth, apply mascara, and get dressed in my comfy travel attire. I decide against using my flat iron and leave my tresses wavy and loose.
I grab my packed bags and head out into the living room. My sister sits in the loveseat, staring vacantly at the plain white wall in front of her. Her eyes are puffy and share the same red streaks mine do this morning.
“Katie,” I call out. She remains unfazed. Unmoving. Watching the wall in front of her as if her favorite show is on. “Katie?” I try again. Her eyes slowly move away from the wall, and she glances up at me.
“Hi. Morning.” Her voice is rough, like she smoked a pack of cigarettes and downed a fifth of vodka last night.
“I’m just going to make some coffee, and then I’ll be ready to go.” When she doesn’t respond, I turn and walk a few feet to the kitchen. Something is off with her this morning. She doesn’t even seem mildly aware of what’s going on around her.
