Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Are you alright?” Emma asked softly.
“I’m fine.”
She nodded but didn’t look convinced. “I’ll just get ready, then I’ll be back.”
“I don’t need constant supervision. There’s no alcohol in the house that I could access.” The idea that Dad had locked his collection of expensive whiskies and bourbons in a safe because of me made me feel horrible.
I closed my eyes, but after a while, my pulse began racing, and my throat felt tight, so I opened my eyes again and continued staring at the ceiling. I really wanted a drink with Dad. It was our tradition to end the evening with a tumbler filled with exquisite spirits.
The sound of Emma’s wheelchair made me turn my head. “My father and I had the tradition of ending our evening with a good glass of whisky. It’s how we always bonded even after an argument.”
“You’ll find new traditions and new ways to bond.”
“It doesn’t work with a glass of water or a green smoothie,” I muttered, feeling really angry all of a sudden. Emma stretched out beside me and put her hand on my chest.
“I know it feels like you’re giving up too much right now, but you’re gaining more. You’re gaining control and health.”
“And I get to keep you and our baby. That’s my price for giving up alcohol.”
Emma leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be by your side every step of the way. Even when it gets hard.”
I nodded and stroked her cheek. My headache had worsened and was impacting my vision.
“Let’s sleep,” Emma suggested. She turned off the lights. Despite my pulse picking up once again, I didn’t ask her to turn it back on. Whatever was happening with my body, I could handle it.
My hands were bloody. The knife I was clutching was bloody. My clothes were bloody.
So much blood.
A scream sounded, followed by pleading.
I looked up from my hands. Renato was chained to a chair. His body was covered in cuts and burns, and skin was missing in parts. “Stop. Please stop. I don’t know anything. Have mercy.”
He pleaded with me. I was the one torturing him.
I wanted to stop, but my hand with the knife moved toward his chest. I couldn’t stop it. The moment the tip of my knife bored into his skin and slid beneath the upper layer, he let out a hoarse scream, his features twisting in agony. Suddenly, his face morphed into that of Enea.
“Stop,” he cried.
“Stop,” I repeated, almost as desperate as he was. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I watched myself torture my friend like a bystander, unable to help him, unable to protect him from myself.
“Samuel!”
My cheek stung.
“Samuel.” My eyes opened to brightness, the contorted face of Enea dissipating and Emma’s pale face taking form in front of me. She looked horrified.
I sat up and raised my hands before my face, turning them over and over. They were covered in blood. I looked around for the knife. But there was none. I shoved to my feet and searched the floor, then checked my bloody hands again.
“Samuel, what are you doing?”
“Where is the knife?”
Emma gave me a pained look. “There is no knife here. Your gun is in the drawer of your nightstand, and you left your knives downstairs.”
I opened the drawer where I found my gun, but no knife.
I moved into the bathroom, desperate to wash my hands, but when I looked at them this time, they were clean. No sign of blood. I was covered in sweat, and my hair was drenched. Slowly, I walked back into the bedroom. Emma perched on the edge of the bed, watching me with concern.
I sank down on my side. I needed a moment to gather myself. The linens and covers were damp from my sweat.
“It was me who tortured Enea,” I croaked.
“You pleaded and screamed.”
A knock sounded. I jerked to my feet and drew my gun. “Come in.”
My father poked his head in. I lowered my gun. Mom stepped out from behind Dad’s back.
“Everything okay?” Dad asked.
“I had a nightmare,” I said, realizing nothing had actually happened. It had felt more real than any dream before.
Mom came in and quietly talked to Emma, who nodded. Mom gave me a shaky smile before she moved back out. “Will you be okay?” Dad asked Emma.
“Yes,” she said firmly.
Dad met my gaze, concern shining in his brown eyes. I gave him a firm nod, and he nodded in turn, then took Mom’s hand and led her out. After they’d left, I took another shower.
“Do you want me to change the linens?” I asked Emma.
She shook her head. “We can do it in the morning. It’s almost four anyway. My side is dry. You could put towels over yours. Or we take the spare blanket from the wardrobe.”
I leaned over her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I won’t sleep again. I’ll go watch something downstairs.”