Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I close my eyes and unknot the belt slowly, forcing the material off my shoulders until it slides over my body and pools at my feet. My legs feel far too stiff as I pivot, turning my head over my shoulder and sucking in a sharp breath before I force my eyes open.
A second passes, followed by another, and confusion melts over me as I examine the flesh I was certain would be forever ruined. Except, there is only one faint mark that’s nearly healed, a light pink line across my left thigh. And I can’t make sense of it. I don’t understand.
My trembling fingers move over the skin for confirmation as I wonder if I’m hallucinating. But clearly, I’m not. I can feel nothing but smooth skin where I was convinced there were deep cuts. My mind drifts back to that night, and I shake as I recall the time that passed afterward.
They kept me drugged, but why? Was it for the pain, or something else?
“Oh.” Lois’s soft voice startles me, and when I meet her gaze in the mirror, I can see the concern etched into her features.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to—”
“There aren’t any scars,” I murmur dazedly.
She hesitates on the threshold of the bathroom, her empathetic eyes shining with the answer I didn’t want to see.
“No,” she says softly. “There aren’t any new scars.”
“So I was drugged because…” The words trail off when I can’t bring myself to admit I lost my grip on reality.
“It was for your own protection and your peace of mind.” Lois takes a careful step forward. “Judge didn’t want you to suffer.”
I trace the length of the faint pink line where Theron used the cane. “How much of it was real?” I whisper. “How much was in my head?”
Lois comes to me, reaching down to grab my robe and gently drapes it over my shoulders before she turns me to meet her gaze.
“Sometimes the past has a way of dragging us back,” she explains delicately. “And sometimes, we’re trapped between that past and the present. The pain you felt was real, Mercedes. You didn’t imagine that.”
I understand what she’s telling me. It was real to me, no matter what it looked like on the outside. Because in my fragile state, I was trapped in a memory. A time when my wounds seemingly wouldn’t heal. When the split skin twisted and snarled and embedded itself so deep into my psyche, it won’t ever let me go.
“You must think I’m insane.” I bring my fingers to my temples and press, hoping to keep the emotion at bay.
“No.” Lois’s voice is firm, but kind. “I think you’ve been through hell, sweetheart. And what happened to you isn’t any less traumatic just because it didn’t leave visible scars this time. Some of our most painful experiences are the ones that leave scars nobody can see. That doesn’t make them any easier to live with.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For being so nice to me.”
“You deserve nothing less.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t forget that, dear.”
It would be tempting to argue that notion, but Lois is too sweet to see anything other than good in the people around her. And for that I can be grateful, even if I don’t truly deserve it.
“Now.” She offers me a lighthearted smile. “Let’s get you dressed, shall we?”
Just a little past six o’ clock, my bedroom door creaks open, alerting me to Judge’s presence. I don’t have to look up from my book to know it’s him. The energy changes the moment he appears, as if he sucks all the oxygen from the room. But when I bookmark my page and glance up at him, it would seem, for only a moment, I might possess some of the same magic too.
He’s staring at me with unmistakable heat in his eyes as they take in the red pencil dress that hugs every inch of my body. I can see I’ve caught him off guard, but I don’t know why he’d expect anything less. This is the Mercedes he’s always known before he decided to strip me bare.
His gaze trails over the square neckline, over the gentle curves of my cleavage, and down my hips all the way to my black Louis Vuitton heels. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, muttering a curse before his gaze darts back to mine.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
I don’t reply. I’m not in the business of thanking men for compliments after they’ve discarded me. But there is something about the tension in Judge’s body that sets me on guard. I noticed it this morning during our brief interaction when he reappeared. His mind was somewhere else, and I couldn’t help wondering where exactly that was.
I heard him leave late last night as I lay in my bed, staring at the wall with my back to him. He’s still sleeping in my room, which I don’t understand. But I suppose he needs to make sure I don’t off myself in his care and ruin his precious reputation.