Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I feel foolish, attempting to convince myself, but it’s better than allowing this to get any further. Taking my phone back out, I stare at the two new songs, but scroll past them, deciding on a familiar melody.
I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Today was a mistake. That’s exactly what Eleanor Bordeu is. A mistake.
Ella
Partners of The Firm will document client interactions and provide status updates to their team members at each shift change. Client records will be maintained by each partner and supervised by Cade Thompson, owner.
I haven’t spoken a single word all day today. My throat hurts, but that’s not why I’ve been silent and avoiding the other men from The Firm. Not overtly avoiding them.
I’m not trying to make it obvious, or draw attention to my mood.
It’s because I want to save my voice for him. On the days my throat hurts, I save my voice for what matters most. And what matters most right now is talking to Zander. It’s not something I can explain. It feels dangerous to talk to him. So risky that I know I shouldn’t be doing it. And yet the sound of him—just the pure sound of his voice, the rumble of it over my skin—it made me crave more.
I’ve been craving him all day.
No, not him. Just talking to him. Just his presence. I don’t crave Zander the man. That’s not why he’s here. He and the rest of the men from The Firm are here to protect me. To … care for me.
I’m certain that’s why I feel this need. He’s obligated to care for me and he reminds me so much of the life I had before.
It scares the hell out of me, honestly. It’s good to be home but it’s terrifying in these ways I didn’t expect. When I was at the Rockford Center, I knew things were bad. How could I not know? You don’t go to a place like that unless the situation is dire. The rules there tell you exactly how bad things have gotten. Exactly how far you’ve fallen. People who are still holding it together don’t need escorts to the bathroom or constant monitoring to make sure you’re still breathing every night.
I woke last night, twice, when they came in to check on me. The creak of the door ripped my eyes wide open and just as I have for months, I woke with my heart racing. Thankfully, I don’t remember what I dreamed, but I can imagine what it was. It doesn’t take a shrink to point out the obvious.
They’re still checking, the guys from The Firm. I know they are. But there are no harsh lights, and no nurses shaking me awake in the morning, and it’s my house. Which means I have something to lose. A height to fall from. I don’t want to go back. I can’t. All I can do in that place is remember. The white walls are painted with memories. The empty chairs are filled with ghostly visitors.
I won’t go back. I’ll be good. I’ll listen. So long as they’re here, I promise to behave.
Zander feels like a risk because he is. The warmth that moves through me when he looks at me, when he talks to me—it’s dangerous with what it could do to me. He makes me forget it all. It occurred to me last night that it’s because he doesn’t know. I don’t want him to know. If I’m only given the chance for a single line to speak today, it’ll be a plea for him not to read the file. For him to keep looking at me as if he doesn't know I’m so unwell and damaged.
That’s what my breath is saved for. It’s why I’m still awake, fighting the pull of the medication I was given at dinner. It didn’t go unnoticed that my pills are different here. Kamden told me what was changed, but I don’t remember. Either way, I’m so damn tired. Too restless. And wanting.
I’m not sure what my emotions are capable of. That’s why I was in the Rockford Center in the first place. I used to wonder what was so wrong with being emotional … now I know.
The sun sinks below the horizon early, an autumn fireburst in the trees outside my windows. Dying light paints the blue sky gold and I drift between the windows, watching. The old restlessness from the Rockford Center creeps through my veins. It used to happen every night there. The sky would get darker, and my heart would beat faster, as if the night were something to be afraid of. I don’t know why that happened. There were always lights on in that place.
Maybe I knew it was because that marked the point when I couldn’t resist sleep for much longer. My worst fear was dreaming, remembering, and waking up screaming.