And the last thing I needed to do was read between the lines.
I was extremely skilled at taking a simple statement and creating an entire paragraph of unspoken words out of it.
That was the last thing I needed to do right now.
“I need more than pizza,” I decided, pivoting around and walking toward the fridge.
I opened the freezer and pulled out a carton of Reese’s peanut-butter ice cream. I didn’t even grab a bowl. Just a spoon. It was going to be that kind of night.
* * *
Hours later, I jerked up in the middle of the bed, gasping for air. The sudden movement had sent Rhage scurrying from the bed and racing out of the bedroom.
Several minutes passed as I sat in the dark room, confused and struggling to make sense of why I was awake and feeling like I’d just run up a flight of stairs.
Then slowly, painfully, it came back in pieces. Shattered images of the night . . . It had been a nightmare, but the emotions that nightmare awakened in me lingered like the bitter smell of gunfire. The feeling of helplessness as I stared up—stared up at the skinny, dirty man, not fully believing what was happening. The terror had been stark and all-consuming, obliterating my ability to understand that every breath I’d been sucking in erratically was counting down to the last one.
Hand shaking, I lifted my arm and ran the tips of my fingers over the deep indent in my left cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut, hearing the deafening popping sound. The flash of pain had been so quick, intense and fiery, and there had been nothing . . . nothing except this.
I ran my tongue along the inside of my mouth as I dragged my fingers to the other side of my face. Sometimes I thought if I pressed hard enough I could feel the implant, but that could’ve been my imagination.
Lowering my hand, I opened my eyes, and as my vision adjusted to the darkness, I could make out the shapes around me. Back in my parents’ house, there were wall-to-wall bookshelves. They’d been my collection, a source of wonderful memories and new worlds.
I only had one bookcase here.
Most of the books I read were now on my Kindle, as they had been back then, many Kindle generations ago, but I’d still collected print books. I’d liked being surrounded by them, being able to reach out and touch them.
I didn’t know why I hadn’t done the same here, converting the guest bedroom into a library of sorts.
Drawing my knees up under the covers, I wrapped my arms around my legs. A question plagued me as I sat in the darkness with only the sound of a nearby fan running.
What would I’ve done if I hadn’t gone to Mona’s that night?
The question picked at me for years, because I . . . I couldn’t answer that question. I mean, I’d wanted to work at the Academy. I’d wanted to finish college. But those were surface things, and I didn’t have . . . a deep sense of self, of who I truly was before the shooting and who I became afterwards because of it.
I’d only been twenty when everything had changed for me. My life was paused before I got the chance to really discover what I wanted or who I was outside of being Andrew Lima’s daughter or the girl who was Brock “the Beast” Mitchell’s shadow. The remote control of life had slowly lifted its pause button, but . . .
I really should be asleep.
Tomorrow would be a long day—a big day. I would be meeting with potential investors, and not only was I representing the Lima Academy, I represented my father. The last thing I needed to be was half-asleep while trying to pay attention to what everyone was saying.
But there was too much noise—noise inside my head.
Lifting one hand, I folded it over my left ear and pressed down. The whirl of the fan faded until I could barely hear anything. True silence. I closed my eyes again and held my breath. In the stillness of my room, I acknowledged that I had wasted years of my life after being on the receiving end of a second chance. That was something hard to face even though I’d been doing just that over the last couple of weeks. To know one was only existing and not living.
I was starting to live, though. Truly. I believed that. Tears pricked my eyes. I could try harder, and I would . . . I would buy more bookcases. Then, when I was home over Thanksgiving, I would bring some of my most favorite books back.
I could do more.
I needed to do more.
Then, finally, my thoughts quieted, and for a few blessed seconds, there was nothing outside or inside me. Nothing.
My lungs started to burn, and only then did I draw in another deep breath. Lifting my hand from my ear, I touched the scar again and then shook my head. Cheeks damp, I pressed my lips together and didn’t move for a long moment.
Throwing off the covers, I crept out into the shadowy living room. “Rhage?” I whispered. The dull overhead lights over the island cast a soft glow into the living room. I saw Rhage sitting by the end table.
“Sorry,” I said. His ears twitched. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I knelt and extended my arms. Rhage didn’t move for a moment, but then he rose and darted to my arms. I picked Rhage up, holding him to my chest as I turned and walked back to bed. I climbed in and laid him down beside me. Maybe he sensed I needed kitty cuddles, because he didn’t run away from me or try to bite me. He curled up against my stomach and quickly fell asleep.
It was a long time before I dozed off, haunted by memories of a long-ago night that now seemed like yesterday.
Chapter 13
Staring out the window at the rapidly darkening sky, I opened and closed my hands over and over as Brock pulled out of the parking lot of the Academy.
The whole day had been . . . weird. My mood was somewhere between eating a bag of Cheetos in one sitting and randomly wanting to paint and redesign my entire apartment. Eating the Cheetos would’ve felt amazing at the time but would’ve ended up making me feel gross. Painting was a no-go since I didn’t own the apartment. And I sucked at interior design, but yeah, that was my mood all day.