In case you haven't seen it, I added Edward's POV of Chapter 13 under TIOF Outtakes/Alternative POVs on my profile page. Check it out.
As usual, please be advised that this is a story about rape, it's effects on a high school relationship, and the beginning steps of recovery for both the victim and her significant other. I have already written this story in its entirety (I will update weekly) and can assure you that there are no scenes of gratuitous violence or graphic sexual assault. The topic of sexual assault is handled realistically, but with upmost sensitivity. Still, if rape is a topic that is especially upsetting to you, you might want to read another story.
All Twilight references belong to Stephenie Meyer. Original material belongs to this author.
The trip to Nashville and the nearest decent hospital was unbelievably long. Bella leaned against the passenger door, her eyes trained on the gleaming lights of the oncoming traffic. I drove for awhile in silence, my heart heavy with guilt and countless questions. A masochistic desire to know more was nagging me. I didn't want her to suffer alone.
"When did he show up?" I finally asked, illuminated road signs flying past us.
"After I got home from your game." For the first time, I noticed her voice was rougher than usual, gravelly, like she had a sore throat. When she didn't go on, I glanced at her. Our eyes met briefly and she continued. "I ran upstairs to change. The doorbell rang."
"And you answered it?" She should have known better.
"I thought it was you," she said in a small voice.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning a dull gray in the dim light. It should have been me. "How did he find you?"
"I don't know… something about a friend of a friend. He drove here from Chicago, then went to school and found my car."
"He told you that?"
She nodded. "I humored him because I was scared, but after a few minutes I told him I needed to go." She looked toward me again, then dropped to a whisper. "I was so stupid."
"It wasn't your fault," I said automatically. I reached out to touch her leg, to comfort her, but stopped half way and dropped my arm onto the console. The last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable. I couldn't stomach the thought of her pulling away from me again.
"Then what happened?" I asked, my voice tight.
"He yelled at me for moving away, for the restraining order, for changing my phone number. Then he grabbed me."
I heard her sniff and looked to see if she was crying—she wasn't, but the emptiness in her expression was equally alarming. "I don't want to talk about this, Edward."
"Can I ask one more question?" I took her lack of response as a yes. "Where is he now?"
"I don't know. Headed back to Chicago, I guess." She was quiet for a few seconds and I was desperately curious about what she was thinking. Suddenly her head snapped toward me, her eyes alight with fear. "You don't think he'd stay in town, do you?"
"No," I said firmly. "You're safe now."
She curled up in her seat in a way that told me our brief conversation was over. It killed me to see her that way, hunched over like the life was crushed out of her, a ghost of the vibrant girl I loved.
I parked in front of the Emergency Room and walked Bella through the automatic double doors. The place was crowded, full of pitiful people and several crying babies. The walls and floor were a drab gray, with hard plastic chairs lined up in rows. There were a few ancient TVs, the news playing on mute. It was appropriately dismal.
After filling out a few forms, Bella was triaged. A heavy, tired looking nurse called her name, then took her behind a closed door.
She was gone only a few minutes before we were moved to another waiting room, larger but similarly decorated. It was crowded with people, all pale and sloppy and sickly. Even preoccupied, I realized Bella and I stuck out. We sat in the unforgiving chairs and Bella pulled her legs up to her chest, her feet resting against the plastic seat. She laid her head on her knees and gazed at me with a deep sigh.
"Are you okay?" I asked quietly, all too aware of the crowd around us.
"I don't want to do this."
"Do you have any idea what they're going to do to me in there?"
"Not really." I assumed there'd be some sort of exam, although I hadn't the slightest idea what it would involve. These matters were so far out of my realm of knowledge it seemed unfair that I was the one accompanying her. Her mother should be with her, or her sister, Emily. Even Rose or Alice would have more helpful than me.
She was still looking at me, her eyes piercing me with deep sadness. She reached up with a trembling hand to brush a stray whisp of hair from her face. "I want to leave."
I took her hand and laced my fingers through hers so she couldn't pull away, hating the way she shook with fear. "We'll go as soon as we can."
People were staring at us—a haggard looking mother with a fussy toddler, an old man with wild white hair and a grouchy expression, a middle aged woman wearing a thick winter coat who couldn't seem to control her wheezy cough—they were all staring at Bella and me like we were some sort of freak show. I wondered briefly what it was about us that drew their attention. We were young, relatively well dressed, and Bella was beautiful—people always stared at her when we were in public—but something told me those weren't the reasons our fellow emergency room patrons couldn't seem to look away. They were curious, I realized, about why we were there and what could possibly have two teenagers who probably had the world at their fingertips, looking so downtrodden and depressed.
Bella squeezed my hand to get my attention. "Everyone knows."
"Nobody knows," I assured her. "They're looking at you because you're so pretty."
That earned me a half-hearted smile that disappeared too quickly. She ran her fingertips over the top of my right hand. I glanced down, noticing for the first time the reddish-purple swelling that marred my knuckles. "This is bad," she whispered.
"It's fine," I said, surprised that there was no pain when there clearly should've been. "It doesn't hurt."
She shook her head, sighing softly. "I'm scared, Edward."
With that, a nurse wearing pink scrubs and a long blonde ponytail pushed through the swinging double doors. "Swan?" she called. "Bella Swan?"
Bella dropped my hand and stood. "You'll be here when I come out?"
"Absolutely," I said, standing up too. I took her face in my hands, not caring in the least about who was looking. I kissed her forehead, inhaling lavender, memorizing her. It was irrational, but the thought of her disappearing behind those doors was agonizing, like I was about to lose a piece of myself, a vital chunk of the whole. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, fighting the urge to haul her back to the parking.
When she vanished behind the doors with the nurse, I moved to a more secluded chair and glared at each and every person who had the nerve to continue staring at me.
The wait was torture. Nervous and edgy, my skin felt like it was too tight and I had so much pent up energy that I was having serious problems sitting still. I crossed and uncrossed my arms, adjusted my hat repeatedly and tapped my shoe against the dingy laminate floor. I felt sort of bad for disturbing the sick people who were in my vicinity—my fidgeting was probably driving them crazy—so I got up and paced the corridor, walking from the automatic double doors all the way to the swinging entry that had swallowed Bella up. I was a caged animal in search of escape.
I wasn't a violent person. I didn't have any pent up aggression, no underlying issues that made me lash out. I played a noncontact sport for Christ's sake. But given the opportunity, I would've killed Riley Biers. Any asshole could make the threats he'd made, but to follow through… to hear her say no, watch her cry, feel her resist and still take what you want? The thought of him daring to touch my girlfriend, to hurt her, was enough to make me want to strangle him with my bare hands. Another wave of fresh, raw fury crashed over me. My muscles twitched with the urge to jump in my car and hunt him down.
I had to constantly remind myself that the hospital was where I needed to be.
After a long while, that same nurse with the blonde ponytail came back into the waiting room, her eyes searching the crowd. She spotted me sitting alone in the corner, as far from anyone as I could get. She approached, stepping over the outstretched legs of the sleeping man, and sat down at the edge of the empty seat next to me. "Are you Edward?"
"I'm Melissa." She handed me a cold gel pack. "For your hand. Bella asked me to check on you."
I rolled my eyes and dropped the pack on my knuckles. "I'm fine. Is she okay?"
"As good as can be expected," she answered somewhat cryptically. "We're almost done, then you can take her home." She glanced around and lowered her voice to barely a hum. "Is there any way you can get Bella a change of clothes? We'd like to keep what she wore here."
I considered her request, passing over the reasons she had to make it. "I can't go all the way home, I told her I'd be here when she was finished."
"I understand," she said, her voice kind. "There's a store nearby—a Target. It stays open late. Could you go there and pick something up for her?"
I looked up at the clock that hung over the double doors, something I'd found myself doing a lot over the last couple hours. I remembered seeing the Target as we drove in, just a few blocks away. "I'll be right back," I said, rising from my seat.
"Edward?" She stood, stepping very close. "This is difficult, but she'll need underwear, too." I suppressed a shudder and blinked away images too graphic to consider.
I jogged out to the Volvo and made the quick drive to the store. Once there, I stood in the women's section for far too long, trying to find something appropriate for Bella to wear home. I'd never in my life purchased clothing for a girl, and definitely not under such horrible circumstances. I settled on black sweats and a gray shirt with long sleeves that felt soft and comfortable. Even though I wasn't sure if she'd need them, I grabbed a pair of cheap black flip-flops before heading to the racks of underwear, horrified and disgusted by the turn my life—our lives—had taken in a few short hours. Nausea rushed back full force, making me stagger in the aisle. My fingers closed around a wire display rack, seeking balance, while I tried to will the sick feeling away. With a shallow breath, I grabbed a package of the most nondescript underwear I could find and carried everything to the registers.
I delivered the bag to the hospital's front desk as soon as I got back.
My corner chair was still vacant. I sunk into my seat and let my head fall back against the wall, all of a sudden very tired.
Melissa reappeared soon after, summoning me to the swinging doors with a wave of her hand. "You can come back now. The doctor is filling out some paperwork—release documents and such. As soon as he finishes up, you'll be able to go."
"Okay, thanks," I said, following her down a long, windowless hallway. We stopped at a door that stood slightly ajar. Melissa knocked before pushing it open. Bella was sitting on one of two chairs next to a small desk wearing the clothing I'd bought her. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot at the back of her head and she looked even more exhausted than I felt.
I sat down next to her as Melissa closed the door. "Thank you for the clothes," she whispered.
"No problem. What happens now?" I asked.
"When do you talk to the police?"
She fidgeted a bit in her chair. "I don't know. I'm not sure I will."
I didn't want to believe her. "Why?"
"I don't think I want to. I'd rather forget about what happened and move on."
"Bella, how can you not turn him in? He has to pay for what he did!"
"You don't understand," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
"No, I guess I don't." I crossed my arms and exhaled loudly. It had never occurred to me that she might not file charges. "Can't you at least think about it?" I asked
"That's what I'm going to do." Her expression was so worn and wary that I shut my mouth and waited for the doctor in silence.
She curled up listlessly in the passenger seat on the trip home. I couldn't find it in me to pressure her into talking. I wasn't even sure if I was ready for answers yet.
"My house?" I asked as I exited the Interstate.
She nodded solemnly.
It was suitably dark, the sky shrouded in a thick layer of clouds that blocked the moonlight. I pulled into the driveway and went around to open Bella's door. She climbed down slowly, her eyes on the ground. Under normal circumstances, I would have taken her hand to lead her up the cobblestones to the porch, but tonight was anything but normal. I was terrified of disturbing the eerie calm that had settled over us. "Watch your step," I said.
The short walk up the stairs to my room was uneventful. I flipped on the light and shut the door so we wouldn't disturb my mom. The last thing I needed was her poking her nose into what was going on.
"Can I shower now?" Bella asked curtly, the first time she'd spoken since we left the hospital.
"Yeah, let me get you something to change into." I pulled some flannel pajama pants and an old baseball t-shirt out of my dresser, then gestured for her to follow me into the bathroom. I found a fresh towel and pointed to her toothbrush, still sitting in the toothbrush holder next to mine. "Anything else you need?"
She shook her head. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. I searched her face, trying to find a clue as to what she'd been about to say.
"What?" I asked.
Her eyes dropped to the floor. "I'm scared."
"Of the shower?" Simple reasoning was not on my side.
"I don't want to be alone," she mumbled.
Of course, I thought, cursing my stupidity. "I want you to have privacy, but I'll stay right outside the door. I promise not to leave you alone, okay?"
She nodded gratefully. My stomach twisted with guilt. I left the bathroom before my anguish became obvious.
I sat in the dark hallway, listening to the sound of water hitting the tile floor of the shower, reliving every horrible second of last several hours. The expression Bella had been wearing since I'd arrived at her house was rooted in my memory. The misery in her eyes seemed impenetrable. Terror was there too, lingering, reflected back at me the few times we'd made eye contact.
I was at a complete loss as to what I was supposed to do. I'd failed her, allowed her to be violated in the worst way possible. I didn't know the right things to say. I was scared of moving too fast and startling her or making some obscure motion that would trigger a memory. The whole situation was beyond fucked up.
The spray of the shower head hummed on. My joints were getting stiff so I stretched my legs in front of me, trying to reposition myself without making any noise. I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling faint stubble that had already appeared. I wondered what time it was.
She stayed in the shower for a long time, long enough for me to start to truly worry, but as soon as I did, the water turned off. Then the waiting began again. Being away from her after everything that had happened was making me edgy; the longer I waited, the more impatient I became. When I couldn't take it any longer, I stood and tapped on the bathroom door. "Bella?"
There was a second of silence before knob turned enough to release the lock with a click that seemed to echo through the quiet house. I opened the door enough to slip in, then shut it quickly to block the light from the hallway. She stood in front of the mirror wearing the baggy pajamas I'd given her. Her cheeks were bright pink, from the hot water I assumed, and her hair was wild mess of dripping tangles. Her lip had become more swollen since we'd left the hospital. She turned to face me, looking terribly dejected.
"You okay?" I asked, cringing within at the absurdity of my question.
She shook her head no, and then turned to face the mirror. She picked up a small hair brush she must have found in my medicine cabinet and began to yank it through the knots in her hair, frenzied and violent. I stood there staring, horrified, but against my better judgment, I let her continue. She was making no progress, but I sensed she needed some kind of outlet.
I watched the brutality for as long as I could stand before walking up behind her and taking her wrist in my hand. Her erratic motions stilled. Her gaze met mine in the mirror and for a second she looked embarrassed, then instantly—finally—her eyes filled with tears. "You don't have any conditioner in your shower," she whispered in explanation.
"I'm sorry," I said to her reflection, apologizing for a million different reasons.
I tried to pry the hairbrush out of her clenched fist as tears spilled down her cheeks. "I have to brush it!" she choked out.
"I know, baby," I murmured. She was holding on to the hair brush like it was a lifeline, as if tangled hair was the greatest tragedy we had to face, and I realized how unproductive the situation was. I gave up fighting her for the brush and grasped her shoulders instead, turning her so we were face to face. Tears keep falling as she tried to focus on me. Suddenly, I wanted to cry myself. Instead, I took her free hand. "Come with me?"
I grabbed a towel and led her back to my room. Shutting the door behind us, I wondered vaguely if Esme had woken to any of the sounds we'd made. I sat Bella down on my bed and took a seat behind her. The water in her hair had left a wet spot across the back of her shirt. I used the towel to squeeze the rest of it out while her tears slowed and then subsided.
"Can I have the brush, Bella?" Without saying anything, she passed it over her shoulder. I began to brush through her hair, using my fingers when necessary, smoothing out tangle after tangle, knot after knot. It took forever to comb through and at one point I was so wrapped up in my task I forgot our circumstances and mumbled, "Jesus, Bella, how do you deal with this every morning?"
She turned her head and offered me a small, courteous smile. "I have conditioner in my shower."
I felt like an asshole, but then she brought her hand out to rest on the leg I'd stretched out alongside her. Her immediate forgiveness of my lack of tact made me feel a little better.
When I finished, her hair was as smooth and silky as usual. I ran my hand over it, feeling the smallest sense of accomplishment at making myself useful. "Bella? Your shirt's wet from your hair. Do you want a different one?"
She was quiet for a second before asking, "Can I have yours?"
I misunderstood. "Yeah, which one?"
"The one you're wearing now?"
"Wouldn't you rather a clean shirt? I've been wearing this one all day."
She traced over the threads of my quilt with her fingertip. "I know. It smells like you."
I yanked my shirt over my head and passed it to her as she pulled her wet one off and tossed it toward my hamper. I stole a look at her bare back before she slipped my shirt over her head; there were angry red abrasions along her spine. I'm not sure what it was about that particular visual, but my stomach lurched. I swallowed to keep the vomit that instantly rose in my throat down.
"Will you be okay here for a minute?" I asked before I lost my tiny shred of control.
As soon as she nodded I was off the bed and in the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, trying to be as quiet as possible as my stomach emptied itself. It was over almost as quickly as it started, but I stayed on the floor for a few minutes, trying to control my irregular breaths and gain a little composure. When I felt better, I washed my face and brushed my teeth, anxious to get back to my bedroom.
She was sitting in the exact same spot, staring at my blank television screen. She focused on me as I crossed her line of vision. "Are you okay?"
I sighed, embarrassed. "I'm fine now." I found a clean shirt and some sweats and pulled them on, then knelt down in front of her and took her hand. "What about you? What do you want to do? I could put on a movie, or we can talk if you want, or we can go to sleep."
"Let's try to sleep," she said, running her warm hand over my cheek. "I have to get up for school in a few hours."
My eyes went wide with surprise. "We're not going to school tomorrow."
"But I have a Civics test."
"Who cares? You'll make it up next week. I'll have my mom call in tomorrow morning so we're excused."
"I can't afford to miss school, Edward. I can't let my grades slip."
"Your grades won't slip because of a few days. You need time to... " To what? Get better? Recover? I couldn't seem to get a grip on the right words.
She gazed up at me with childlike innocence, like she was counting on me to make the right choices for her. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, of course. My mom won't care." I felt bad about pressuring her, as if she hadn't had it rough enough already, but school was the last place she needed be. I wanted her with me, where she wouldn't be out of my sight. I squeezed her hand, hoping this wouldn't turn into an argument. "Please?"
She nodded. "Okay."
I was glad she agreed, but I wasn't okay with how fast I'd convinced her. Any other day she would've argued her side until she was blue in the face. Her quick submission made me worry she'd lost all her fight. It was as if she was too defeated to bother.
She moved aside so I could pull back the sheet, then crawled under the covers, moving all the way over to the wall. I flipped the light switch and joined her, a safe distance away. It felt unnatural, the space between us, but I was afraid to get too close. Instead, I searched for her hand under the blankets and threaded our fingers together.
"Edward?" she whispered once we were settled.
"You won't go anywhere tonight, will you? Down to the couch or to the guest room?"
"Not if you don't want me to."
"I don't." She let go of my hand. I watched her silhouette sit up in the darkness. She sounded heartbreakingly uncertain when she asked, "Can I lay closer to you?"
I opened my arms, sorry I'd made her think she had to ask. She nestled against me and I held her tight. We lay together for a long time, but her breathing never evened out, her muscles never completely relaxed. I stroked her hair, trying to help her fall asleep. After a long while she whispered, "Thank you for taking care of me tonight."
I couldn't reply right away. The guilt was far too suffocating.
I hadn't taken care of her. I was partly responsible for the nightmare we'd been plunged into. My greatest fear, the most horrible thing imaginable, had become a reality and I'd been powerless to stop it. It was a desperate, remorseful feeling, one that was eating away at me from the inside out. I would have given anything to go back in time to change things.
Once I got started on that train of thought, I couldn't get off. I'd made a million mistakes: asking Bella to come to my game, letting her drive home alone, waiting around at Fork's too long. Hell, I could have called the police weeks ago when I'd first learned about Riley. I'd never forgive myself for the errors in judgment I'd made.
"I'm so sorry." My voice was shaky as I spoke into her hair so I dropped to a whisper. "I wish I could make it all go away."
A few hours after we'd fallen asleep, I had one of those bizarre experiences where you wake up knowing something's wrong but you can't immediately place what it is. All I was aware of was my heart beating too fast in my chest and sweat coating my face and neck. Anxiety had settled in the pit of my stomach like a ten pound weight. I opened my eyes. The beginning light of dawn permeated my window shades, casting cool, gray shadows around the room. I saw nothing but my bedroom wall and stretched my legs along the length of the mattress. My joints creaked audibly. A dull throbbing pulsated in my right hand.
It all came flooding back—Bella's phone call, the sight of her, bruised and bloodied, the hospital, her tears…
I sat up and flipped over in one quick movement. She was sitting in my desk chair, legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped protectively around them. Her dark hair surrounded her face like curtain. She was watching me with a serene look. I wondered how long she'd been awake, if she'd slept at all.
Instinct told me it would make her uncomfortable, but I let my gaze travel over her face anyway. It was hard not to wince at the sight of her split lip, the bruises along her jaw and neck. She had shadows under her eyes, a clue as to how little sleep she must've gotten. She was too pale and fragile, her little body curled up in that chair. The sight of her shredded my heart.
My eyes met hers again and, unbelievably, she offered me a small smile. I returned it, but the look in her eyes shook me to my core. They were empty; not frightened or angry or shocked, all of the things I knew she had to be—all the things I was.
But above all, I was sad, so heart wrenchingly sad I could feel it in my head and my bones and my heart. I wasn't sure I'd be able hold it together long enough to maintain our eye contact.
I scooted toward the wall and lay on her pillow, opening my arms in a silent invitation. She looked at me for a few seconds before getting up, flinching slightly as her body slid across the wooden chair. She walked deliberately and the sight of her physical pain was almost too much to bear. I waited patiently as she sat down on the edge of my bed, my arms still open, until she all but collapsed into me.
I gathered her against me, holding her as gently as possible. She slipped her arms around my waist and buried her face against my chest like she couldn't get close enough.
She started to cry in earnest, sobs that shook her body, tears that left hot, wet blotches on the front of my shirt. It was nothing like the silent stream of tears from the night before and it terrified me. I'd never seen her so upset, never imagined I would. I ran my hand over her hair, awkwardly smoothing it over and over, the only motion I could manage from my position.
We stayed like that for a long time, until she wore herself out and fell asleep in my arms. When her breathing was deep and constant, I moved away, careful not to disturb her. She didn't stir while I tucked the sheet and quilt around her and kissed her forehead. I scribbled a quick note on a scrap of paper, explaining that I was in the kitchen and left it on my pillow before sneaking out of the room, closing the door behind me.
My mother looked up from her newspaper when I walked into the kitchen. The sun was up, shining cheerfully through the windows, but it was still early. She glanced at the clock, clearly surprised to see me up at the crack of dawn. Even Maggie, curled up on the rug, looked confused. She wagged her tail anyway, a rhythmic thumping against the hardwood floor.
"Coffee?" my mom asked, eyeing me curiously.
She got up and poured me a mug full, setting the sugar bowl and a spoon down in front of me along with my drink. I heaped a teaspoon of sugar into the mug and inhaled the steam as I stirred.
She sat down across from me. "Is Bella here?"
"Yeah, she's sleeping."
"What happened to staying at her house last night?"
I remembered with a wave of regret what last night was supposed to be— romantic and fun and easy, Bella and me taking advantage of the empty house while her parents were away. "Change of plans," I said without elaboration.
"Hmm. Is she going to have enough time to get ready for school?"
"She's not going to school." I tried to guess how much my mom might've heard. I had no idea how to explain to her what happened—I wasn't even sure I was capable of saying the words aloud. "I'm not going either," I told her.
"Okay…" she said, drawing it out. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
I took a long sip of coffee, trying to clear my sleep-deprived mind. "There was an incident last night—an emergency, I guess—and I had to take Bella to the hospital."
My mom's expression went from confusion to alarm in half a second. Esme and Bella had become close quickly. The list of things they had in common was endless. They both loved flowers and baking. They were both artistic and freakishly neat. Neither was capable of tolerating bullshit. "Is she okay?" my mom asked.
"No. Not really." I felt the intense pain flow through me again. I took another long drink from my mug, hoping the scalding coffee would mask the ache in my chest.
I sighed, deliberating. "I can't say, not until I talk to her."
She studied me from across the table, her hazel eyes tight with concern. "You're not giving me much to work with here, Edward. There was an emergency, you took her to the hospital, she can't go to school today, but she was well enough that they released her from the hospital… you can't tell me anything more?"
"No. Can you call the school and tell them we'll be out?"
"I suppose, but shouldn't Bella's mother call for her?"
"Her parents are out of town until Saturday, remember? She's going to stay here until they get back."
She stared at me, her expression solemn. I was pretty sure she was trying to figure out why Bella and I would opt to stay with her instead of the Swan's empty house. "Do her parents know about this… emergency?"
"Not yet, but they will."
In truth, I had no idea if she planned to tell them, but intuition told me my mom would be on the phone with Renee in a matter of seconds if I didn't reassure her.
Her face was full of bewilderment and worry as she gave me another long look. I could tell she was hoping I'd say more, give her some clue as to what all of the mysterious drama was about.
Finally, she sighed. "Do you want something to eat? I can fix you some pancakes, or maybe eggs?" It was so like my mother to try to fix things with food. Even though I couldn't imagine eating, I was thankful for the tiny slice of normalcy.
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."
"I have to go get ready for work. We've got a big shipment coming in today."
"Hmm…" I drank more coffee, gazing past her head at the celery-colored wall.
She must've realized she wasn't going to get anymore out of me, at least for the time being, because she headed upstairs to shower.
Thanks for reading. I'd love to know what you think… Also, a book recommendation: STOLEN, by Lucy Christopher, about a girl who's kidnapped by a delusional man and taken to the Austrailian Outback. I've never been so torn at the end of a book. Amazing, amazing, amazing.
Also, a book recommendation: STOLEN, by Lucy Christopher, about a girl who's kidnapped by a delusional man and taken to the Austrailian Outback. I've never been so torn at the end of a book. Amazing, amazing, amazing.