Love always, Jolie.
I crept in and out of the room with the eyes of a bunny on me—Bonny had jumped into my warmth after I left, feeling safe enough to snuggle close to Woodrow, now that he was alone.
My feet rushed over the grassy ground, hungrily swallowing the distance as Ilistened to the sound of the early morning—birds fluttering above me, tree branches swaying in sync with slow-moving clouds.
I enjoyed the gentle breeze against my skin as I rushed through the uncut grass that playfully tickled my legs.
I ran often these days, always in the morning. I’d take a lap around the perimeter, which must have easily been a good three miles. It was a distraction from the guilt that wrapped its arms around me whenever Woodrow wasn’t near. I felt so damn guilty that I was settling into a new life, and my dad, was lying in an unmarked grave, that I couldn’t even visit, having no idea where it was.
“I would want you to be safe, princess. I’d want you to be happy.” I could almost hear his voice whispering through the wind.
He motivated me, allowing me to push myself harder. My breathing only started to rasp when the house came into view, the bright sun rising up from behind it, creating a beautiful picture.
I pushed myself harder again, picking up a little more speed, knowing I could make it back to Nessie and our shared room before she would awaken.
Chapter 8
Jolie–present day
My head buzzed. A pain formed beyond my closed eyes.
Maybe it was my brain vibrating off the walls of my skull.
My eyes weren’t ready to open. The bright daylight washed in from the open drapes, burning through my thin lids.
I listened to the noise in the room—a voice I remembered from my past, low and raspy and rhythmic. Woodrow’s voice.
He was a distance from me, pottering around in a room that gave his tone an echo. His tone always sounded different to Hell’s cold tone. But today he sounded different again. Panicked.
“Woodrow. . .?” I called out quietly through my state of semi-arousal. Too drained to put in more effort.
“I don’t know what to do.” Woodrow wasn’t talking to me.
“Calm down,” a voice spoke back, but I barely heard it. It was definitely a man, with his husky voice, all fuzzy and out of focus from the loudspeaker of a cell phone. “You’re okay. It’s okay, Woodrow.”
“I don’t feel okay. She’s not okay. He fucked up. I fucked up.”
I listened to the reverberation of what sounded like pill bottles falling over as the noise drifted in from the bathroom.
“Fuck!” the curse wandered from the same direction.
I listened harder, straining my ears to focus on the words.
“They don’t want to sleep. I’ve upped my dose, but I can’t put them to rest. He won’t rest, and he keeps waking up the little one. I don’t know what the fuck to do. I can feel them trying to take over.”
Little one?My tired brain couldn’t comprehend what was going on inside it, never mind what went on inside Woodrow’s head.
“They come out when you’re struggling to deal. Relax, Woodrow.” The man on the phone’s husky voice was clearer this time. “Check your diary.”
“He hasn’t written much on the app. That wasn’t the agreement. He promised. He fucking promised. I’ve taken like a dozen anxiety pills.” Woodrow’s voice sounded muffled, like he was currently popping a dozen more, and waiting for them to dissolve on his tongue.
“That’s too many. You need to make yourself sick.”
“I can’t.” He whispered the next part, preventing me from hearing, “I can’t put her through something like that again. Not yet. You can’t imagine what he’s done to her.” He took a breath, before allowing his voice to regain its regular tone. “She’s covered in bruises, and that’s not even the worst part.”
“Where is she now?”
“In the bedroom, in some kind of fucking dog cage. Don’t ask me how he got that through the lobby.”
