My brother pants heavily while acid spreads through my mouth. I gag and my stomach twists painfully. I feel sick and as if I’m being torn apart. But Henry is far from finished.
More and more blows keep landing on me. Over and over again. Breaking me. Breaking my soul.
And in the end, I scream before everything fades to black.
Gasping and completely drenched in sweat, I sit up and blink. My breath comes in short, choppy bursts, and I can feel that my cheeks are wet. My heart is racing, and I feel sick. So incredibly sick.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
With my hand pressed to my chest, I keep taking deep, steady breaths, but the disgusting, suffocating feeling just won’t go away.
A dream. It was a dream,my subconscious tries to convince me, but I know better. It’s not a dream. It’s real. This is my reality.
Inhale. Exhale.
Slowly, my pulse begins to settle, but the cruelty Henry is capable of still clings to me.
A knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts, and I reach for my robe.
“One moment,” I call, and Lizzy groans impatiently outside before throwing the door open.
“It’s me, and I’ve seen you in way less than a sleep shirt,” she snaps, giving me a once-over with raised eyebrows. “Uh, why are you still in bed?”
I stare at her, confused, and she actually rolls her eyes, rushes over, and yanks the blanket off me.
“Come on, chop-chop. We don’t have much time. I thought you’d already showered and gotten ready,” she scolds, and I look at her even more bewildered. I notice the elegant lilac dress she’s wearing, her perfectly styled hair, the makeup, and she’s glaring at me.
And then I realize.
“Oh shit. I’m getting married today,” I blurt out, horrified, and now I really feel like throwing up.
Nicolas and the events of yesterday come crashing back into my mind, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. Lizzy narrows her eyes, studying me.
“What? I know that look. What happened?”
Without a word, I hand her my phone, open Instagram, show her the photo and the video, and briefly explain what happened. I avoid looking at her.
“Goddamn it. I’ll kill him,” she growls through clenched teeth before her eyes soften as she looks at me again.
“We’ve got this. Forget that idiot. I’m going to get you ready, you’ll go sign those papers, and you’re going to give him a big mental middle finger. Then we’ll go out and celebrate. With security. Like good girls. He can stay wherever the hell he is. I’ll deal with him later.”
She nods, convincing herself, and shoos me toward the bathroom with a wave of her hand. After I shower, she takes my hand and leads me to the dressing room.
There’s no time to think about what’s about to happen. She talks nonstop while doing my hair and makeup.
She ties my curls into a loose bun, with a few strands falling softly, then adds white blossoms at the back. She hands me a garment bag containing a beautiful white off-the-shoulder sheath dress, its waist trimmed with shimmering blue lace, then gives me matching blue heels with lace detailing.
When I’m fully dressed, she claps her hands, delighted.
“You look absolutely stunning, Lia. He’s going to eat his words when he sees you.”
She grabs my hands and looks me over again, from head to toe, beaming.
I wish I felt the same way. But my stomach is in knots, my nerves frayed. I just want to run.
“He’s not going to care. I just want to get this over with. And then I need a lot of alcohol,” I say with zero enthusiasm. Lizzy’s smile fades into seriousness.
