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The Rich Boy

Page 33

by Scott, Kylie


  “I thought you were happy.” The weird thing is, he sounds almost hurt. Which is crazy. “I know I’ve been busy lately, but—”

  “You do remember this is a fake relationship you’re talking about,” I say between clenched teeth. “A lie that you manipulated and tricked me into believing.”

  For a moment, we just stare at each other. Neither of us is happy.

  “Given how badly I held up under pressure, I can almost forgive you for not telling me the whole truth. But I really don’t think I can ever forgive you for starting this relationship in the first place.”

  “Everyone breaks under torture; it’s just a matter of when.” He doesn’t address the second issue. Doesn’t even go near it.

  “Great.”

  “You’re exhausted; you should sleep.” He nods to a door on the other side of the large bedroom. “Bathroom is through there if you want to clean up. I’ll check on you later.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be right outside. You’re safe, Betty.”

  I don’t know what to say. This new Thom doesn’t feel safe at all.

  And then he’s gone.

  I have no idea where we are or how far from civilization we might be. And I have neither money nor shoes. My chances of making a successful getaway are slim to none. For now, there’s no other real option but to stay put and figure out this situation. My supposed fiancé seems to want to keep me alive and in one piece. It’s something, I guess.

  The woman in the bathroom mirror is pale and pasty, battered and bruised. I turn on the shower, testing the temperature with a hand. Red marks line my wrists, further reminder of the crazy and violent day. My clothes stink of smoke and vomit, but there’s soap and shampoo, towels and a fluffy white robe. It’ll have to do. I need to put myself back together and deal.

  Only the first tear leaves a trail in the soot and general mess of my face. A second tear follows fast. Soon my vision wavers and I step into the shower, hiding the sound of my crying with the running water. It’d be great to be able to handle this, to stay strong. But first I apparently need a minute to let it all out. All of the anger, stress, and horror of the past few hours. All of my fear.

  Because I’m trapped. That’s what it comes down to in the end.

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