Page 71 of Raine
We say goodbye, and when I close the door, my body slumps, the exhaustion settling in and threatening to rip me asunder. I drag myself back to the bedroom, strip off, place my gun and knife on the bedside table, and close the French doors.
As much as I’d like to leave them open, I know I’d be stupid to. Walking over to my bags, I pull out my mother’s diary and decide to read one passage before trying to get some shut-eye.
Opening the weathered diary, my hands shake, and I know it’s a combination of the comedown and holding something so intimate to my mama.
The diary starts out the same as the other entries, but as I read on, my body breaks out in goosebumps.
Dear Diary,
My secrets are safe with you, hidden beneath the floors I walk on. Can you keep a secret? Can I tell you what I can’t tell anyone else?
It’s too much, too damn much, and I don’t know how to work through everything anymore. The Tartarus Mafia is turning dark, darker than I could have ever imagined, and being the only woman amongst the men, I feel like I’m slowly suffocating with their egotistical crap.
We were so close at one point in our lives; sure, it hasn’t been that way since we were teenagers and I married Malcolm all those years ago, but we were once upon a time.
But since Draconis has taken over from his father, Tony, it’s gone to his head, along with his second in command, Avernus.
They’re dabbling in some dark shit, some things I’ve yet to tell Malcolm about because I don’t know how to, and I know he’d try to whisk me away. But you can’t run from this life, from the mafia; once you’re a part of it, you die with it. I should know because I have enough blood on my hands.
I can’t go on much longer like this… but I’ve got to hold on a little longer.
Winter <3
I read over the passage a couple more times, not at all expecting to see that she was close to those monsters. I know from what Justyce and Arrow told me about my parents that they’d accepted my father into the fold in some aspects, but not all. What that entailed, I’ll never know. None of us will.
I nestled into the pillow, looking at my phone and noticing it’s close to midnight. I silence it, not wanting anything to wake me. The longer I sleep, the quicker these withdrawals will leave me the hell alone.
But as I close my eyes, a pair of cognac hues, a cocky smile, toffee hair, and a leather jacket fill my mind, and I know I’ll be getting fuck all sleep.
Chapter22
Raine
By the time I finally drag my sorry ass from bed, it’s almost two in the afternoon. My dreams were filled with sorrow and desperation, reliving the moments over and over with Arrow until I shattered his heart.
I’m wrung tight, my eyes feel like sandpaper is wedged underneath them from waking up crying, and by the time I eventually fell asleep, it was four in the morning. The only reason I’m awake now is because I’m sweating more than an old man’s ballsack on a summer’s day and shaking at the same time.
I need to shower quickly because not only do I feel like shit, I smell worse than a hooker after a shift, or worse, after one of my fucking orgy escapades.
Moving to the bathroom, I open the door and walk across the white tiled floor and toward the basin to have a look at the mess I undoubtedly am.
Running my hand along the bench with blue resin waves running through the timber, I glance up and grimace at what I see.
My wild orchid hair is all over the place, my bloodshot cobalt eyes have eyeliner smeared all over them and down my face, and my cheeks look sallow, sunken in on my pasty flesh.
Turning away in disgust, I open the massive corner hexagon shower that takes up half of the bathroom and close the door, looking to the spa that overlooks the beach. The curtains are drawn, and a part of me wants to open them, but I know the brightness won’t fare me well.
Reaching for the stainless steel taps, I hold my hand under the spray, and adjust the temperature until I’m happy with it. As I stand under the water, it feels like pin pricks are abusing my flesh, the sharp points making me grimace.
I suck it up and quickly shower, washing myself with the fresh soap Sandra left, and it feels like I’m scouring my skin with a damn sheet of sandpaper.
Stepping out of the shower, I grab a fluffy, turquoise-colored towel, and dry my hair, then wrap it around my body. Even though the towel is made of high quality cotton, it feels as if it’s chafing my skin.
Saliva pools in my mouth, and I swallow it down. The need for a line or a pill is present evermore, but I’ll kill the urge if it’s the last thing I do.
Not bothering with clothes, I grab my phone from the bedside table and walk to the kitchen to grab something to eat and drink.
The bottle of wine sits on top of the welcome basket, and my palm itches to grab the bottle and neck it. I need something to take the edge off; because I can feel the ants crawling under my skin, and a glass of wine while I read through my diary won’t hurt. I know what I need to do, and I’m damn well going to fucking do it.
