(The Right Kind of Wrong, Book 3)
SPOILERS FOR THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG
After years in jail and endless guilt, Hannah Carson has a new shot at life. What will she do when she realizes that nothing is how it was? She has to start over; from having eve...
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Derek
Her fingers danced over each key with fury.
I watched her from afar, taking in the sight of her furrowed brows and the tension in her posture. She seemed nervous. Frightened. Something haunted her. She wasn't her.
"Baby..." I spoke, trying to bring Hannah out of her trance, but her music held her completely captive. Chained. Prisoner. There was no joy in it, no peace. "Hannah, babe...are you okay?"
She turned to face me, but it wasn't her. Her eyes—they were absent. Gone. Hannah's body was there but she, she had disappeared. She stopped playing, standing up as the beautiful white dress cascaded down her body. I would have taken more time to admire her beauty, had it not been for the way a scream tore through her throat, shattering any sense of peace between us.
"Hannah, baby—"
"Not again," she cried, her shoulders shaking...and no matter how badly I wanted to hold her, I couldn't fucking move. I was stuck.
Hannah needed me, and I couldn't get to her.
Dread owned me in that moment, when I saw the crimson blood running down her hands.
This is a fucking nightmare.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Fucking wake up.
Hannah's hands trembled as she stared absentmindedly down at her wrists, then up to me, searching, needing help.
I couldn't move. My heart thumped against my ribcage, wanting to beat out of its confines to get to hers and wrap it in its comfort.
"Why do people do this to me?" Hannah asked, her voice weakening with every drop of blood that landed on the floor, permanently staining it.
"Do what?" I heard the tremble in my voice, sounded pathetic, but I couldn't care. Hannah's blood wouldn't stop falling and I was helpless.
The icy chill of helplessness crept over me, letting me know this was it. She would be gone in a few seconds and I would have done nothing again.
"The lies," she sobbed. "I can't do this again, Derek. I can't keep doing this."
Wake up.
"Baby, come to me," I pleaded. "Come here. I can help you. I promise, Hannah, it'll get better. Come here."
With every tick of the clock I saw the color fade from her face.
"I'm so tired, Derek," she whispered. "I'm exhausted. This is exhausting. I can't. I can't anymore. It's not worth it."
