Amy Bensen 04 Unbroken Read Online Free PDF Page B

twinkling multicolored lights and the plain green, blue, and red ornaments, remembering the glorious ceiling-high fir trees my family used to decorate. The laughter and the joy. The gifts we’d picked out with such care.
    Forcing myself back to the couch, I sit down and see that the box is taped tightly. I grab a pen on the table and jab at the tape, steadying my trembling hand and willing away my weakness. “Stop it,” I hiss at myself. “You’re stronger than this.” I pant out several angry breaths, angry at my “guardian angel” for leaving me so alone and in the dark. How can anyone live like this? How?
    I stab the tape again and again, ripping at it until the stupid lid is free, then I tear the box open—and gasp as I stare down at stacks of money. Shocked and disappointed, though I can’t quite analyze why yet, I reach for the blank envelope sitting on top of the cash and open it. A typed message inside reads: If you spend it too fast or deposit it in the bank, it will bring attention to you that you can’t afford. Use it as you need it, but do it discreetly.
    Tears pool in my eyes, a thunderstorm of emotions rushing over me. I have money now, but this is so far from being over. I’m being watched. I’m in danger. At any moment, someone could hurt me like they did my family and I have no idea why. Yet there is relief in knowing someone is looking out for me. The years of silence since my guardian angel, my handler, last made contact made me wonder. I’m not completely alone. I’m not . . . alone. I lie down on the couch and everything goes black again.
    Now it’s years later and I’m standing in the bathroom in the museum where I work, exiting a stall to find a note on the mirror. And I know without reading it that my world has shattered once again. I’d tried to start a new life, a new job, with friends, and happiness. I’ve gotten stronger, beaten my fear.
    My head swims in blackness and I’m transported to the airport, on the run again. I’ve just been told by the attendant at the counter that I might not make my standby flight, and I turn away, feeling more alone and scared than ever. I’ve never felt as alone as in that moment, when my eyes collide with a stranger’s penetrating stare, and I shockingly feel no fear. I feel a connection. The room disappears, the unease fades if only for moments, and he and I exist together. I am not alone. And then Liam fades away, like some kind of camera trick, and it’s as if he was never there. Like everyone else I’ve ever loved.
    I jerk awake and sit up, gasping for air, my fingers curling around the blankets as my gaze rips around the dark room, reality coming back to me in a welcome flood of information. I’m in the bedroom, back in the city, with the faint hue of moonlight just beyond the wall of curtains before me. I reach for Liam but find him missing and I flash back to the moment in the nightmare when he faded away. A tingling sensation starts in my head, a familiar prelude to the blackouts that have haunted me for six years, when I haven’t had one in months. No. No. No. I can’t black out.
    Inhaling deeply, I will myself to calm down. Breathe, Amy, I tell myself, repeating the words in my mind several times, relieved when I blink the room back into view. And I see Liam standing in the parted curtains I’d scanned moments before without truly seeing what was before me. Dressed in only pajama pants, he’s unmoving, like the stone that is his name. I glance at the clock, seeing that it’s four in the morning. I’m now officially concerned. Never in all of the months that I’ve slept with him have I found him awake like this.
    Throwing off the blankets, I climb out of the bed, tugging at the hem of my T-shirt as I soundlessly pad toward him, the heated wood floor warming my bare feet, though fear chills my body. Always fear. I cannot escape it no matter how Liam tries to make me feel safe, because that nightmare says it all. It’s not