The Withdrawl

Granny Agnes Forrest, an old traveling spiritual medium, said the sister we'd finally found after ten years missing had been so badly frightened that her soul had slipped loose from her body. She needed my memories to burn as lamp oil. Forty-nine days, start to finish, before Harper Ellison's spirit would finally settle. The first time they drained a memory from me, I forgot I was allergic to shellfish. I ate the shrimp my brother Grayson Ellison put on my plate and went into shock, straight into the ICU. Mom and Dad sat in the next room over, watching cartoons with Harper. They said the sound of my monitors was too loud, so they shut the door. After the twentieth draining, I forgot how to act sweet and needy around my own parents. After the fortieth, I forgot how to stay up waiting for my brother to come home from work at night. Today was day forty-nine. The last one. For the first time I could remember, Grayson walked into the basement himself, carrying a bowl of hot soup. "Once we finish draining the last of it today, we'll call it even. You'll have paid off the ten years you took from her. After this, we'll treat you like our real sister too." I looked up and watched him quietly, without a word.

Absconded depicts the story of a man that was framed for the death of his kids,he escaped from prison when an unknown person tried to kill him.He decided to keep hiding until he has proved his innocence.Will he be able to keep promise?.Find out!!!.

On the night of our ninth wedding anniversary, my husband—Damian Grant, the man who ruled the mafia by day and once ruled my heart by night—did not bring me roses. He gave the bouquet that should have been mine to Serena Lane, his personal assistant. Beneath the chandelier where we once danced on our wedding night, he turned to me with that same cold charm he once used to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. “She's pregnant.” Finally, everything fell into place. “She's a picky eater. From today onward, you’ll cook three meals a day for her. And no repeats. “She’s sensitive and hates sleeping alone, so you’ll need to move your things into the guest room.” The room fell silent. I did not raise my voice, nor did I shed a single tear. I simply picked up my packed suitcase and walked to the door. The butler tried to stop me, but Damian did not even blink. “She’ll come back.” He lazily swirled the wine in his glass. “She’ll come back crying and begging within three days.” Our guests burst out laughing. They placed a million-dollar bet right in front of me. They were betting on whether I would be back before the night was over, begging Damian to let me back in like a pathetic stray dog with my tail between my legs. However, they did not know I had already received the family heirloom from my real father. I booked my flight to get far, far away from everyone I used to know. This time, I really left.

The day my mother brought her childhood sweetheart back to the villa, my father—who had already quit smoking—stood on the balcony and smoked through the entire night. Back then, his colleagues at the research institute all envied him for having a wife who was a CEO. They said he should have stayed home and enjoyed life—why work so hard outside when all he needed to do was keep a firm grip on the household finances? But my father never agreed. "Those things are all external," he would say. "As long as the feelings are still there, we'll be fine whether we're rich or poor. And if one day she no longer loves me, I'll leave with nothing and walk away alone." He never expected his words to become prophecy. My mother truly did stop loving him. Later, when she appeared before the media, arm in arm with that man, my father didn't look back. He boarded a flight overseas and disappeared from our lives. And as I stared at the photo in my social feed—my fiancée's hand entwined with someone else's—I knew it was time for me to leave too, just like my father had.

She craved to be chosen openly, shamelessly with no hesitation. When he entered her life, he gave her exactly that, intense affection, gentle touches, long conversations, and a kind of desire she had never known. For a sheltered girl who has always felt invisible, his warm affection always felt like a light at the end of a tunnel. But behind the desire lay something heavier. His temper, his violent stories, the weight of his complicated past, and the quiet way he consumed her emotionally began to drain her. Torn between the only man who made herpersonal story about the dangers of being intensely desired and the courage it takes to choose oneself over the person who makes you feel everything feel truly seen and the growing uncertainty of what staying might cost her, she found herself trapped in a love that was both yearned for but slowly emptied her. Raw, honest and unflinchingly intimate. He Drains Me is an in-depth personal story about the dangers of being intensely desired and the courage it takes to choose oneself over the person who makes you feel everything.

In my eighth year married into the Cavell household, my wife brought home her first love. He was polished, good-looking, and knew exactly when to be bold and when to hold back. Despite the mountain of debt on his shoulders, his warmth and charm easily won over every last member of the family. My wife rekindled things with him and hung onto his every word. My own son and daughter decided that this kind, attentive man would make a better father than me. I was not heartbroken. If anything, I was glad. It meant that my storyline in this novel had finally run its course.