Saving Rhiannon

By Annabella Davies

Rhiannon was blonde and beautiful, and appeared to have it all to the world around her. Diagnosed with a life threatening illness,the love of her life cheats on her and leaves. In her death, a secret diary reveals the truth behind her illness and death, and her betrayed sister goes after her soul mate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annabella Davies
• Release date: Mar 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301422524

Book preview

Saving Rhiannon

By

Annabella Davies

Smashwords Edition

* * * * *

Published by Annabella Davies

at Smashwords

Saving Rhiannon

Copyright © 2012 by Annabella Davies

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Saving Rhiannon

The doctor’s waiting room is very small and dull, with sandpaper coloured walls, reminding me of a large cardboard box. A small photo, perfectly positioned in the centre of each wall, made me expect a doctor who is slightly obsessive compulsive. The photos were all of faraway places; a tropical island, a rainforest, a mountain and a desert. My eyes were drawn to the desert, why? Is this some sort of a test, where the picture we are drawn to says something about our personality?

The door opened, and the woman who stood before me was not as I expected. She was very tall and thin, and had striking cheek bones. With a very polished smile she extends her hand and meets my curious gawking eyes.

Miss Bronte. There is no question in her voice. Meekly I smile at her, stepping forwards off the leather couch to shake her extended hand, noting the neatly filed nails, and the flawless soft hands. Sheepishly I follow her retreating figure into the room. As I pass the door my eye catches the name plate, Dr Sandra Giannodakas.

Once the formalities were over, Dr Giannodakas settled herself in her chair in front of me, crossing one perfectly sculptured leg over the other.

How can I help you Miss Bronte?

Please, I hear myself stammer. Call me Rhiannon.

Of course, Rhiannon, She smooths down a crease in her pleated skirt, drawing my eyes once more to her tantalising legs. She stares at me with an encouraging expression, and I realise she expects me to talk.

You want to know why I’m here. She nods encouragingly, smiling prettily. I groan, lying down into my chair, burying my head in my hands. Why am I here? Why have I come to see a psychiatrist? Is it because of Adam, and how he broke my heart when I left him, or because I have been devoid of emotion ever since? Is it because I am obsessed with sex, and with people, or how I can’t look at anyone without feeling sexually attracted to them. Every sexy move anybody makes, like this doctor, the gentle cross of her toned legs, or the absent smoothing of a skirt crease, the tilt of her head when she smiles? Am I here for my urges?

Rhiannon? the doctor looks at me