I drum my fingers along the counter, that same strange feeling tingling along my spine. I’m being ridiculous. I know I am, and I need to calm down.
“How are you paying?”
I jolt out of my thoughts. “Oh. Uh—cash, if that’s okay.”
She flashes a smile. “Perfect.”
I dig out my wad of cash from my pocket, then hand her three crisp hundred-dollar bills, and a few seconds later, she gives me a handwritten receipt.
I thank her, then turn around and walk out.
As soon as I get behind the wheel of my car, my eyes start burning and my throat tightens. I wish I could say why. I just made a car payment. It’s something normal people do every day. It’s not like I did something that deserves a gold medal, but it still feels like the start of something for me.
Or maybe the end.
The end of me relying on someone else. The end of me not being in charge of my own destiny. The end of me not being able to provide the things I need on my own.
For the first time since I was nineteen years old, I don’t need someone else to take care of me.
Sure, I want to get home to Austin and let him hold me and kiss me and cuddle me to sleep, but I don’tneedhim. I’m finding it’s far sweeter towantsomeone than toneedthem.
It also lessens the burning fear in my stomach, the fear that drags me down, convincing me that I can’t be happy with Austin. That I’m repeating a cycle. That I’m relying too much on someone else to take care of me.
Would living in my car be ideal? Of course not. But Icould.If something happened, and Austin told me to get out, I’d be okay. Iwould be. And that? That fills me with immeasurable joy and pride.
I swipe at my eyes, brushing away the tears that have spilled down my cheeks as a carefree and happy laugh bursts free of my chest. Shaking my head at my emotional outburst, I back out of my parking spot and hit the highway.
Before heading home, I stop at the grocery store. Making dinner used to be something I loved. I love taking care of the people I love. I always have. Making sure people have what they need and want is my favorite.
Giving in that way makes me feel… indescribable. But then Damien twisted that love and turned it into something I hated. He turnedmeinto something I hated. He twisted me up and fucked me up and spit me out into a pile of disgusting nothingness.
Damien is gone, though, or rather, I am. I don’t have to live that anymore. I get to make my own rules. I get to make dinner because I want to, not because I’m expected to. I get to take care of Austin because it brings me joy to see him happy and full and relaxed after a long shift at work, not because I’m going to get the shit beaten out of me if I don’t.
I refuse to let Damien take anything else from me.
The pieces he broke are there somewhere. The little fragments of my heart, not gone like I thought, but embedded in my chest cavity and ribs. They’re still there.
All the things I used to love about myself still exist. It was a disservice to me to think they didn’t. And more than that, it gave Damien too much power.
So tonight, I’m going to go home. I’m going to cook Austin one hell of a dinner. I’m gonna straighten up the house, and I’m going to spend the night showing him how much I care about him.
Not because he needs me to, but because Iwantto. Because thepieces of my heart are coming out of their hiding places and finding their way back to where they belong. And I’m pretty sure when they make it back, I’ll find Austin holding them in his hands.
Chapter 27
Austin
Thescentofgarlichits me square in the nose when I walk inside. I stop for a second, breathing it in. Luca must be cooking.
Part of me wants to tell him he doesn’t have to, but I think he knows that by now. Which must mean that this is something hewantsto do.
“I’m home!” I call out, not wanting to startle him as I slip my jacket off and hang it on the hook by the door.
A few seconds later, Luca comes out of the bedroom, headphones on and head bobbing to some song I can’t hear. I wait for him to look up and see me, and when he does, he pulls the headphone off with a breathtaking smile. “Oh. Hi. You’re home.”
“I am.”
He saunters across the room, swaying his hips a bit with each step. “Did you have a good day?” he asks, taking my hand and pulling me toward him.
