“Eloise, what the fuck!”
Oh God.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I was just about the change the shee?—”
Whack.
I double over in agony. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.
“Clean this fucking mess up, you stupid, fat bitch.”
Slap.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, grasping my cheek, which is no doubt as red as my soiled sheets.
I flinch, remembering my father’s brutality.
It’s over now, Lulu. You’re safe now.
Taking a deep breath, I pad into the bathroom and see that I have blood on my legs and I’m leaving drops on the floor. I pick up the pace and use the toilet, rush to pull on panties and sweats, along with an oversized T-shirt, but I don’t have any pads or tampons.
Maybe in my purse?
I scramble downstairs for my handbag and open it, rummaging around, but come up empty-handed.
My last period ended the day before I left my father’s house, and it didn’t occur to me to get supplies.
“Rome?” I call out, in case he’s in his office or somewhere else in the penthouse, but it’s still.
He’s not here.
And I absolutelyrefuseto ask one of his foot soldiers to go to the pharmacy for me. No. Definitely not.
I can get it myself, but I’d better hurry because I’ll bleed through my clothes quickly.
I know from experience.
I’m the girl with embarrassing period stories from high school.
Lucky me.
With my bag slung across my body, I slip my feet into the flip-flops I have by the front door, unlock it, and step out.
“Miss?” the guard asks.
“Hey. I’ll be right back. There’s no problem.”
He watches me for a second, then nods. I hurry to the elevator.
I say the same thing to a couple more guards. The pharmacy is just down the block. I’ll be back before anyone knows that I’m gone. Hopefully, the pharmacy has a restroom I can use while I’m there. Otherwise, I might alarm the guards when I return with blood on the crotch of my sweats.
I shiver at the thought and push outside into the sunshine. I take a deep breath of fresh air, and it occurs to me that I haven’t been out of Rome’s building since he brought me here from that shitty motel.
To be fair, the building I live in is massive, with everything I could need or want right there. Restaurants, coffee, the spa, the gym, my job, and my home are all packaged up nice and tidy in that building, and I kind of love it.
But I need fresh air and sunshine. This feels good, and if it didn’t feel like my uterus was trying to plan a coup to escape my body, I’d be damn happy.
I make my way down the block, my face turned up toward the sun. It’s quiet on the streets of Las Vegas at this time of day. It’s just after noon, and I assume most of the tourists are sleeping off last night’s shenanigans in their hotel rooms. A few people walk past, but very few. And I have to admit, it’s nice. Much like the week I’ve had.
