I finally put my parents in their place.
I enjoy a brief, deeply satisfying fantasy of wearing my heaviest boots and stomping on some heads. Old Annie, Sister Annie. Tom. Elodie. My parents.
And one more.
Because I did one thing wrong.
I thought I could just give away my trust and my security to anyone else. Like maybe it was okay to depend on someone else, for once.
Like maybe Nicholas “Nico” Giannuzzi was different.
And I was so very, very wrong.
So it’s back to basics. Me against the world. I polish my claws. Reinforce the steel plating. Harden the fuck up.
I text Izzy.When I get back to the city, I’m moving into your place until I find an apartment, I tell her.
Duh, she replies back.
I left some stuff in my hotel room in my dramatic exit. Will you bring it back to the city for me? I’ll call the front desk.
Duh.
I pull up my contacts.Block.
I pull out my laptop. I email my boss.The manuscript will be ready in a week.
I pull up a [email protected]. I hover my cursor above the button next to it.
Block.
THIRTY-TWO
Annie
My force fieldsare not feeling particularly intact two days later.
Maybe I didn’t reinforce them enough.
All it took were flashes of memory, the waving of a tree branch in the wind, the reflection of the sun on a puddle. A bar of chocolate and a jar of honey in Izzy’s cabinets and the disgusting bacon and eggs I tried to make us for breakfast. Each one pokes a massive, gorilla-sized hole in my shields.
Izzy’s at work, and I’m simultaneously browsing for apartments in her kitchen and patching a hole I made in my armor after I squeezed my own damn knee, when her buzzer rings.
“Who is it?” I say into her intercom.
“Hey, honey.”
For a brief, embarrassing moment, I fold. Just for a second. My vision blurs, like someone smeared tears across my eyeballs before I could stop them. That voice. That fuckin’ voice. Warm and safe.
No.
No, no, no.
I remember who I am now. What I’ve rebuilt in the smoldering crater. I remind myself of my new and improved shield and my newly sharpened fangs.
I don’t let him upstairs. Instead, I climb the steps down to ground level, checking my walls for weak spots. I pull my face into a sunny mask and walk down Izzy’s stairs like I’m not holding the door shut on a screaming, sobbing version of myself inside.
When I open the door, I break all over again.
