It was him or me.I did what I had to do to survive.
Somewhere on the outskirts of Pennsylvania, I withdraw my most recent paycheck and stock up on crappy gas station snacks. I grab a pair of scissors near the checkout and add them to my pile, too.
A few miles down the street, I spot a shitty roadside motel. The lobby smells like mold and cigarettes, but what choice do I have? I have nowhere to go, no family to speak of.
The front desk clerk flips through a newspaper as I approach the desk. He doesn’t bother to look up. “Seventy-five bucks a night. Cash or card?”
“Cash.”
“It’s an extra one-hundred-dollar deposit for incidentals, and I’ll need to see some ID.”
I hand the clerk my fake ID, grateful when he doesn’t look twice or ask questions. He hands me a key dangling off a plastic keychain. “You’re in room 110. Go back outside and turn right. You’re halfway down the row beside the ice machine.”
“Thank you.”
The room is small, with a double bed taking up the center. It smells faintly of bleach, but it’s overpowered by that same moldy smell from the lobby. There’s a mysterious stain on the ceiling, and the bathroom door doesn’t close all the way.
When I glance in the mirror above the sink, I barely recognize the broken girl staring back at me through hollow eyes. I bring the scissors to my hair and draw in a steadying breath. I can still feel Rodney’s fist gripping it as he shoved me to the floor, still hear the sound of the belt whipping across my back as he held me down.
The first cut feels like agony; the second comes with a sweet release.
Unwanted tears stream down my cheeks as I desperately shred away every ounce of vulnerability. With each cut, I shed another piece of my past until sad, defenseless Calliope Marsden no longer exists.
The scissors clatter to the floor as I let out an agonizing wail. My back hits the wall, and I slide down. It should hurt. I should be writhing in pain from the deep welts across my back, but the physical pain holds no power over me anymore. I’ve become numb to it.
I run my fingers through the shorter strands, staring down at the discarded locks of dark hair surrounding me. Sorrow wanes, giving way to a profound sense of relief. I might be running on borrowed time, but I’ll take this moment of freedom over living another day trapped in that hell, even if I die trying.
Chapter 1
Prince Charming
? Drunk On You - Luke Bryan
Jaxon
A throat clears,pulling me from the vivid battle scene still playing out in my head. I peer over the cracked spine of a well-loved paperback in the quiet corner of my sanctuary, surrounded by the comforting scent of old books, wood, and leather.
It’sher.
I’ve studied that face for months: full lips and piercing blue-green eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses. Short, dark hair frames her rosy, heart-shaped face, and there’s a small gold hoop through her septum. I’m not too proud to admit I’ve let my eyes wander lower, too; to the delicate book tattoo along her collarbone, the soft belly I wish I could rest my head on, and those thick thighs I’d love to…
"Jaxon, right?"
"Yeah. And you are?" I already know her name. I just want to hear her say it aloud, so I don’t mispronounce it. I’ve said ita million different ways in my mind since the first time I laid eyes on her, trying to work up the courage to approach.
She points to her name tag. "Callie. Like alley with a k."
"Nice to meet you, Callie."
"Sure. Um…" She crosses one foot then the other, uncertainty warring in her delicate features. It’s cute.She’scute.
I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"We’re… closing."
My lips tip up at one side. "You don’t seem too sure about that."
She laughs, and it might be the most beautiful sound in the world. "Yeah. Sorry. Do you want to check that one out, or…?"
