ChapterTwenty-Nine
Without finesse and with minimal coordination, my fingers crash against the keyboard.The furiousclack, clack, clacksounds through my office, setting my teeth on edge.Irritation prickles at my skin like the bites of tiny red ants.
Dear uninspired writer,
I stare at the words until my eyes unfocus, blurring the letters.Over and over, I type and delete.
Your manuscript is juvenile and your grammar is abysmal.
“Damnit!”I grunt, jamming my finger into the delete button for the tenth time.
I drop my head, letting my gaze rest on my lap.“This isn't you,” I chide myself.“Stop being a jerk and just do what you do.Just edit.”
For what feels like the hundredth time today, I yank my eyes away from my unfinished work and refill my coffee mug.Armed with the creamy brew, I feel more settled, more capable.At least, that's what I tell myself.
As the hours tick by, I find myself reading and rereading paragraphs.My normally enthusiastic notes are limited to grammar edits and spelling corrections.
A heavy sigh whistles out through my nose.I've always found solace in stories, a way to escape.Today, every line falls flat.My heart sits lifelessly in my chest, unable to feel the characters.
Four days, the words whisper through my brain like a taunt.It's been four days since Gray showed up here with blood on his face.Four days with no sign of him.Four days since he violated me.
My own voice scoffs inside my head.Violated?Did you really feel violated?
I clench my fists in my lap, wrapping my fingers around the hem of my sweater.My body tightens, compressing like a spring.My head drops low, shame washing over me as the admission of my own feelings rings through my head like a blaring alarm.The truth is, I didn't feel violated.I felt afraid, shaken to my core.
“No, I did what he wanted because I was afraid.Only because I was afraid.”The lie slides off my tongue like sandpaper.
It wasn’t just fear that I felt.When I gave in to him, gave him control over my body, I felt free.I felt a relief I never have before.For a moment, every thought bouncing around in my head had quieted.The scars of my past, the constant presence in my mind that screams my inadequacies, they lifted and I was weightless.I felt wanted.Under his praise, I melted like chocolate in the sun.I became a desperate, wanton thing, aching to please him.
Anger bubbles in my stomach, a queasy, rumbling feeling.He touched me.He made me want him.He made me crave this feeling that no one else has ever given me.And now he's gone.The shadow that's haunted me day and night has dissipated, escaping like smoke through an open window.I'm just the ash left behind by the fire.
He got what he wanted, and it wasn't enough.I wasn't enough.
The ghostly voice of my father whispers in my ear,You're nothing, girl.No one could love someone like you.You’re a broken, useless thing.I press my palms against my ears, like I can block him out.
My chest compresses, squeezing my heart.I shouldn't have expected him to stay.I shouldn't have deluded myself into thinking he could have been different than every other man in my life.But he isn’t just like every other man, is he?my own voice whispers through my head.No, I respond,he’s worse.He didn’t just take control of me.He made me give it to him.
“How could you be so stupid?!”I scream into the quiet of my office.“He's a goddamned stalker.He's probably moved on to his next victim.You weren't even good enough to keep a psycho around.How could you let yourself think you were special?”
It’s just like my father always said, I’m broken.This is just more proof of it.Only a broken thing would be so eager for attention that they would take it from a man like him.He’s a murderer, a monster.I should want him gone.I wanted it at first.I did everything in my power to keep him away.I got what I asked for, so why does it make my heart feel like it’s being crushed inside my chest?
“Well, fuck him!”My coffee mug jangles, nearly toppling over when I slam my palms against the desk.“I don’t need him.”
* * *
The lit sign above the door to the local bar readsJack’s Place.It flickers, letters fading in and out of existence.Its neon lights, much like the rest of the building, have seen better days.There isn’t much in this town, but at least we have a bar.For a moment, my courage falters and I wonder what the Hell I’m doing here.
“It’s just a bar,” I remind myself.
Pushing the door open, the scent of beer and peanuts wafts around me.A bell above the door jingles, drawing the bartender’s attention.He’s handsome in a small town way.His curly, brown hair is slightly disheveled, as if he’d brushed it with his hands instead of a comb.It frames a kind face, strong but with a hint of softness.He smiles as I approach the bar, his brown eyes warm with welcome.
His cheeks pinken when I push my coat off of my shoulders.Something about the way his eyes flit from my face to my body makes me feel powerful, wanted.His eyes snag on my hips where my sweater dress hugs me, highlighting my curves while still covering me.Something shifts inside me, and for once, I don’t hide from the appreciating gaze.I absorb it, twirling my fingers through my hair as I order a drink.I’m not sure where this newfound confidence comes from, this freedom to let him look at me.
You know exactly where andwhoit comes from, the thought slithers through my mind, dragging with it a painful reminder of why I’m here.Bullshit, I yell back at the slippery thoughts.I sip my drink, drowning my sorrows in the harsh burn of alcohol.
After three drinks, my blood is alight with a boldness that I’ve never known.I skim through my phone, through the texts that I should have deleted, but never did.With the kind of conviction that only drunkenness can bring, I text the unknown number that isn’t unknown to me anymore.
I hate you.
