Someone who wouldn’t look at me like I was a mistake he almost made.
Someone who wouldn’t make me feel like I was always competing with ghosts of women who were better than me in every way that mattered.
The memory started to fade around the edges, like watercolors bleeding into each other, and I felt myself being pulled back to a much darker present. But I fought it for a moment longer, clinging to the sweetness of that kiss, the way Kieran’s hands felt in my hair, the possibility that shimmered between us like moonlight on water.
Because once I let go of this memory, I had to face what my life had become instead.
And I wasn’t ready for that yet.
2WILLA
PRESENT
I triedto run as fast as I could, but my legs felt like lead, weighted down by fear and the knowledge that this beating was different. Worse than ever before.
The memory of Dex’s fists on my skin was still fresh as I fumbled through the apartment, my hands shaking while I tried to find my phone. Blood dripped from my split lip onto the hardwood floor, drops of crimson that would probably stain, just like everything else in this place—stained by his anger.
When Dex finally dozed off on the couch, his face slack and peaceful in a way that made my stomach turn, I knew this was my chance. Maybe my only chance.
I called for help first. My fingers trembled as I dialed Jude’s number, forgetting for a moment that he was deployed somewhere I couldn’t reach him, somewhere he couldn’t save me even if he wanted to. The call went straight to voicemail, his familiar voice telling me to leave a message and he’ll get back to me soon.
“Jude,” I whispered into the phone, my voice barely audible. “I need you. Please, I need?—”
The words caught in my throat. I swallowed hard and stared at the floor, at the faint tremor in my hands.
Jude was already deployed, half a world away in a place I could not picture without my stomach turning. He carried enough weight. I had no right to add to it.
He had always been the one who stood between me and everything that hurt, ever since we were kids. I had promised myself I would not do this to him again. He was thousands of miles away, shouldering things I could not imagine. The least I could do was handle my own life without adding to his burden.
So I did not say the words.
I pulled up Nica's number, my old college roommate, the kind of friend who used to swear I could sleep on her couch anytime, no explanations needed. She was the one who knew my laugh before it learned restraint.
My thumb hovered over the screen a second too long. I pressed call anyway, already bracing for disappointment.
A single hollow beep. The screen flashed Call Failed.
Her number was disconnected.
One by one, I scrolled through my contacts and realized how small my world had become. How systematically Dex had isolated me from everyone who might have cared enough to answer a phone at three in the morning. He had even driven me to leave my career, the one I had built from nothing, the one that used to make me feel like I was somebody. He had cut me off from every source of independence and purpose I had ever known.
When did I become this person? When did my emergency contact list fill with numbers that no longer worked—people who drifted away because I canceled too many plans, made too many excuses, hid too much of the truth?
So I ran.
I stumbled out into the October night, the sharp air biting my skin, wearing only the thin nightgown I had on when Dex came home, furious over God knows what. My bare feet slappedagainst the cold pavement, and I knew I looked exactly like what I was.
The streets were empty except for the occasional car passing by, headlights sweeping across the asphalt like searchlights. I kept to the shadows, moving through alleys and side streets, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst. Every sound made me jump—a cat knocked over a trash can, a late-night delivery truck rumbled in the distance, wind whistled through bare tree branches.
I made it six blocks before I heard the footsteps behind me.
My body jolted forward, but my legs could not keep up. One foot dragged just enough to betray me. My lungs burned. My vision narrowed at the edges, the streetlights smearing into long, watery streaks. I felt like I was running fast—reckless, desperate—but the uneven slap of my bare feet against the pavement told another story. Slow. Off-balance. Barely holding together.
How was he catching up? He had been asleep. I was sure of it. I had watched his chest rise and fall, counted the seconds, waited until I was certain before I moved. I was supposed to have more time.
I pressed harder. Pain flared through my hip. My knee buckled for half a step before I caught myself against a parked car.
The footsteps behind me grew closer. Steadier than mine.
