Page 6 of Taken With You

I knew exactly what happened when you gave in to your base desires, or when you leaned on someone and let them get close like that.

I rubbed my wrists and looked down, still seeing the bruises that were no longer there. They had faded a few years ago, and they would never be back.

No. I wouldn’t let myself be that vulnerable again.

Though the marks on my skin had faded, they were still on my soul and in my heart.

I could feel them beneath my flesh as if each ache from the blows had touched my very being.

The scars were still there, evidence of my mistakes, of the person I had been and who I’d trusted when I shouldn’t have.

I wouldn’t—couldn’t—let Beckham kiss me again.

Actually, I would do everything in my power to never be alone with him again.

I’d already made one mistake.

I didn’t know if I could afford another.

I pushed those thoughts from my mind and went back to work. I had a few more hours of data to look over, and then I could spend my afternoon doing whatever I wanted. Reading, doing some Google searches. Maybe I’d take a walk. Although I didn’t really know if I wanted to do that enough to leave the house.

The four walls and roof that surrounded me seemed like my only salvation some days.

I could remember when the wind had blown in my hair. When I smiled, and it was as if nothing was wrong in the world. It didn’t matter that everything would eventually come crashing down around me, or that my soul would become tainted by the decisions I made—or those made for me by people who said they cared about me.

But I didn’t need the breeze in my hair anymore. I didn’t need the sun on my face. I only needed these walls. They were my safe space, the things protecting me.

I couldn’t afford to risk anything else.

I sighed, once again pushing those thoughts away as I went back to work.

I had just closed my laptop and was stretching my back when the doorbell rang.

I froze, tension crawling up my spine and making my stomach turn sour. I tried not to let my pulse race, but I couldn’t help it.

It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be them.

It had to be someone else. Maybe it was the UPS driver.

Yes. That was it. It must be a delivery.

I looked down at my phone, bringing up the doorbell video app I had, and let out a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t my past at my door.

It was Violet and the girls.

I could deal with them. They were good for me.

A visit from my friends wouldn’t hurt.

At least, I hoped not.

I quickly ran my damp palms down the legs of my jeans before patting my cheeks, hoping they weren’t too pale or too red. I needed to look normal.

Normal people didn’t stress out or try to flee at the idea of someone being at their door.

They didn’t want to vomit at the thought of not knowing who could be visiting.