Page 13 of Palingenesis

The weak believers of fantasy. Followers of long-gone legends.

And maybe this really is as good as it gets.

Chapter 7

Shannon

Cake decorating contest. 7 pm. Come watch.

The text message from Avery sits dimmed on my phone, beckoning me to tap the screen and bring it back to life all over again.

My gut twists hard around the hope of sneaking out of here but judging by the soft knock on the bathroom door, that ship has sailed.

Last night was … rough.

If not for the rain, I would have slept in the bed of my truck instead of passing out in my office chair in a fitful sleep behind a locked door.

I’ve avoided Henry all morning and though I’ve taken three showers since it all happened, I’m still disgusted with myself.

And him.

Three times, he used me like a ragdoll, and three times … I let him.

“Shannon.”

Hearing his gentle tone through the wood has my jaw and my grip on the vanity clenching.

“Go away,” I tell him, grabbing the brand-new terrycloth from the rack.

Shaky fingers scrub my skin dry. My hair. It’s quick and it ends up messier than I wanted but I’m just so … done.

Jabbing my limbs through my wrinkled clothes, I ignore the aches that scream through my body and pocket my phone.

“Don’t be like that.”

Huffing, I stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes are puffy and dry, outlined by dark circles. Jaw is sharp. Pulse hammering in my neck.

And I hate it.

I hate that my curls are half frizzy and standing on end. That my face has thinned since I’ve been here and my collarbones stand a little more pronounced over the collar of my T-shirt.

The worst part of it all, though, are my eyes. A pale, silvery blue that once shone have dimmed behind the contact lenses.

Corrective eyewear I didn’t want, but was asked to get.

Grinding my teeth, I pluck the lenses out and toss them in the trash.

“Shannon, c’mon. You can’t hide in the bathroom forever.”

I hadn’t planned on it but since it’s Henry asking me to emerge, I almost consider staying a little longer.

But then I’d be late.

And I’m so sick of putting everything I want on hold for someone who uses me more than he cares for me. To pad his ego and soften his edges.

Swinging open the door startles him, and though he recovers quickly, his gaze zeros in on the tortoiseshell glasses perched on my nose.

“Are you out of contacts?” he asks, feigning concern. His brows pull down and everything. “I’ll order you some more.”