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Prologue

That can’t be me.

This blank empty girl staring back at me in the mirror isn’t who I am and yet, she’s familiar, like a nagging thought that never quite reaches consciousness and no matter how hard I try or how far back I go, I can’t reach her. Realistically, I know who she was. I know what she liked and what she didn’t. I can remember the things that made her happy and how her anger felt rocking through my body but in any other way, she’s gone. I don’t feel her anymore. I don’t connect with her. She’s a stranger and somehow, I miss her like a best friend I lost touch with, the ache so sharp it surprises me sometimes and steals the air from my lungs.

I want her back.

Staring at that stranger’s face in the mirror, I blow out a breath. Smoky green eyes that used to shine with so much love and laughter are duller now. The light has left them, reflecting just how broken I feel on the inside. Everything about my appearance now screams I am a wounded animal, easy pickings for the predators of the world that would pounce on my weakness without a moment’s hesitation. The walls around my shattered heart have been built up so high no one will ever be able to scale them and that’s honestly for the best. After everything I’ve been through, everything he’s done to me, it’s the safest way but there are still days when my mind is consumed with thoughts of going back to a time before he walked into my life and changing things. I would do things differently if I could. If only I knew then what I know now.

Sucking in a breath, I drop my head down and try to force painful memories out of my mind as tears fill my eyes. With my hands braced on the edges of the sink, I take a deep breath and try to mentally will away the physical evidence of my pain. A single tear drops down my cheek and splashes against the porcelain sink as I find my unfamiliar gaze in the mirror again. You would think after crying for four months straight my eyes would be a barren desert but it doesn’t seem to be the case.

I just can’t do this anymore. The tears are getting old and I want to be the strong woman that’s locked up inside me again. Besides, I don’t have time to lose it right now. Not that it ever happens at a convenient time. Uncle Moe is expecting me for my shift at the bar in a couple hours and as much as I would love to crawl into my bed and shut the world out for the next year, if I call in sick both of my brothers will be at my doorstep in minutes. I love that they care but their attentiveness now is due more to guilt than anything else and I’m over the sympathetic looks.

Sighing, I push off the sink, finally convinced to get in the shower and start my day when my phone starts ringing in my bedroom, the special ringtone I set up for him. My entire body locks up, my muscles screaming for relief as my heart pounds in my chest and a sob overpowers me. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I fall back against the bathroom door as tears pour down my face and the memories that I was keeping at bay come flooding in. They overwhelm me as I slide down the door, sinking into a ball on the floor, and I’m reminded of all the pain I’ve endured over the past year. When the phone finally stops ringing, I release a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and push off the floor with shaky hands. My phone dings with a voicemail and I shake my head, knowing I will delete it without even opening it.

Goddamn it.

Is it too much to ask that he let me go? That he just leave me alone to lick my wounds in peace? It’s all I want. I’d be happy if I never had to see or hear from him again as long as I live but it’s the one thing he won’t grant me. Even a single day without a phone call from him would be a relief but in the end, all my wishing is in vain. Every day he calls and the daily reminder from him is enough to undo any progress I felt like I was making the day before, putting me right back in the hell I escaped from only four months ago. When I left, he vowed he wouldn’t let me go, that he wouldn’t give up on us but I never expected this level of determination from him. Every single day he calls and every single day I ignore him but he’s not deterred. It’s time I get a new number. Maybe that will finally stop him.

The thing is, he can’t possibly think I’m ever going to forgive him. After everything he’s done and all the pain he’s inflicted on me, I would never give him another chance. That will never happen. I shudder, a darker memory threatening to bog me down when my phone starts ringing again. I slam my fist against the bathroom door and glare into my empty bedroom. This is harassment and it’s got to stop. In an instant, I’m angry, so angry I’m shaking as I walk into the bedroom and pick up my phone, sending his call to voicemail. I’m going to end this. Today. From this moment on, I’m taking back my life and stopping his torment. Walking back into the bathroom, I stop at the mirror and watch in fascination as determination hardens my features – a little of my old self peeking through for a split second.

Glancing down at my watch, I whisper a curse before rushing back into the bedroom and grabbing my phone. I fire off a text to Moe to let him know I’m going to be a little late before running back into the bathroom and peeling my clothes off. As the water heats up, I smile. My heart is pounding against my ribs but I feel stronger than I have in a long time and through the fear, is a sliver of pride. No longer will I allow myself to be a victim.

I quickly go through my shower routine, washing my long brown hair before doing the same to my body and when I’m done, I quickly get dressed and throw my hair up into a bun. Slipping my aviator sunglasses on, I step out of my apartment and the smile never leaves my face. Taking back control of my life feels incredible and I have no idea why I avoided it for so long. After getting in my car and pulling away from the curb, I roll down the window, letting the cool late autumn air wrap around me as I make my way downtown. The closer I get to my destination, the more memories come rushing back and the more my anger builds. Nerves are still plaguing me but they are taking a back seat to my rage as I try to think of what I’m going to say. Who knows if it will even work but I’ve got to do something and this feels like my only option. I finally pull up along the curb across the street from the Baton Rouge Police Station and draw in a ragged breath as I survey the front of the building, keeping an eye out for him.

When I finally work up the courage, I grab the handle and swing the door open before climbing out of the car. As I walk across the street, I take fortifying breaths and remind myself to keep my head held high. The door feels heavy in my hand as I pull it open and I know once I cross over the threshold, there is no going back. Sucking in one last breath, I step inside and a young officer standing behind a tall desk glances up and offers me a kind smile.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

I nod, wringing my hands together as I close the distance between us. “Yes, I’m being harassed and I need to file a report.”