By the time I hit the halfway mark, my feet throb and the flesh is raw at my achilles. How am I only halfway? There were sidewalks in the beginning of my trek, but those ended a while ago, so I’ve been walking along the shoulder. I look like a hitchhiker. If someone stopped, I’d probably take the ride. It’s tempting to turn my phone back on, but with each step closer to Camden’s house, the more dangerous that becomes. I can’t continue in these heels, they hurt too much. When I peel them off, my feet are swollen and bleeding.
“Shit.” I stuff the shoes in my purse, and the cold ground feels soothing. The only way to get home is one damn foot in front of the other. Eventually, my feet will go numb and it won’t hurt anymore. Keep moving.
As soon as I take the first step, the gravel on the road is hell. Something about that step flips a switch in my brain, and almost instantly my sadness turns into rage. It’s as if every dig, every infraction, every Jordana from Bryan’s lips are tossed in the pile of shame filling my thoughts. I let it build and build until I finally douse the heap in gasoline and strike a match to watch the whole thing go up in a blazing inferno.
He pushed too hard. He took too much. He went too far.
I snap. Now it’s my turn. The night he hurt me, all I wanted was to be free of him, but being free isn’t enough anymore—he needs to know what this feels like, this hopelessness. I want him to hurt. I want him to fear me.
Being a villain sounds like more fun than being a victim.
I imagine his smug smile, thinking he’s got me under his thumb. Doesn’t he know an animal is most dangerous when cornered? I welcome the dark thoughts in my mind. Camden’s right, I don’t need to play nice anymore. I will start by making good on that hefty donation to the police department . . . Bryan may have started this war, but I will finish it.
The numbness kicks in, and my feet don’t hurt as much. I come up with a list of things he values most: money, reputation, comfort, and power. I’m taking them all.
Fuck what I said to Camden in the coffeeshop. I won’t rock the boat, I’ll sink it.
When my gaze lands on the attractive brick security post of Camden’s gated neighborhood in the distance, I smile. After wiping my eyes, I put on a fresh coat of lip gloss and attempt to freshen my face. Last stretch.
My feet are dirty, blistered, and bleeding. When I get about fifty feet away, I slip the heels back on so I can get by the security guard without looking suspicious or in need of medical care. I just want to be alone. I got this far, I can take myself the rest of the way.
I made up some bullshit story to the attendant and showed him my ID. The gate closes behind me, and I smile.
“You badass bitch. You fuckin’ did it.” I start laughing, which turns into frenzied cackling. As soon as I tap the code into Cam’s gate, I feel like a powerful goddess.
“Your days are numbered, Bryan.” I took back my independence today. I didn’t give up. That has to count for something.
As suspected, Cam isn’t home. I hobble into the mud room and throw one of my legs over the edge of the utility sink.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Wincing when the water hits my open wounds, I brush away the caked dirt and dried blood. I repeat it with the other foot. The first cabinet I open has a pile of cleaning rags, so I wrap my feet in them and limp to the stairs. The extra padding feels like I’m walking on a cloud. As soon as I’m in the safety of my own space, I exhale.
In the bathroom, I strip off my clothes and let them land wherever. My second shower of the day is much longer than the first. I sit on my ass while I tend to my feet again. Sitting for a while, I let the water wash away the dark thoughts. For now. After I get out, I put on some workout shorts and a sports bra and enter Cam’s room. I find the first aid kit and wrap up my injuries, then dig through his closet to steal a shirt and the thickest pair of socks I can find.
“Poor little rich girl had to take public transportation and walk in her heels,” I mutter. “And she’s got twelve whole cents leftover. Book the cruise.” I have no idea how to fix my life. It’s a festering, flaming shitfest. However, I know where I’m gonna start: brownies.
