Page 156 of Lace 'em Up

She’s never going to change, never going to understand, never going to love me.

Because she has no clue how valuable I am…and how worthy King is.

That’s the part that pisses me off.

This—I wave a mental hand at the assholes from my past—I’m used to this shit.

But it’s King and I. Together.

And that feeling of sureness prompts my next words. “King isn’t a stepping stone to someone richer and more famous. He deserves better. He deserves everything.” I clutch at the bodice of my dress, turn to the door. “Same as I deserved more from you all—more kindness and compassion and—” I take a breath. “I know you’ll never see it that way.” Another. “But I know that I deserve it.”

There. It’s not a grand speech reminiscent of a coming-of-age film.

It’s not pummeling these women into the tile floor.

It’s not an exacting punishment that will lock them up for the rest of their lives.

But…

A switch has flipped inside me.

This isn’t me cutting them off because I’m too scared to interact with them, too worried about yelling and insults and hissy fits.

This is me…done.

They don’t get it, and they never will.

And…

Maybe that’s the brave and kind part.

Be brave and know when to draw a line.

Be kind to myself, knowing that I don’t have to keep throwing myself into this emotional blender.

I can be done with them.

I can move on.

I can have something beautiful without them ruining it.

I turn toward Dessie, who’s always been the most reasonable of the trio. “I need you to move—ah!”

I didn’t see Stacy come close again, didn’t hear or sense her. Not until she’s shoving me back, sending me colliding with the line of sinks.

Pain explodes over my back, my head, and I lift a shaky hand up, feel the back of my skull, the lump that’s already forming there.

Come on, universe. Throw me a lifeline.

I am so done with being hurt.

“You idiot,” Cathy snaps at Stacy, grabbing her before she can push me again.

I glance back up at Dessie, see that she’s gone pale, is shaking her head, inching toward the door. “Des—” I begin.

She slips out, the panel shutting behind her.

Great.

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