Page 16 of Lace 'em Up

Probably, though, I should have taken one of those pills before I snuck from King's house in the early hours of dawn, creeping as quietly as a woman with sliced up feet and bruised ribs and a throat that hurt to speak, let alone to snark, could creep.

Luckily, Kingston was out.

He hadn't so much as moved as I slipped from the bed and hobbled into the bathroom, hadn't twitched when I opened the closet door and riffled through his drawers for a pair of sweats that wouldn't trip me as I did more of that hobbling, along with socks and a pair of boxer briefs I was able to swap for my sexy wedding lingerie, which was beautiful but wholly uncomfortable—especially after an escape from a church and a hike through a thick grove of oak trees and a safari along a wet, rain-covered roadway.

Oh, and a cool, refreshing dip into the lovely roadside pool of dirty water.

Where I probably picked up a nematode or something.

Great.

But another problem for another day.

And nematodes are creatures too?—

Said no one ever.

But…

I'm delaying.

Because I want to do anything but complete the walk up to the front porch, anything but punch my code into the keypad and walk into the house I created with Phillip.

The house that was a big fucking lie.

"Be brave and kind," I whisper again, more out of habit than intending to actually be kind.

Phillip is a giant asshole who doesn't deserve kindness.

Or forgiveness.

Or…

Well, anything except for someone to do to him what he did to me.

Someone bigger and stronger and more powerful than him.

So he'd understand exactly how he made me feel.

The dick.

I inhale. Exhale.

Put the petty aside. Hug the wounded little girl inside me who'd been hurt too often.

And force myself to keep the promise I made to my dad, myself.

Be brave and kind.

Even if, right now, I'm just settling for being brave.

Because it feels like a big thing to just turn the handle and push into the house, to walk by the wall of pictures I hung there, carefully measuring and remeasuring so that not one was a single millimeter off, so that?—

Phillip wouldn't be upset that everything wasn't just perfect.

I freeze mid-bend, preparing to remove my shoes, when I remember I don't have any on.

Because my Cinderella-esque pumps, covered with so many blueish crystals that they gave the impression of a glass slipper, were lost somewhere during my escape.

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