Page 124 of Seizing Control: Part One

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure, it was.” As Nadia scrambles to find the right words to explain her objection to my outfit, I give in to my petulance. Rolling my eyes at her, I quip, “I am what I am… might as well embrace it.”

“Anna. Just slow down and think.”

“Slowing down is for the weak—I’m quite happy at this speed.”

It goes against my natural predisposition for kindness to treat my ride or die like her opinion doesn’t matter. Except, it’s what she deserves. Nadia refuses to listen when I tell her that I can still feel Zeke. She tells me it’s shock. A trauma response. My way of avoiding reality because the truth hurts too much.

She’s wrong.

Just like everyone else.

Zeke’s alive.

My soul knows it.

Hands shaking, I button my leather pants, then push my stocking covered feet into my biker boots.

Boots that Zeke sourced for me from the US.

Boots that Slash polished for me whenever he cleaned his own.

The act of pulling up the zippers almost unravels me…

But I do what I’ve done for the past nineteen days. I shove my emotions into a box. Tamp them down ’til they scream for mercy. Ignoring their cries, I slide the lock into place, and shut them away for good. Then, I pray that I can starve them of oxygen for long enough that they can’t come back to get me.

Reacting angrily has gotten me nowhere. Pleading with them to listen yielded no results. Zeke remains gone. Slash has now joined him. My only ally in this sham has deserted me. The funeral I’ve delayed for weeks has been planned without my input. My father-in-law has overridden my wishes to host an event that isn’t needed.

All in all, my life is a masterpiece of dysfunction. A tale of abandonment and betrayal. I feel like my story is half-written. The ink ran out in the middle of a paragraph, and no one has bothered to help me refill the well.

Instead, they pretend that the story is still being told.

All the while, I can see that the page is blank.

The empty pen scratches the paper without leaving a mark.

And that’s why, when anger and begging didn’t work, I gave up.

If everyone wants to continue with this ruse, then I’ll give them what they want.

In vintage Lilianna Mayberry style.

I’m done trying to people please.

I can’t be fucked worrying what people think about me.

It’s never gotten me anywhere.

My leather jacket—the one that Zeke put on me at my eighteenth birthday party and then never took back—hangs over a hook on the door. I had Toker retrieve it from the compound for me. He also packed up my belongings and moved them into the office he’s cleared out for me to use as a bedroom. The tiny apartment above the strip club he manages for the Shamrocks will be my new home.

I’ve quit waiting for my husband to return.

He can have his house back instead of hiding from me.

Maybe once he hears that I’m gone, he’ll come home?

It’s for the best. I’ll keep up my end of the bargain—I’ll return here whenever the Trinity comes to verify our union. I won’t make Zeke and Crystal’s sacrifices worthless. Slash will only have to deal with me in small doses. With Zeke’s supposed death, the threat held over our head is void. We don’t need to have a baby. That means Slash is free to write his future in the way he sees it—with a woman who can choose him and only him.

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