Page 34 of Wanted
Of course, he had. She hadn’t been able to do anything yet without freaking out at least once. She couldn’t shower and wash her own damn hair. She couldn’t put herself to bed without being told. She couldn’t sit on the furniture, or fix something to eat or drink anything but water without permission. She couldn’t use the last of something, or make a mess, or leave behind anything that might show she even existed.
She couldn’t hold a job anymore. She didn’t have money of her own anymore. She couldn’t go in a fucking store and pick out a stupid dress without hearing that man’s voice whispering commands she’d once lived in dread of hearing.
And now here came Marcus, his car keys in his hand and his face set to take her home.
Fury blasted through her, every bit as cutting as the panic had been. Shouldering the door open, she jumped out and slammed the door again. Storming past him, she went back into the store. People were definitely staring now. She cared, just not enough to stop.
She went straight to the jeans and grabbed two. One had rips and the other more sequins than an a-list movie star at the Grammys. She took it to the checkout counter. There was no line, but the clerk looked at her as if she were holding a gun instead of pants.
“Having a good day?” she asked cautiously as Pony dumped her purchases on the counter for her to ring up. Where was her money? Her hands were empty. Even knowing they wouldn’t be there, she looked under the pants and then spun around, in an absolute panic. She’d dropped it! Where had she dropped it?
The distant thump of a car door shutting barely caught her attention, but the sight of Marcus coming back into the store with her envelope held up so she could see it did. She wilted, her relief fast fading into depression as he came into the store to rescue her at the checkout. Because she just couldn’t do this by herself.
“Nope,” he said, when she tried to sidestep so he could take over. He handed her the envelope. “You’ve got this. You’re doing fine.”
He was a liar. She was anything but fine. She was practically in tears.
Still, she paid for the jeans with one of the twenties, waited until she was given her change and then quietly followed him back to the car. She folded herself into the front seat far more quietly than she had the last time. Knees drawn up to her chest, she hugged her purchase and herself, making herself as small as she could. She’d never felt quite so incompetent in her life.
“Okay, that was a good first run,” Marcus said as he got into the car next to her.
It wasn’t funny, but she laughed at him anyway.
“Let me see your purchases.”
Depressed, she showed him each pair, draping one after the other over the dash, first the one with ripped legs and then the sparkling ones. She let him get a good look.
“When was the last time you wore jeans?” he asked.
She heaved a sigh. “I can’t remember.”
“Your choice, or his?”
His. It was always his. She didn’t answer, but she supposed that was an answer in and of itself. She picked at a rhinestone.
Marcus was far more practical. He picked up the first pair and checked the size. “Size four, huh? We’ll have to put some weight on you before they fit, but they’ll be a closer match than Megan’s old sweats.”
She looked at him. “I... I’m wearing your ex’s clothes.”
“Some. Some are mine. I bought them for her, so I guess she left them here. She wasn’t much of an exercise bunny to start with. She only worked out in the basement because I told her to. And after I got hurt, I really threw myself into the workouts and I... really made sure she felt shut out of it while I was down there.” A corner of his mouth curled up in a self-depreciating smile. “It’s really hard to do your best and still know you’re failing, especially when there’s an audience.”
The depression died. So did the last fading remnants of panic and anger, so tightly intertwined that she couldn’t feel anything beneath the tidal wave of hurt now trying so hard to drown her. She didn’t want to cry. She was so tired of crying. She swiped at the tears before they could do more than build along her lashes, stole a quick gasp through her mouth, and then nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“Whose voice did you hear the strongest in there, mine or his?”
She laughed again. It still wasn’t funny. Shaking her head, she looked out the side window so he wouldn’t see her face. She didn’t want him to know.
“Are you hearing my voice now?” he calmly asked.
She nodded.
“Look at me.”
She didn’t want to, but menagerie girls did as they were told, and she’d been the first and the best of them for so long, she didn’t know how not to obey. She met his steady gaze.
“You,” he said, slow and serious, “did great your first time. This wasn’t easy. I never said it would be. But you still did it, and you did it very well.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m a size zero,” she said, tiredly.
