Page 22 of Brazen Criminals

I was stifled by Bryce’s expectations. Every day, I worked so hard to be perfect for Bryce, for him to find no faults, desperately trying to avoid yet another lecture about how I wasn’t good enough, how I failed, how my frustrations were childish.

Near daily lectures that I thought were normal.

Fuck that shit.

No more tearful apologies for being human. No more catering to what some random guy wants me to be. I’m my own woman, and I should act like it. Fuck him.

The tears slow as I revel in washing my hair and face, washing my body with a sense of ownership. This is mine, just mine. My heart, my mind, my emotions and ambitions, they are mine, and no one can force me to change unlessIwant to. I finish shaving and step out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels I purchased from the thrift store. I wrap it around myself, carefully tucking the corner into the top. The towel is blue with subtle flower patterns in the texture—it was as feminine as I figured I could buy without Bryce complaining about girly towels hanging in the bathroom.

I run my fingers over the ridges in the pattern, and I realize I don’t have to be subtle. I won’t have to choose the quiet option if I don’t want to. I can have riots of color, floral patterns and stripes, curvy soft flotsam and jetsam in my life without issue. A spark of joy lights inside me as I finish up in the bathroom.

Back in my room, I find the comfiest pajamas I have, baggy sweats and a tank top with a few small holes from years of washing. I can be comfortable; I don’t need to be cute unless I want to be. Stretching out on the mattress and looking at my mismatched curtains, the spark of joy grows to a flame. Mine.

I lie there, spread-eagle, on a queen-sized mattress, the entire bed just for me, relaxing into the blankets, joy roaring in my chest.

My phone buzzes.

U there? Still want to talk?

I answer by calling. Emma picks up right away.

“Hey,” I say.

“Oh my gosh, how are you, Clara? Did you really break up with Bryce? You guys were like, perfect. I can’t believe it. You have to tell me the whole thing. I’d come meet you, but I smell like wet fur and that is not going to help your situation.”

I let out a low chuckle. “You know I don’t mind you smelling like wet fur, Emma.”

“Yes, but the problem is, I mind. Spill it. Are you okay? Are you totally devastated?”

I pause for a moment before answering. “Actually, I think I’m almost okay.”

“If you’re not a weepy mess, I’m totally confused.”

I roll onto my side. “I was a weepy mess earlier. But really, I think this might be good for me. I’m more angry than sad, if that makes any sense.”

“Do we need to go beat him up? My cousin taught me how to throw a punch last year, so I’m practically an expert.”

I chuckle. “No fisticuffs necessary. I just realized that I was trying to be who Bryce wanted me to be instead of being me. And I was tired of it. I wasn’t who he wanted, so why would I stay? He can go find someone more perfect than me, and maybe he’ll be happier too.”

“Clara, if you’re not perfect enough, then Bryce is an idiot.”

I giggle, surprised by the tear that escapes. “You’re a great friend, you know that, Emma?”

“I’m the bestest of friends.”

Laughing at her audacity, I rub the hem of the pillowcase between my fingers, calming into the silence on the other end. “I’ll be okay. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be better than okay. You’ll be a hot-as-shit FBI agent, kicking ass and taking names. And Bryce will fail out of med school and end up a middle manager at a shipping company with a potbelly, no hair, four snot-nosed kids, and a nagging wife. Just you see.”

My giggle bursts into a full-on belly laugh. “Remind me not to get on your bad side. That was both brutal and highly specific.”

Emma offers a prim sniff. “I’ve always been blessed with an excellent imagination.”

Emma is just so, well, Emma. I can see her grin in my mind, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised above blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Speaking of imagination,” she continues, “you moved in with a house full of boys you don’t know? Any good rebound fuck buddies there?”

I snort. “Zero to sixty much, Emma? I’m so not ready for a rebound yet. And even if I were, one, I don’t think I’m a rebound kind of girl, and two, casual sex with a roommate sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

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