Page 38 of Ruthless Regret

I thought I had a plan. I thought I had a purpose.

But my plan fell apart. Revenge didn’t fix anything. It just made things worse.

It’s becoming clear fast that I don’t haveanything.

The sidewalk disappears under me as I push myself harder, faster, trying to outrun the frustration that’s been building inside me since the moment I walked out of the courthouse.

Is this freedom?

Waking up for the rest of my life with nothing but a broken plan, and no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do next?

The houses pass by in a blur.

I’m just as trapped now as I was in prison. Only this time, the walls aren’t physical. They’re all inside my head.

Slowing my pace, breathing hard, I stop at the edge of a small park. The grass glistens with early morning dew, and the weak light of the rising sun makes everything look peaceful. Almost perfect, even. A laugh escapes me. If only my life reflected that.That’s anything but perfect and peaceful.

Leaning against a tree, I focus on my breathing, keeping it slow and deep, waiting for my heart rate to lower, and look around. The empty streets look so normal, untouched by the chaos raging in my head.

I wish I could go back in time. Before I lost my friends. Before the murders. Before everything fell apart. But that’s not an option. The only way is forward, and no matter how much I want to walk away from the mess my life has become, I can’t. I’m in too deep to turn back now.

I push off the tree, and move back into a slow jog. I know where I’m heading, even if I don’t want to admit it.

The streets seem to narrow, the closer I get to my destination. By the time I turn the corner, my pulse is racing—not from the run, but from the flood of memories that slam into me.

The windows are dark, reflecting the early morning light, and for a moment, it’s as though I’ve got my wish and been transported back in time. But then the gap where the front door should be comes into view.

I stop at the edge of the driveway, my chest tightening as I stare at it, and will myself to walk forward. Without my plan, I have nothing to stand as a barrier between me and the memories threatening to overwhelm me again. Taking a deep breath, I move forward. The firefighters put some kind of plastic covering over the door, hiding the inside of the house. I peel away the tape holding it in place, and step inside.

The hall beyond is dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the window. My eyes scan the walls, the floor, the small space beneath my feet where the floor is burned. The flames didn’t get far—the firefighters made sure of that—but there’s still a charred path leading from the front door deeper into the hall.

Once I’m in the middle of the entrance hall, I look around. The fire might not have destroyed much, but the damage runs deeper than what’s visible. It’s in the air. In the silence that hangs between the walls.

My breathing echoes in the empty house, and I close my eyes, and push back the memories trying to take over.

Jason. Louisa. The night everything went to hell.

The night I lost them.

The night I lost my life.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly as I turn back to the door. I need to get out of here. Just as I take a step forward, I hear a sound. The slam of a car door. A footstep.

My body locks up as I listen.

“Zain?”

My dad walks in. There’s an edge of concern to his voice. The same concern that’s been there since I got out. His gaze sweeps over the hallway before landing on me.

“I thought I might find you here. Checking out the damage?”

“Yeah. Wanted to see how bad it was.”

He steps closer. “It could have been worse. Looks like the firefighters got here just in time.”

“I know.”

We stand there, the house quiet except for the faint creaking of the floorboards under our feet.

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