Page 42 of The Oath We Give

TEN

LATE NIGHT

CORALINE

My hands shakeas I press the power button on the side of my phone, watching the screen turn pitch-black. The unanswered text messages disappear as I calmly drop the iPhone into the trash next to me, listening to it thud as it hits the bottom of the metal can.

Both hands grab the sink, head dropped between my shoulders as I breathe.

Did you miss me?

Have you forgotten what my love feels like?

You wore my favorite color today.

Do you remember what happens when you ignore me, Circe girl?

Even locked inside this restaurant bathroom with four corners I can see, I still want to check over my shoulder.

I shake my head, gritting my teeth as I feel a tear drop from my eye.

The nights are long.

I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep, but now, the hours trickle by so slowly. My eyes won’t shut, and I spend the time sitting in my living room, staring at the front door with a small handgun in my lap, waiting.

The texts were never a prank. Not a joke.

It was him.

I’ve been waiting for this moment since I left the basement. Nothing feels any different, maybe except the fact I don’t feel insane anymore, knowing that twist in my gut was right. I knew he’d come back for me.

Stephen Sinclair being free changes nothing for me.

Behind bars, he held me prisoner, and he’ll do the same now.

I’m ready for him, and when he shows up, because I know he will, I’ll put a bullet in his skull.

I told Silas the truth two nights ago. I don’t want revenge. I don’t want to kill him as payback. There is no urge in me to starve him for months, feed him only raw meat for a week as punishment for not saying the right things. I don’t need to break his right ankle or dislocate one of his shoulders to feel vindicated.

I want him dead.

No longer existing on this rotten planet. Out of my life. Out of my fucking head.

I’m not afraid of him. I’m tired of the games.

I release a breath, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. Quickly, I touch up the concealer beneath my eyes, covering the purple bags there. Giving my body a little shake, I practice a smile a few times.

When I’m satisfied that it looks believable, I head outside, greeted by the smell of frying oil. The bustle of conversation gets louder the closer I get to the main dining room.

Tillie’s Diner is a hub in Ponderosa Springs, one of the only establishments that hasn’t gotten an upgrade since the seventies and looks like it would fit better in a small hick town than here.

It’s young high school kids and college students who frequent, but what do they expect? They are the only place open twenty-four hours. Where else are the stoners and insomniacs going to get food?

Tonight, Lilac and I are neither.

I return to our corner booth next to the large window. The darkness of pine trees stretches for miles just beyond the neon-illuminated gravel parking lot.

Lilac is grinning as she takes another bite of her chili cheeseburger, the remnants of her food dripping down her forearms, and it makes a genuine smile tug at my lips as I pick up a french fry.

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