Page 44 of Reckless Sinner

Although my mental life crisis was in full swing, I knew that I would have to wait to sort it all out. I had to get out of here. I wasn’t going to be cowed and keep playing his game.

Which was why I was now trying to take the screens off my bedroom window.

Not having screens on your window was just begging for bugs to come in and make your life a living hell, especially during the summer. This was an older house, of course, but Dad had screens installed years ago. We’d had them on the house as long as I could remember.

They were held in place by little screws that dug into the original wooden window frame. If I could get these screws undone, I could pop open the screen and climb out. But I didn’t have any tools.

I searched my room, trying to be as quiet as possible about it. I needed my father to think I was just curled up in a ball of abject misery on the bed. He couldn’t know I had any kind of plan.

My desk drawers yielded nothing helpful. I tried using a pen and a pencil but neither could turn the screws. I needed something to imitate the flat head of a screwdriver.

I searched my closet. Maybe there was something forgotten in here, thrown in for storage long ago and then abandoned?

Nothing.

My breathing came in deep and fast and I had to work to hold it and let it out slowly. I couldn’t afford to panic. I just couldn’t.

Several of my fancy little purses hung from the hooks on the inside door of my closet. Maybe there was something in them I could use?

I opened them up. Usually I took everything from one purse and moved the contents into whichever handbag I was using that day, but just maybe I might’ve left something behind that I didn’t need. One of the purses, my small black one, had a few coins in it, spare change.

Oh, oh that could work!

I took a penny—too wide. But a dime?

It fit.

With my heart hammering loudly in my throat, I gently inserted the dime into the slots of the screw and pressed down, turning it. The screw didn’t move easily at first, not after years of being stuck in the same spot, but eventually I got it to turn. I wanted to burst into tears with relief, but I forced myself to swallow them down. I could cry when I was out of here.

I started with the bottom screws and worked my way up so that the top part of the screen wouldn’t fall over on me while I was working on the lower part. My fingers were bloody by the end of it as I worked to twist the screws out, tugging and twisting and yanking, the metal biting into the soft parts right underneath my fingernails.

But at last, the screen popped free.

I caught it, staggered back and carefully laid it down on the bed. Now I just had to climb down. I’d never even really thought about something like this before. Why would I ever want to sneak out of my room? But now, I was wishing I had a convenient tree limb or something just right outside the window that I could climb onto.

I looked around my room. Was there anything I wanted to take with me? Any keepsake?

Of all absurd things, the songDiamonds are a Girl’s Best Friendpopped into my head. It was annoying that people would use that song to show how airheaded and materialistic women were, when the whole point of the song was that back in the day when women weren’t in control of their own finances, if a man abandoned them they had to resort to selling jewelry in order to support themselves.

Jewelry.Jewelry. Oh, I had plenty of that. It was my father’s favorite way of gifting me things, since he wanted me to look elegant and rich when we went to parties. If I was wearing Cartier and sporting a new dress, then you could bet my father was doing well, which meant that the firm was doing well.

I went to my dresser. On top of it was a large, beautiful, elegant dark wooden jewelry box. It opened up to reveal rows and rows for holding jewelry, with doors on the sides for the necklaces to hang, and a mirror on the underside of the top so that when you flipped the box open you could look at yourself. It was all lined in burgundy velvet, and I could still remember feeling like such a grown-up adult when my father had gifted it to me for my tenth birthday.

I teared up a little as I realized I wouldn’t be able to take the box with me. It was so stupid, such a silly thing, but it was a really beautiful object and I did love it. Maybe it was a sign of what a soft, spoiled life I’d led. I didn’t know. But either way, I couldn’t climb down the house with only one arm, so I’d have to leave it behind.

One of my purses—one that I used for things like going out shopping rather than attending a party—had a long strap that I could wear cross-ways over my shoulder and across my chest, leaving me hands-free for climbing. I stuffed all of my jewelry into it, wincing at the jumble the necklaces were turning into. That was going to be a mess to untangle later.

Was there anything else…?

Well, there were things I wanted to take. Favorite shoes and dresses. A few books I really enjoyed. But nothing that I could really stuff into my purse. None of my legal paperwork was in my room, that was all in my father’s office. Fuck. I had really let him control my entire life. I felt like such a childish idiot.

Just the jewelry it was, then.

I changed into my most practical clothes—a pair of high-waisted jeans and a blouse, with some sensible flats—and looked around the room one last time, committing it to memory. I had lived in this room my entire life. It was the only home I’d ever known. Even if it wasn’t really home anymore. It made my chest tight to think I was saying goodbye.

Then I hoisted myself out the window.

The climb down was… tricky. The first part, actually getting out, went well enough. How to get from my narrow window ledge down to the ground without being seen or breaking a leg, on the other hand, was not going so well.

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