Page 7 of Nowhere to Run

I should have felt safer. Lighter. But instead, his silence clawed at me. I kept rereading his messages, their taunting promises replaying in my mind.

It didn’t matter how many times I tried to shut him out. He had a way of slipping into my thoughts. The ache between my legs pulsed—a raw reminder of what he’d done.

Of what I hadn’t asked for.

What I hadn’t wanted.

What I was now craving.

I reached out to Ryan, apologizing for the abrupt way I’d canceled our date the other night. Of course, I didn’t tell him the truth—that Adrian had sent the message. That I’d been there with him, that I’d… fucked him. What would he think of me then?

“It’s okay, Scarlett,”Ryan texted back.“Really proud of you for your commitment to fitness!”

Ugh, what a mess.

He’d followed up again, trying to reschedule. He was always so thoughtful, so understanding. But I told him I wasn’t feeling well. It stung to lie, but it was easier than pretending. Hedeserved better than this version of me. My mind wouldn’t be present. Adrian was all I could think of.

I’ll catch up with Ryan soon.

Once I got Adrian out of my head.

Once the memories stopped feeling so vivid, so real.

If I could just get him out of my thoughts, I could get back to my life—the gym, Ryan, the pile of bills that sat untouched on the kitchen table.

Only my painting was going well. It was like Adrian had unleashed something inside me. Creativity poured from my mind to my brush as I leaned into my emotions, letting them consume me. I was awake until my eyes refused to stay open last night, throwing myself into the piece. The enormous canvas no longer felt like an empty void demanding to be filled. Maybe it would really be ready in time for my debut art show at the gallery. Adrian had opened something up—tapped into a potential I didn’t know I had.

Is this why artists lead such tortured lives? Is this what it takes?

But now that I’d closed that door, I felt hollow. The emptiness seemed to creep back in. The walls of this house felt like they were pressing closer, shrinking my world and leaving me achingly, unbearably alone. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and, for a fleeting moment, seriously considered calling my parents.

“Come to Spain anytime!”they’d said when they left.

But the bitterness resurfaced. They wouldn’t pay for my plane ticket.“Honey, you’re the one who wanted to be an artist. You’ll have to manage your money carefully. You’ll never really have enough.”

It stung because they were right. Even with my gallery job downtown, it was never enough. Inheriting Gran’s house had been such a gift, but keeping up with it was overwhelming. Therewas no mortgage, but endless repairs, property taxes, bills. And… with a flash of shame, I realized I could never seem to save for that plane ticket. Every time, I’d end up spending any extra money I had on something else—a new dress, shoes, workout clothes.

Right.Workouts. Adrian’s workout plan.

I scoffed, thinking of the PDF he’d sent. My blood simmered. How could he think he had that kind of control over me? That he could use my body, mold it into whatever he wanted? His plan had the opposite effect—it drove me away. For now, the gym was off-limits. I couldn’t risk running into him.

Running outside would have to do.

I wandered into my bedroom, the cozy four-poster bed welcoming me. I’d tried to evoke an artistic dark academia vibe for the space, with antique oak bookshelves, rich burgundy walls and gold-framed art. Standing in front of the mirror, I studied my reflection, my eyes tracing my body with a strange detachment. Like I was seeing myself through Adrian’s eyes.

So much for getting him out of my head.

I smirked, indulging the fantasy just a little as I undressed before gathering my running gear. My hands skimmed over my skin, the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist. Then upward, lingering briefly over my breasts–soft, full.

It was true—I was genetically blessed, and I knew it.Thanks Gran,I thought, with a laugh, glancing at her poster above my bed. She’d been such a beauty in her day. Even well into her sixties, she would flirt shamelessly, charming her way into special treatment wherever we went.

What would she think of all this?

I ached for her advice, her steady presence. A memory surfaced of her smiling, leaning toward me, her glamorous rings catching the light as they sparkled.

“So, Scarlett, any boys caught your eye?” she asked with a wink.

I smiled, but shook my head, though my body hissed at me.Liar.

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