Page 106 of The Lair

An uncomfortable hum sizzles in the center of my chest as my feet meet the plush carpet. The floor grumbles with every step toward my backpack. Slowly, I undo the zipper, and with a lump in my throat, I stare at my phone at the bottom.

Jada must be worried. I should turn it on and tell her what’s going on.

But I can’t. It doesn’t feel right, and I don’t know why. Going to Jada with my problems has always been my go-to. So why the hell can’t I bring myself to do it when I need her more than ever?

Because a huge part of me is scared of what else I’ll find when I turn on my phone. I’m not ready to see a text from Travis, whatever the content may be.

More than that—I’m not ready tonotsee a text from Travis.

It’s only now that I’m able to take off the rose-tinted glasses and see that he was never meant to be mine. He doesn’t deserve an emotionally unstable liar for an employee, let alone for a life partner. And I certainly don’t deserve such an attentive, loving man when I didn’t even have the courage to turn in a resignation letter. I simply left.

Coward, coward, coward.

I prove to myself once again what I’m made of when I look away from my phone, making a final decision.

But something catches my eye at the bottom of my backpack.

Tom’s business card.

My fingers shake with uncertainty as I pick it up. His name is written in an unassuming font along with theProduction Assistanttag. The logo of George Eden’s production company sits on the left, staring back at me. Daring me.

No. Forget about it.

I should. My parents’ threat left no room for doubts. If I ever speak a word about my past, they will demolish whatever scraps of privacy I have left. Plus, talking to George Eden would defeatthe purpose of hiding in the first place. I don’t want attention. I don’t want more chaos.

With a confusion I don’t fully understand gripping at me, I put the card back down. I should throw it away altogether and shift my energy into what really matters—what the hell I’m going to do now.

Should I stay in Maine? Try to make it to Canada? Maybe my mistake was always staying in the United States. Maybe?—

A sudden wave of anger and sadness washes over me at the sound of my inner voice.

I…

I…

I’m tired of running away.

And I’m angry at myself for treating it like it’s always been my only option.

I’ve convinced myself that I’m only a passenger in my life instead of the goddamn driver. I let fear take over. I’ve spent the past six years telling myself it wasn’t the time to move on yet, that I still needed to be on the lookout, that I wasn’t safe despite the distance.

All this time, I’ve been my own worst enemy.

My eyes prickle with tears at the realization that I’m wasting my life away. A life that doesn’t belong to me because, even so many years later, I’m still letting my parents control it.

My promise. I’m breaking it.

How could I have forgotten about it?

That day at the warehouse, as I hid under a car and waited for an imminent death, I promised the sky I would make the world a better place if I survived.

And I did. I survived the worst thing that has ever happened to me and only got stronger as the years passed.

Yet all I’ve done since is lie, hide, and betray myself.

I grew up in a privileged position. I’m well aware of how many children would kill for a fraction of what I had. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, not even to my own ears, but the truth is, I’d give all of that away for a loving family. Because what I had, no matter how grand, meant nothing if it was obtained through exploitation and abuse.

I hate my parents. Both of them. I hate them with a burning passion that has reignited after their visit six years later.

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