Page 13 of Out to Find Freedom

I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling at the silly thought.

His hand dropped. He gripped the bottle by the rim of it and took a couple of steps to the table on his deck. After he placed the bottle down, he pulled out his phone again.

After a couple of seconds, he was smiling.

That was a rarity. He tended to only smile around one woman. The one who was taken by the man called Declan.

I liked his smile. Even my belly liked it, because it twisted in a way that thrilled me.

Was it her on the phone? Had she texted him? Told him she wanted him? I shook my head at the foolishness. She wouldn’t do that to Declan. Even I could see the love they had for one another when I saw them at Ryan’s.

So then what was he smiling at on the phone?

I wondered if I could ever make him or any man smile like that.

I slid my hand to my neck and brushed against my hair. I glanced down and picked up a part of my long, greasy dark locks. Only the scars on my arm caught my attention. I slumped down to the bed, leaning my back against the wall.

No one would want me.

If I ever got free, Gloria made sure no one would want me.

How could they? I had scars on the inside and out.

I was dirty, even though I washed every day.

Dirty in ways a man couldn’t trust and love.

Dragging my legs up, knees to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them and dropped my head to my knees.

What did I have if I got free?

Nothing.

Nothing but my life.

Could I make something of it?

I didn’t know.

People were cruel. And I wasn’t talking about monsters like Gloria and Lenny. People could be vicious with words, with looks…. They’d look at me, but what would they see? A broken woman, or one who was trying to be brave and live on?

Then again, even if I became a lonely lady with a billion cats, it would be worth it because it meant I would be free.

Chapter Five

Emerson

Another few days went by and Ryan hadn’t been around much. He had to have been working. I wouldn’t mind knowing what he did for a living. It had to be something to do with heavy lifting. Early one morning, I had the pleasure of watching him out on his deck in only tracksuit pants doing sit-ups and press-ups.

Yes, I’d seen guys work out before, but Ryan Warden working out could be a new TV show every woman would watch.

Thinking of it now, while I ate my dinner meal of mash and some type of funny-looking meat, it would be good of Ryan if he did his show every morning. At least one viewing seemed to keep my mind active for a couple of days. I couldn’t wait for a repeat though.

Did that make me a stalker? A pervert? Maybe both, which in a way made me feel a bit sick about it. Right, from that day on, I would stop watching Ryan so much.

At least I’d try.

I’d also rip up the paper I had his phone number on. Earlier in the day, he’d been sitting drinking a coffee on his deck, talking on the phone about some drywall order. He told them his number, and while I’d been gripping my notebook to my chest, because I’d been writing, I quickly jotted it down. I didn’t know why or what I’d do with it, but my hand took action before my brain caught up with it.

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