Page 26 of Resolutions

“Oh, that snark is going to get you into trouble.” He pushes out a breath. “Faster.”

“Faster? I'm not doing anything.”

“Not you, her.”

“Her? OH MY GOD, are you getting a fucking blow job?” Instant nausea runs through my system.

Michael groans, “You're half right.”

“Why the hell are you calling me during sex?”

“I'LL FUCKING CALL YOU WHENEVER I WANT!” he bellows. “All fours, ass in the air. Now!” I hear the sound of a hand slapping skin.

“You better not have punched her,” I force myself to stand tall.

“She's like you. She enjoys a good swat now and then.” I hear another slap.

The woman moans.

Unbelievable.

“I'm hanging up,” I say, pulling the phone away.

Michael yells, “HANG UP THE FUCKING PHONE AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!”

A woman's voice calls out, “Yes, honey, yes, make him mad.” Michael growls at her comment.

“Are you really going to make me listen while you have sex?” I ask, thoroughly outraged and feeling in need of a piping hot shower.

“I wasn't, but now because of your attitude I am.” He moans, she moans in return, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I held the phone away from my head so I didn’t have to hear the noises associated with sex. What a prick! The thought of Michael having sex with God knows who, while I’m trying to plan out my next survival move, causes me to squeeze my free hand into a tight fist.

I closed my eyes. He couldn't care less about my fear and anxiety. It's nothing to him. What does he care if I’m held up in some hotel room? He’s causing this, not living it.

Hoping I could hang up, I brought the phone to my ear just in time to hear Michael grunt, then scream out my name. I scrunch my face, thinking of him in that position. Fuck him for going about his life like he hasn’t torn me out of mine.

“Next time,” Michael panted. “Will be with you.” The line went dead.

My hands tremble as I stand, phone still pressed to my ear. The thought of having sex with him stops me cold as icy realization slides down my spine. He wouldn't be asking permission. He would be taking, consuming, hurting. And physically, there would be nothing I could do to stop him. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, knowing with certainty that this and worse, would be my fate if Michael caught me. Just the thought makes me feel violated.

Moses jumps off the bed and makes his way to me, rubbing back and forth against my legs. I pet him absent-mindedly until he's had enough. He stands on his back legs and pats my cheek. The gentle touch pulls me from my void. I have to win against Michael. He might be able to do those things to me, but I have to protect Moses. My brain can't even process the evil Michael would do to him. I pick Moses up with one hand and use the other to stand. Hugging him close, I pull myself back into a fighting mindset.

At my new laptop, I methodically transfer photos from the cloud and old devices to the USB drives. Each image feels like a treasured memory I'm rescuing from Michael's grasp. Our birthdays, holidays, quiet moments with Cameron all saved. My finger hovers over a photo of his whole family at Christmas. The Whitakers, who were supposed to become my family, too. I love everyone in that photo. I've had so many calls from all of them. I feel awful about what I've done, but I didn't have a choice. I hope one day, somehow, they'll understand that.

I force myself to keep moving, copying essential contact information, only the ones I absolutely need. The others aren't gone. Just set aside for now. Starting fresh means letting go, even when it breaks your heart.

When I finished, I immediately shut off my phone and old laptop. Even with the precautions from the Best Buy geeks, I can't risk Michael tracking me here. With both powered down,I start searching for a rental. Somewhere I can catch my breath and start planning. Somewhere safe.

With everything packed for early morning departure, I add Moses' collar and dishes to the bag of things to be left. An unfamiliar feeling settles over me, not quite hope, but something close to it. For the first time since fleeing the wedding, I'm not just running scared. I have a plan. A terrible one, maybe, but it's mine.

I search the local papers' classifieds for a place to live. I can't keep jumping from hotel to hotel - too many chances for someone to recognize me or Michael to find me. Once I'm settled somewhere safe, I can unleash my journalistic instincts and start unraveling Michael's operation. The words they and warehouse echo in my head, making my skin crawl. How many other women has he hunted? How many has he sold? The thought steals my resolve. This isn't just about my survival anymore. This is about stopping him from hurting more people - and Moses.

Sleep comes reluctantly. Like every night, Cameron's face appears when I close my eyes - that crooked smile that first made me fall in love with him. A tear trails down my cheek as I clutch my pillow, aching for his arms around me. I'd even be delighted to put up with his light snoring. Anything to be back with him.

Morning arrives too soon. “Five more minutes,” I mumble at the alarm, but my brain already lines up today's to-do list. The hot shower helps clear my head. By the time I'm dressed in my new clothes, I feel almost like a different person. Maybe that's the point.

An abandoned hotel cart near the back door makes loading my current life into the truck's backseat more efficient. Moses, ever the adaptable one, claims the dashboard as his new kingdom.“At least one of us is enjoying this,” I mutter, leaving him to explore while I grab breakfast for the road.

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