Page 22 of Come Out & Prey

In similar situations, the next in line either kills the first born—depending on species—or the parents disown the eldest child. If mine disowned me, I’d be penniless, but I’d be free, and I’m sure I could figure out how to survive. But Lucille and Bruno chose violence instead of replacing me—they’ve simply spent my entire life beating me down so they can marry me off, increase our family’s power and social standing and use my husband as their proxy.

There’s no way Todd will let them treat me this way once we’re married. He may have his moments, but he’s good and kind, and he loves me. I’m sure we’re mates, even if I haven’t felt all of that stuff the internet says I should. I assume it's because we haven’t taken the last step yet, but that will change on prom night. Once our animals emerge, we’ll recognize one another as soulmates.

Right?

When the tears finally stop flowing, I tear off my clothes, tossing them in the hamper and putting on my comfy pajamas. I refuse to go down for dinner, but if I’m lucky, Matilda will sneak something upstairs. My phone buzzes from my handbag, and I sigh.

It has to be the Heathers. The last time I texted was before I found the dress at Growlvinchy’s and I didn’t send them a photo of that one. But these girls are like sharks swimming around aninjured fish with gossip, and I’m surprised I got away with it for this long.

SmackbookPrincess: DD! Where the hell are you???!!!

BeanQueen: Not cool, DD. We showed you our dress.

FaithfulHeir: Did you strike out? What are you gonna do?

DuchessofDirt: I’ll bet she struck out. That’s why she’s not answering. She’ll have to buy off the rack. Scandalous, DD.

SmackbookPrincess: DD, you can’t buy off the rack! We’re all riding in the limo Todd rented, and we cannot show up with someone dressed like a peasant.

DuchessofDirt: Daddy would be fit to be tied. It would be all over Fangbook and Instagrowl in a matter of minutes.

I sigh. The only reason it would end up on social media would be becauseshewould post it, but that’s an argument I’m not emotionally prepared to have this evening. Even if they are kind of the worst, I could really use my friends tonight. They won’t sugarcoat anything, but they will distract me from Lucille’s hurtful words echoing in my head.

DD: Guys? I found a dress, but it’s not here. It needed some tiny tweaks, and Lucille lost the plot. Can you guys sneak in for girls’ time? It would make me feel a lot better.

SmackbookPrincess: Oh, hell yeah! I mean, it sucks you can’t fit into things, DD, but we’ll come and bring some refreshments to drown your sorrows in.

FaithfulHeir: We’re on our way once we get a ride. Have the window open.

BeanQueen: I’ve got snacks.

DuchessofDirt: We’ll get the full scoop when we get there, DD. See you soon!

Tossing my phone on the bed, I walk over to my keyboard and sit down. We could absolutely afford a gorgeous baby grand for me to compose on, but Lucille hates my ‘time wasting drivel’. She’s never supported my songwriting or my love of music, and this was the closest thing I could weasel out of my parents. It cost me quite a few awful dinner functions and a couple of society ball appearances, but it’s my only outlet, and I love it.

My fingers brush over the keys, stretching as I warm up. The girls won’t leave their houses for at least an hour—since they’ll be primping, even for a sleepover—and it will take another thirty minutes to get here. I’ve got time to work out some of this heartache.

‘... and I look in the mirror again, but I don’t see what you see…’

The chords flow as I work on the lyrics to a tune that no one will ever hear as I sing along, my voice low and husky. I’m not an alto, not really, but I have to sing quietly so they won’t hear me and show up to ruin my escape.

My real range falls into mezzo soprano—or I think it does based on the tutorials I’ve done on YouTube. Without real lessons, I can only follow along with voice teachers and Broadway stars intheir videos and hope I’m not terrible. Lucille never let me take voice because it wasn’t as sociallyusefulas dance; I have to do what I can on my own.

I don’t dare ask my friends or even Todd if I’m any good. It’d be too demoralizing to find out my one genuine passion is something I suck at. I chose English as my major at Apex so I can better craft my lyrics—despite the line of bull I fed Lucille about using my degree to further our family’s standing through public appearances and speeches at charity functions.

‘… if only your love could set me free…’

Sighing again, I look at the picture of Todd and me at Winter Formal, cheesing for the camera. Truer words have never been spoken, and it won’t be long before the love between Todd and I sets my animal—and my future—free.

Only one more day…

Look At Me, I’m Sandra Dee

“We’re heeeere!”

The deafening cry from below my window makes me cringe. It’s possible the Heathers pre-gamed on the way here—judging from the not stealthy screech—and I immediately regret my choice to invite them over. That volume may not rouse Lucille or Bruno from their nightly stupor, but that asshole Bruiser doesn’t drink a drop and neither do the thick necks on his security team. If one of them hears, we’re all busted.

“Shhh!” I hiss out the window, dumping the rope ladder out so it unfurls to the ground with a soft thump. “You know Bruiser prowls the grounds at night.”

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