Page 19 of Beautiful Scars: Unshakeable

Sunny

Theceilinghasninety-threetiles. I've counted them a thousand times, traced their patterns until I see them even with my eyes closed. My latest game is playing connect-the-dots with the texture and water spots. There's a rabbit over near the corner, and what I've worked out to be a sailing ship right next to it.

My fingers throb. The nurse wrapped them yesterday, her touch clinical but as gentle as she could be while she worked. I appreciated the kindness knowing she didn't have to give it. The sedatives she gave me left me floating, disconnected from the sharp snap of bones sliding back into place. Now they're wrapped in clean bandages—stark white against the purple-green bruises painting my skin.

"Sunny. Sweetheart." His voice echoes in my head, hours after he's gone. The new sweet names are still so much worse than the others. "You know I only do this because I love you."

I close my eyes and let myself drift far away from here. Imagine myself in the middle of another life. One that doesn't hurt so much.

In this one, Dad's teaching me to drive his old pickup truck. The leather seats are cracked and warm from the sun. The windows are down and the wind is blowing my hair and he's laughing as I grind the gears. "Easy there, Sunny," he says. "You don't have to force it."

My make-believe shatters when a door slams somewhere down the hall. My heart flutters and skips inside my chest, but it's not my door. Not yet.

I shift on the mattress, wincing at the sharp pain in my side. In another life, I'm with Levi. We never left Easton Creek and Garrett never came back. We have a house together with a bright, sunshine-filled kitchen and a garden in the backyard. I make the space ours and paint the walls with murals of blue skies and growing things.

I blink and I'm with Zane now. We travel the world together and visit all the places he told me about from his days in the military. Places with exotic names and amazing food that are far, far away from dark basement rooms and locked doors.

Sometimes, more often lately, I imagine I'm just… not. I watch Levi and Zane live out their lives without me. I see them get married to beautiful worthy women, have babies, grandbabies. I imagine the happiness they’d get to have if we'd never met. Imagine the happiness they'll eventually find without me.

The door opens. I don't even flinch anymore.

"Good morning, my pet." Garrett's boots scuff against the concrete floor. He's on his phone, barely glancing at me as he paces. "I don't care what the shipment manifest says. Fix it."

I keep my eyes closed, my breathing steady. Pretend. Be small. Be quiet. Be good.

He pauses by the bed, runs his fingers through my hair absently. I force myself not to pull away. Every move I make or don't make has consequences that have gotten more serious, more painful over time. Because I should know better by now.

"The paperwork has to be clean. You know that. These girls are worth too much to lose over sloppy documentation."

My mind catalogs every word, storing them away like precious gems even though it’s becoming less likely I’ll ever need the information.

In the beginning, he was careful. Paranoid even. Now, I'm nothing to him. Just another thing he owns. He thinks he's broken me. I like to think he hasn't, but some days I'm not so sure.

"Miss me, Princess?"

Always the same question, always the same answer. I nod, careful to keep my expression neutral. "Yes, Sir."

His smile widens as he loosens his tie. The phone rings again and he swears, answering with a snarl. "What now?"

He paces the floor again, the irritation and impatience evident in his voice. "Fine. I'll be there. Give me an hour." Garrett tosses his phone onto the bed beside me, disappearing into the attached bathroom. The sound of running water follows.

My fingers twitch. The phone is inches from my hand—unlocked, open. My chest constricts as I stare at it. Debating. Deciding. Weighing out the risk. One wrong move and everything I've endured to earn the tiny amount of trust, of comfort that I have, evaporates.

He'll probably kill me if he catches me.

Garrett's voice drifts through the door. He's singing.

Through the opening, I see him pull off his shirt, his back to me. My hands shake as I reach for the phone.

My breath comes in short, silent gasps as I pull up the keypad. Zane's number is burnt in my memory—the only thingbesides the ceiling tiles I've let myself obsess over. The water's still running. Garrett's humming something tuneless now.

9—1—7...

My fingers hover over the next numbers. If he catches me...

The thought makes me shudder. But staying here, letting him slowly erase who I am knowing I didn't even try—there's no punishment he could come up with that would be worse. Death would be better. Easier.

5—5—5...

---