Page 229 of Sin With Me

Faster and faster, each step takes me further away from the house, from the depravity. From Isaac.

From Roman.

My steps nearly falter.

I nearly go back.

Being a hole for men to use is all she’s good for.

I run faster.

Faster.

Faster.

The wind whips at my face, my hair flying behind me in a blonde wave.

Faster.

My arms pump at my sides, my aching muscles too numb to really feel anything.

Faster.

Freedom courses through me. Or maybe it’s not freedom. Maybe it’s the same oppression I’ve always felt. Maybe I’ve just been pretending. Pretending that fleeting moments like this are the same as freedom.

I’m not free, though.

I’ve never been free.

Faster.

But with every step, I feel less like the scared little girl I’ve always been, and more like the woman I’ve always wanted to be. The woman Mama could’ve been if she hadn’t been raised in the church, the woman I could’ve been if she hadn’t raised me in it, too.

Free.

I want to be free.

Faster.

I run until I stop at a door. A teal door with painted blossoming flowers and animals and insects. The worn brass knocker stares back at me, mocks me, begs me to use it.

To just lift it and slam it back down.

To ask for help.

But can I?

She deals with so much on her own, I don’t need to add more shit to her plate. I don’t need to make my problems hers.

But she’s my best friend, and I don’t know what else to do. Where else to go.

My hand lifts, my breathing ragged in my shredded chest, as I wrap it around the knocker. I pull it back, and it feels monumental. It feels like everything’s about to change.

It feels like freedom.

So close I can taste it.

I knock on the door, a smile barely spreading when I hear the chorus of animals begin to bark, whine and screech from the other side.

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