By the time I hit the halfway mark, my feet throb and the flesh is raw at my achilles. How am I only halfway? There were sidewalks in the beginning of my trek, but those ended a while ago, so Iâve been walking along the shoulder. I look like a hitchhiker. If someone stopped, Iâd probably take the ride. Itâs tempting to turn my phone back on, but with each step closer to Camdenâs house, the more dangerous that becomes. I canât continue in these heels, they hurt too much. When I peel them off, my feet are swollen and bleeding.
âShit.â I stuff the shoes in my purse, and the cold ground feels soothing. The only way to get home is one damn foot in front of the other. Eventually, my feet will go numb and it wonât hurt anymore. Keep moving.
As soon as I take the first step, the gravel on the road is hell. Something about that step flips a switch in my brain, and almost instantly my sadness turns into rage. Itâs as if every dig, every infraction, every Jordana from Bryanâs lips are tossed in the pile of shame filling my thoughts. I let it build and build until I finally douse the heap in gasoline and strike a match to watch the whole thing go up in a blazing inferno.
He pushed too hard. He took too much. He went too far.
I snap. Now itâs my turn. The night he hurt me, all I wanted was to be free of him, but being free isnât enough anymoreâhe needs to know what this feels like, this hopelessness. I want him to hurt. I want him to fear me.
Being a villain sounds like more fun than being a victim.
I imagine his smug smile, thinking heâs got me under his thumb. Doesnât he know an animal is most dangerous when cornered? I welcome the dark thoughts in my mind. Camdenâs right, I donât need to play nice anymore. I will start by making good on that hefty donation to the police department . . . Bryan may have started this war, but I will finish it.
The numbness kicks in, and my feet donât hurt as much. I come up with a list of things he values most: money, reputation, comfort, and power. Iâm taking them all.
Fuck what I said to Camden in the coffeeshop. I wonât rock the boat, Iâll sink it.
When my gaze lands on the attractive brick security post of Camdenâs gated neighborhood in the distance, I smile. After wiping my eyes, I put on a fresh coat of lip gloss and attempt to freshen my face. Last stretch.
My feet are dirty, blistered, and bleeding. When I get about fifty feet away, I slip the heels back on so I can get by the security guard without looking suspicious or in need of medical care. I just want to be alone. I got this far, I can take myself the rest of the way.
I made up some bullshit story to the attendant and showed him my ID. The gate closes behind me, and I smile.
âYou badass bitch. You fuckinâ did it.â I start laughing, which turns into frenzied cackling. As soon as I tap the code into Camâs gate, I feel like a powerful goddess.
âYour days are numbered, Bryan.â I took back my independence today. I didnât give up. That has to count for something.
As suspected, Cam isnât home. I hobble into the mud room and throw one of my legs over the edge of the utility sink.
âOw, ow, ow!â Wincing when the water hits my open wounds, I brush away the caked dirt and dried blood. I repeat it with the other foot. The first cabinet I open has a pile of cleaning rags, so I wrap my feet in them and limp to the stairs. The extra padding feels like Iâm walking on a cloud. As soon as Iâm in the safety of my own space, I exhale.
In the bathroom, I strip off my clothes and let them land wherever. My second shower of the day is much longer than the first. I sit on my ass while I tend to my feet again. Sitting for a while, I let the water wash away the dark thoughts. For now. After I get out, I put on some workout shorts and a sports bra and enter Camâs room. I find the first aid kit and wrap up my injuries, then dig through his closet to steal a shirt and the thickest pair of socks I can find.
âPoor little rich girl had to take public transportation and walk in her heels,â I mutter. âAnd sheâs got twelve whole cents leftover. Book the cruise.â I have no idea how to fix my life. Itâs a festering, flaming shitfest. However, I know where Iâm gonna start: brownies.