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Even one essential part of myself.
Never relinquish the keys to your soul to someone else. It gives them too much power.
That kind of power in the hands of a ruthless man like Dante, well, needless to say, it’d taken its toll on me.
I was standing, hands clenched at my sides, glaring at the shoes when my phone started chiming a text at me from the kitchen.
I set the shoes down carefully on the coffee table and stalked to check it.
The text was from an unfamiliar number and read:
Wear them and think of me.
Predictably, it set me off.
And even so, I couldn’t throw away the shoes.
I settled for spending a ridiculous amount of time making it look like I had.
Demi was still the only one home, but she was game to assist me in setting it up. She was a sweet young thing. It constantly surprised me how much she liked to help out with any random plot I was hatching on a daily basis just for the sake of sisterhood, just because her first inclination was to be nice, even after I’d made her cupcakes that I knew weren’t on her diet.
I’d never been sweet, but ironically some of my closest friends these days were. I was finding that my particular flavor of bitter was sometimes best complemented with a bit of saccharine. Go figure.
I recorded a short video on my phone that showed me tossing the shoes out of my bedroom window, one by one with two short flicks of my wrist.
Our place was on the first floor, so it was fairly simple. Demi was outside, crouched low to the ground, out of the shot, a pillow in her arms.
“Are they okay?” I called out as soon as I stopped recording.
“Caught them both with the pillow!” she called back cheerily. “Your ungodly expensive shoes are unharmed!”
I grinned and sent the video off to my new contact, which I’d named: Bastard/Stalker/Liar/Cheater/Ex/TheDevil.
Me: I thought of you while I was doing this. Lose my number.
The smile died on my face at his near immediate response.
Bastard/Stalker/Liar/Cheater/Ex/TheDevil: No worries. I’m almost to your place. I’ll rescue them for you.
I was so caught off guard, not sure if he was messing with me but rattled with even the possibility of having to face him again, that I wasn’t sure how to respond.
I focused on the most immediate concern—hiding the Louboutins.
I intercepted Demi right as she was bringing the shoes back to the front door. I grabbed them from her, throwing out a, “Thank you,” as I hurried back to my bedroom. I stuffed them in the corner of my closet, threw some clothes on top, and rushed into the bathroom.
I glared at my reflection. Why today of all days had I made no effort at all? I’d showered and scrubbed my face clean of makeup the second we’d gotten home from our trip. I’d washed my hair, but then let it dry as is, which meant it was basically a slightly damp rat’s nest at this point.
And my outfit could only be described as quirky. In reality, quirky was kind. I was wearing yoga pants and an oversized cat T-shirt.
At least it was a somewhat combative cat shirt. The cat was sweet looking enough, a big, fluffy white thing surrounded by pink and blue flowers but at the bottom it read in clear black print: I WILL END YOU.
It was really kind of perfect if I thought about it, so I kept the shirt on, switched the pants out for some tiny shorts that showed off my legs, and focused on my hair, dragging a brush through it and doing a quick blow dry, just enough to make it look tousled instead of messy.
I’d just applied the bare minimum of makeup when the doorbell rang again.
I knew it was him. I could feel it in my flesh, just like I could feel my temper bubbling up under my skin, ready for any excuse to ignite.
I was irate that he had the nerve to clash with me again so soon. He’d lost the last round. It had been a clear knockout win for me.
