Page 15 of Under His Control

My mind drifts back to the past and those horrible moments in court.

Eight years ago, Penelope went up on the stand and cried crocodile tears while she lied that I raped her mother.

I saw him do it.

No, she’s not harmless at all.

6

Penny

My call with my car insurance company ends with a short beep. It might as well have been the agent blowing a raspberry in my ear.

I lower my phone to my lap and stare straight ahead.

Unfortunately, since you removed collision coverage from your policy, we’re unable to cover damage to your vehicle...

A scream surges up from my stomach, swells in my chest, crawls up my throat, ready to burst free from my lips. I cover my mouth with both hands to suppress it.

When the urge passes, I press my face into my palms, ignoring the tenderness at my temple. Aunt Dee’s comforting voice fills my head.

When I feel overwhelmed, like everything is just awful and impossible, I close my eyes and take deep breaths. And I say “pull in the good” when I breathe in, and I say “let out the bad” when I breathe out. I do it over and over until I feel better.

I close my eyes and inhale. “Pull in the good.” Then exhale. “Let out the bad.” Inhale. “Pull in the good—”

Where’s the good?

It doesn’t exist.

Not for you.

Never for you.

“—let out the bad—”

You are the bad.

That’s why bad things always happen to you.

I suck in a sharp breath and drop my hands to my lap, staring at nothing again.

I’m only twenty-two and it’s been a series of unfortunate events my whole life. I used to blame Mom. She caused me trouble more times than I can count.

She’s been dead for six months now and I’m still lurching from one crappy situation to the next, never getting a chance to catch my breath.

I was wrong to blame Mom.

I’m the one who flings the door wide open and invites the chaos by making incredibly stupid decisions.

For example, I drove at night… in a snowstorm… in an underinsured vehicle… in an unfamiliar location. Before I did that, I removed vital insurance coverage just to save an extra twenty dollars a month. And even before I did that, I signed a contract my mother—a known hustler—handed to me without properly reading it.

“What am I going to do?”

Things have seriously plummeted from bad to worse to a fucking nightmare. My car was the only thing of value I owned. I kept it as a last resort to sell it. There’s no way in hell I can afford repairs out of pocket.

A presence yanks me out of my panic spiral. I stiffen in my seat. Jacob is behind me. I don’t have to look over my shoulder for confirmation because his energy is palpable.

Did he overhear my conversation on the phone?