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When I’m finally able to open the door, my binders crash to the floor, and I’m about to yell at Sarah that she’s a bitch when I hear it—
The pounding of the headboard against the wall, the creaking of the mattress, and Sarah’s moans as she thoroughly enjoys her company.
Great.
Setting the groceries on the kitchen floor, I huff out a breath and kick my binders out of the way before unpacking the bags as quickly as I can.
This is my problem with her. She’s always bringing guys home and fucking them until all hours of the night. I guess when you’re the daughter of two successful doctors and a brand-new college student, you can do whatever you want with your time.
I’m not judging her in the slightest. If the girl can get it every night of the week, then more power to her, but I’m the one that has to listen to it and still get up at five A.M.
Sighing, I put my groceries away. I had planned on making spaghetti with garlic bread for dinner, but now that my plans have changed, I decide on a bowl of cereal instead. Grabbing a few snacks, I hurry into my room and shut the door behind me. Sarah’s screaming gets louder, and a part of me wonders if she’s actually in pain—but then I remember she’s a masochist, so she’s probably seeing God right now.
When I finish inhaling my food, I take a hot shower, change into my comfy clothes, then slide into bed with my snacks. I turn the TV volume up loud enough to drown out Sarah and her guest and watch a random show until I fall asleep.
CHAPTERTWO
JASMINE
By the timeI go on my lunch break the next day, I’m exhausted.
Sarah and her boy-toy kept me up all night with their endless escapades. No matter how high I turned up the volume on my TV, or how many pillows I used to cover my ears, I could still hear the damn bed creaking and headboard ramming into the wall.
They never. Fucking. Stopped.
Not until two in the morning, anyway. I was able to get a couple hours of sleep in between rounds, but it wasn’t enough to keep me from being a grump today. So now I’m trying to figure out if I want to take my daily jog or take a nap in my car.
My body is pulling me towards the nap, but my brain is telling me to take the jog, because if I don’t then I’ll be restless anyway and won’t be able to sleep.
I sigh. “Jog it is.”
I grab my workout clothes from my backpack and change quickly in the bathroom. Once I’m dressed and my curls are pulled up into a bun, phone strapped to my arm and earbuds blasting music, I head out of the double doors and down a short flight of stairs. Once my feet hit the sidewalk, I don’t give myself a chance to second guess this decision before my feet are taking me in the direction of my usual path.
As I’m building myself up to a steady jog, I notice a black Ford F-150 backed into a spot in the parking lot of my job.
“Who’s bringing their kid in at this time of day?” I mutter to myself. I want to peek in at the figure sitting in the driver’s seat, but I also don’t want the person to notice me staring at them while I’m running past their car.
I cross the street and jog towards where the path lies a block away, letting myself slowly get into the rhythm of running and breathing, breathing and running. After a few minutes, I’m glad I decided on my jog. What once started as a hot-as-sin kink turned into a therapeutic routine to keep me from jumping off the deep end.
A year or so ago, I’d had a mental breakdown—courtesy of my darling ex—and as I was running away from him, I felt like I could run forever; like if I didn’t stop, all of my problems would be left behind, and I wouldn’t have to deal with them or think about them ever again.
That feeling didn’t last long once he found me and brought me back to The Fortress, but the couple of hours I had to myself, I just ran.
It was a way for me to block out the world and be content in my own head and thoughts. I could block out the toxicity of my relationship, block out Ezra for just a few moments, and try to remember what it was like to be normal. I wanted to remember what my life was like without him in it. Most people have yoga or meditation—running is what keeps me calm.
I take a right, and the sidewalk gives way to a gravel path. It’s long, starting behind a small shopping center, bisected by a main road, then cuts through the back of several residential streets before stopping at a forest. It’s a really nice trail to take because it’s wide enough to where you’re not constantly bumping into other people.
I love it because it’s my own personal accomplishment. It took three months before I was finally able to run the entire two miles to the end and back to work before my lunch break was over. The first time I’d done it, I cried; I can’t remember a time in my life where I’ve ever felt so proud of myself outside of finally leaving Ezra.
I’m so deep in my own thoughts that I don’t even notice the truck until it lets me cross the main road. It’s cloudy today, but I can still barely see the slight outline of a man sitting behind the wheel. I try not to look at him again as I nod a thanks and cross the busy street. As soon as I reach the other side, the truck makes a sharp U-turn.
Is this guy following me?I can’t stop the thought from crossing my mind. It could just be a coincidence, right? Just because this is the second time I’ve seen him doesn’t necessarily mean I’m being followed.
But I can’t stop thewhat ifs.
What if this is someone who works for Ezra? Is it possible he’s found me after all this time? Is he here to get me back? I can’t go back to that mansion in the woods. I can’t go back to how things used to be.
My breathing quickens as I pick up my pace. I can hear the truck slowing down behind me, but I don’t look back. I don’t want to see if the man driving stops in the middle of the road to get out and chase me. If this is the end of my freedom, I want to have as many seconds of peace as I can get before I’m dragged back to Hell.
