Page 216 of Broken Saint

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Page 216 of Broken Saint

“Ella,” Mom cries, rushing toward me. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” I lie, rolling my shoulders back and standing tall.

Her eyes narrow as she studies me. I dread to think what she sees, but I swallow down the unease and turn toward the store.

Pulling my mask on, I take a step forward.

“Come on then. I thought we needed food.”

Mom rushes to catch up with me, and I force myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Despite the fact I feel like a monster who’s been dragged out of a swamp, I soon discover that just like usual, no one pays me any attention.

With each set of eyes that doesn’t turn my way, widening in horror, or worse, with sympathy, I feel my confidence grow.

It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to keep me moving.

With every aisle we take, my breathing comes a little easier and life feels more possible.

We’re grabbing the final few things on Mom’s list when a familiar figure appears at the end of the aisle.

My stomach twists painfully and my breathing falters as my legs freeze.

“No,” I whimper. It’s so quiet that Mom doesn’t stand a chance of hearing me, and it quickly becomes apparent that she hasn’t, or even noticed that I’ve stopped, when she crashes into my back.

“Oh, what’s?—”

At the commotion, the man who’s looking inside the locked glass cabinet ahead of us in the toiletry aisle turns our way.

“Oh no,” Mom breathes as Chad’s eyes widen in surprise.

But much to my horror, his shock only lasts a few seconds.

He gives the cabinet he was focused on one last look before a devilish smirk pulls at his lips and he begins moving closer.

There was a time when I thought that smile was endearing, but I know better now.

There isn’t one redeeming quality in the man who is stalking toward us.

Mom whispers encouragement in my ear. Or at least, I think that’s what she does when she leans closer and her breath rushes over my skin.

I don’t hear a word of it. The only sound in my ears is that of my blood rushing through them as a very familiar kind of panic grips me in a tight hold.

“Ella,” Chad announces loudly enough that anyone else in this aisle will learn my name. “How wonderful it is to bump into you.”

Disdain drips from his every word, making bile rush up my throat.

It burns, and I fight to swallow it down. The last thing I need right now is to make this worse and vomit all over his feet.

“Chad,” I force out, sounding nowhere near as strong and in control as I’d like.

Mom reaches out, her fingers wrapping around my wrist, squeezing gently in support.

His eyes drop down the length of my body and his top lip peels back.

I shouldn’t care what he thinks about how I look, but there’s an ingrained part of me that still wants to please him.

Shifting on my feet, I wrap my arms around my middle in a pathetic attempt to hide.




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