Page 220 of Broken Saint

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Page 220 of Broken Saint

I let others take advantage and don’t put myself first.

That has to change. If I have any shot at a future, at happiness, then I have to put me first, and I need to fight.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That won’t stop me worrying,” Mom says quietly, making all of this a little bit worse.

I hate that she worries about me. I want her to embrace life with two hands and figure out who she is without Dad. I want her to enjoy the time she has. She should be spending time with girlfriends, dating, and finding new hobbies. But instead, she’s babysitting her incapable adult daughter because her life has fallen from beneath her feet once again.

No sooner has she closed the door, securing me inside the car, than my head falls back against the headrest.

I close my eyes, silently cursing myself for what just happened.

I have no idea if Chad followed us and is now aware that his presence affected me so badly that I passed out.

How fucking mortifying.

As if that jerk needed anything else to boost his ego.

You’d think that my running away from him in favor of a professional football player would be a hit to his ego, but it seems it’s as intact as ever.

He really does think he’s God’s gift.

I wonder if his boss is still under the illusion that he’s a decent person, or if she’s learned that his personality is as pitiful as his performance in bed—not that she seemed to have an issue with that, of course. Maybe her standards are just that low. Hell knows mine were for a long while.

Ripping my eyes open, I scan the almost empty parking lot before taking another sip of the drink.

The minutes tick by as I lose myself in my thoughts…my regrets.

Movement a few cars down from Mom’s catches my eye and I turn to look.

My breath catches when I find Chad leaning against a car I don’t recognize, just staring at me with a smug grin playing on his lips.

The few sips of drink in my stomach instantly sour until it takes everything I have not to bring it up in my lap.

Slowly, he begins shaking his head in disgust.

His opinion of me doesn’t matter.

It never should have mattered.

Poison drips through my veins as his voice rings out clearly in my ears.

“You can’t go out wearing that.”

“It would have looked good if you were two sizes smaller.”

“I’m going out. I don’t think you’d fit in. Best you just stay here.”

“Why isn’t there any food? It’s not like you’ve had anything else to do.”

I fight my need to physically shrink with every memory.

It’s not the reaction I want to have, but it’s the only one I’m capable of right now.

Maybe one day in the future, I’ll be strong enough to stand up in front of him and tell him everything he lost out on.

Or maybe I’ll just move to another state and never have to worry about seeing his face again…




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