Grant stirs.
I clap my hand over my mouth, fear and shock grinding in my gut, inflaming the organ until it threatens to burst.
Seconds become tic-tic-tics in my head while I sit, for who knows how long, processing the revelation that Lonnie has found me—that safety is dead and gone—that my future is about to be obliterated.
And as the epiphany of me losing everything threads deeper through my soul, I’m soon unable to move. The muscles under my skin aren’t muscles anymore—they’re lead bars, fixing me to this spot in time.
It’s Grant’s moaning that shatters the tightness. My lungs bloat at the sight of him, filling with air until an uncomfortably full sensation puffs up my body.
Grant was wrong.Fuck, was he wrong.
This wasn’t the Grimski family—what sent off that bullet was my personal nightmare. A sick and twisted monster who can’t stand the idea of me being happy.
Happy…
Happy?
The word marinates, and the longer it does, the more my nails dig at the faux leather seat beneath me. I’ve been so happy that I thought I could touch heaven. I didn’t know that I could be stopped mid-flight and come crashing down so hard I could form an invisible crater in the earth.
But there is a hole in the atmosphere; I feel it in my heart.
It tore through this earth when I saw Grant lying on the ground.
I think about the moment after the shooting. Of the way I clawed at the screen in a desperate panic, of the blackness, the emptiness, and wailing during those minutes when I knew nothing and assumed the worst.
My words spoken to Grant in the limo were true—I did cry over him. I bit the inside of my cheek over and over until it bled. I rocked and sobbed until the couch peeled a scrap of paint off the wall behind me, and whenever Roxie tried to hug me, I clung to her and made gouges on her skin.
I might not have cried blood, but I sure as hell drew it.
I was so fucking broken about Grant, and the world must spin differently now because of my grief.
A grief cause by Lonnie.
Motherfucking Lonnie.
Fire implodes in my veins, and the blood flowing through them feels like it’s no longer pumping through my body. It’s hate, venom, and obliteration instead. My hands clench, vibrating hard against my thighs. And the more hate I sense fueling my senses, the more I cling to it, breathe it in, and allow it to settle.
Learn to harness control, and you’ll become unstoppable.
It circulates under my skin, until at last, with my eyes stinging from the heat behind them, I look at Grant, and snap in half. Blackness floods my soul, like unstoppable ink, blurring my vision, and I hear Grant’s words from months ago.
Torment those who would try and torment me.
“Fuck you, Lonnie,” I spew through gritted teeth.
There was a time I would have quivered in fear when Lonnie found me, but I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to be a victim. I won’t be robbed because one twisted motherfucker decided I should be his plaything.
Tonight I draw the line and decide when Lonnie’s life starts and stops. Grant chose the ending for Seth, and I need to do the same to be free of this monster forever.
No more running. No more nightmares.
I can do it. A gun, a knife, bat—possibly all three. And if I lure him away to where he thinks I’m waiting to die, even better. I’ll seem like easy bait, which is all Lonnie’s ever wanted from me anyway.
Fuck. I can do this! The tendons in my traps and neck twitch in adrenaline at the thought of starting this witch hunt. But then a small calm of sadness takes over as I look at Grant.
He wouldn’t want me to do this—but I have to be the one to do this.
Grant is in the hospital because of Lonnie, and I need to finally stand on my own and be the woman Grant needs me to be.
He’s sewn on my wings, and taught me to fly with him, but this is where I soar without him and shatter our limitations for good.
One day, two tops, is how long I’ll be gone. This won’t take long.
Quickly, I stand, and gather my laptop and keys. That’s it. A phone is too easy to track, and Lonnie could find me before I have a chance to kill him. Thanks for that tip, Grandpa.
I’ll stop by the penthouse and grab my weapons of choice. I’m taking no chances of not having enough arsenal.
After I find a hole in the wall to hide out in, I’ll send an email and wait.
It will work. It has to work.
With everything gathered, I look at Grant who seems to be in a deep slumber now.
He’s most likely going to freak out, especially when he discovers my phone here. But I’m doing it for him—us.
In a split-second decision, I decide to leave a note, hoping it will lessen his panic.
On a white scrap of paper, I write the only words I can think of—the ones we say when we’re worried about not being together. I scribble them on the paper, hardly able to see it due to the fresh well of tears.
Only for a moment.
I place it securely under his cup and then I walk out.
I’m walking out to kill—I’m walking out to protect the man who killed for me.
I’m walking out for the sake of love—I’m walking out so I can finally be free.
And I’m going to show Lonnie that I’m no “little doll” of his.
I’m a Frankenstein, comprised by cuts and stitches of past hurt, terror, and enraged strength—and the only person going to be bleeding at the end of this is Lonnie.