“You don’t need to thank us, honey,” Macy said gently. “The club is family. Which, if I could be so bold as to say—apart from your daughter, who we can’t wait to meet, by the way—is something that you were sorely lacking.” She reached across to squeeze my hand. “And that is the club’s special kind of magic. Finding people who need us most. Bringing us all together. And, girlfriend, settle in. Because it’s a forever kind of thing.” She winked at me as I fought back tears.
“That calls for a toast,” Freya declared, standing. She raised her glass. “To this forever kind of thing.”
I stood on unsteady legs and raised my own glass.
“To the forever kind of thing,” I repeated. I forced confidence into my voice. Even though I knew it was fraudulent. Even though I knew this wasn’t a forever kind of this.
The clinking of our glasses echoed out into the desert. And I sent out a wish. That there was some way, somehow, I could find a way to stay here. With these people.
But even as I wished it, I knew in my bones it wouldn’t come true.
I was not a runner.
Pilates. Hot yoga... Those were the two things I did to stay in shape, in addition to starving myself. Because that’s what the women in my group did, and those were activities approved by Preston.
He didn’t want me running on the streets. He certainly didn’t want me in a gym where men could speak to me, hit on me. Nor would he want to run the risk of me getting strong enough to hit him back if I chose to.
Not that the strength to fight back came from lifting weights. It came from a place inside a person. One that did not exist inside of me. Otherwise, it would’ve awoken that very first day he hit me.
Those were the thoughts that had me putting on the cheap tennis shoes I’d worn the first two weeks and getting up to go for a run at two in the morning.
I couldn’t be alone in this motel room, with only my thoughts and the crushing weight of the future threatening to ground me to dust.
Last night had been perfect. I was distracted enough with the company of the women. Then the booze and copious amounts of food had made it so that I was unconscious the second my head hit the lumpy motel pillow.
This was the first night I was truly alone with myself. All of the women had offered to do something with me, have me over, but I knew the invitations came out of knowledge that I would be sitting alone in a depressing motel room.
Swiss had tried to get me to stay at his room at the club while he was gone. While it was tempting, I didn’t feel comfortable with that. Being there, existing there while he wasn’t there. Sure, there had been nights when I’d fallen asleep without him, nights when he was out doing things I still didn’t know about. But he always crawled into bed with me after. We always made the trip to the kitchen for breakfast together.
Even if I was there, cooking dinner for everyone while he was away doing something I didn’t know about, there was comfort in the knowledge that he was coming back. He was my anchor to the club. Without him, I felt like some lonely, out of place housewife pretending to be something she wasn’t.
The motel was safer.
Or so I thought.
Until it became apparent I couldn’t be alone with my own thoughts. Couldn’t stand the scratchy sheets, cleaned with a detergent that didn’t smell like Swiss. Like sex. I couldn’t stand the thin walls that broadcasted whatever my neighbor was watching on TV. The sleepy street with the odd car driving by.
I had tried to watch TV shows that Freya had urged me to binge, had drank a couple of beers while doing it, but I couldn’t relax. And I knew the only way to escape that feeling was to down a lot more beers.
Getting drunk on my own in a motel room was not a low that I was willing to sink to.
So I’d tried to concentrate on the shows. Then, I’d tried to concentrate on going to sleep. For hours.
Until it became clear I was not going to sleep, and I was very close to a complete breakdown.
I was desperate, shaking, scared of my own thoughts, and I was working on instinct more than anything else. So I’d shoved a hoodie on over the jersey sleep shorts I was wearing, put on the worn shoes and left.
I’d bought some cheap headphones—the ones that still had cords—at one of my stops. The only way I could sleep the first few nights was with music blasting in my ears. Putting those in to drown out the intrusive thoughts.
I had no idea where I was going as I pounded the pavement, running down a deserted main street. There was not a soul around. No one pouring out of bars—the only place open was the strip club where Freya used to work, and that was on the other side of town. Sure, Garnett wasn’t perfect, but it was a pretty, sleepy and safe town, all things considered.
I didn’t even see a car until I left the main street behind and worked my way toward the desert road leading out of town. The stars yawned above me, the ceiling of the night hanging low and heavy. My breaths were labored, and my limbs burned with exertion, a thin layer of sweat covering my entire body. I’d been going for at least thirty minutes, if not more, and I was getting well and truly out into the desert. Though this town may not be dangerous in terms of people, I was sure there were plenty of animals I could encounter that would see me as easy prey.
Prey.
That’s what I was, still. An easy target with a will like tissue paper. Something you could tear through without effort.
As I spent time with Swiss, with the women from the club, I’d come to think that I’d managed to grow, strengthen.