Primal Pursuit

I stumble back into the apartment and engage all the locks, my hands now trembling uncontrollably. Adrenaline is still swooshing in my veins, but with the final lock, reality sinks in, driving me down like an anchor until I’m flat on my ass, tears filling my vision.

Outside, I can hear Giovanni finally get up and mutter, “Stupid fucking cunt. Ugly bitch. No one wants your skank pussy, anyway. Diseased little slut.” Then he raises his voice, just enough. “You got a deal.”

He lumbers off, and I squash down a sob.

Everything hurts. All over.

My heart is pounding in my chest like a caged animal. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I pant for breath as I feel terror slowly seeping through every inch of me. My muscles tense painfully, and I’m unable to move away from the spot until my panic subsides. “Get a grip,” I snap at myself.

Slowly, I uncurl and stand, hissing as pain shoots through every muscle and bone. I put my hand to my face and gently pull it away, my fingertips covered in blood. “Goddamnit,” I say and slip off my shoes, padding into the kitchen. I’m cursing as I grab the ice from the freezer, wrapping it and holding it against my face.

“Jesus Christ, Poppy,” I mutter. This life—my life, it’s all wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’m not the person my mother dreamed I would be whenever she brushed my hair, telling me what a wonderful life I have ahead of me.

The thought makes the tears I’ve been biting backbreak loose, and I can’t even swipe them away because my face hurts too damn much. Being assaulted and in pain makes it easy to slide down the self-pity road. The pathetic road. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I yearn for…comfort. For arms to be wrapped around me, arms that make me feel safe.

I’m tired. Tired of constantly fighting. Tired of always being strong. Tired of the hate.

I’m just…tired.

Laying the ice pack down on the counter, I turn my face up to the ceiling and release one shuddering breath after the other. I don’t want to be crying in my kitchen, feeling sorry for myself. I don’t want to be the girl who gets all dressed up just to fall into a heap of pity in her bedroom, wondering why she got dealt such shitty cards in life.

I steel myself, making a conscious decision to have self-pity fuck out the window. It is what it is. I am who I am. There’s nothing I can do to change that, but I can continue fighting. I can continue relying on myself and no one else. Just me.

I go into the bathroom and don’t even blink when I see my beat-up face in the mirror. One eye is already starting to swell, turning a grotesque purple, blood smeared across my cheek and mouth. But the sight of me turns me feral. It strokes the anger and taunts the rage.

What I want is to go out there, find Giovanni, and knife him.

Shoot him.

Slit his throat and laugh while he chokes on his own blood.

I need to calm the fuck down.

Turning on the tap, I wash my face, gently cleaning my busted lip, getting rid of the blood.

With a shaking breath, I take stock. Nothing’s broken, at least.

I start plastering on as much makeup as needed to try to hide the bulk of it. I’ve waited weeks to hear from Davian, and tonight is another opportunity to end this. I’m not going to let a few bruises and a busted lip screw it up.

There’s a knock at my door, and my heart leaps into my throat. I grab my bag and pull out my gun as I call through. “Yes?”

“Police, ma’am.”

Fuck. A neighbor must have called. I quickly place the gun back in my bag, draw in a breath, and paste on a smile as I open the door.

The officers don’t smile back. They look at me like I’m a victim—probably because I look like one.

“Can I help you?”

“Someone called in a fight. You all right?”

I nod. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“Ma’am, your face sure doesn’t look like it was a simple misunderstanding.”

“Oh, no,” I say quickly, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fear that laces it like venom. “This isn’t because of the fight. I…I was in a little bicycle accident earlier today. Some douche rode right in front of me.”

They both stare at me like they don’t believe a word I’m saying. I wouldn’t believe a word I’m saying if I were them.