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RAE
WESTGATE RECOVERY CENTER
PARKING LOT SECURITY CAMERA
16:32 — Blacked-out sedan (no plates) parked in visitor lot
16:48 — Male subject exited vehicle. Subject observed speaking with R. Everett and J. Pierce.
16:53 — Subject departed.
INCIDENT FLAG:No action taken, per administrative override.
The sun comes up on Saturday and gives me a good look at myself.
I kinda wish it wouldn’t.
I’m kneeling in front of my full-length mirror, assessing the physical damage from last night’s slow-motion disaster. My bruised knees are whining at me, my lips look plump and bee-stung, and when I swallow, my throat replies with ahell no.
Wincing, I struggle to my feet and into the bathroom, where I splash cold water on my face and try not to think about thefact that Lukas Lazarev still has my underwear in his pocket somewhere.
What’s most bizarre, though, out of all the many bizarre twists and turns my life has taken in the last month, is how Ifeel.
There’s a surface-level sense of embarrassment. It’s a bit left ofshameand a bit south ofMy divine womanhood has been sinfully besmirched,though it’s got elements of both of those things. From a purely objective point of view, I made very many bad choices last night. I also let Lukas make a few other bad choices on my behalf.
But that’s just on the surface. A distraction, almost, from the real thing that’s caught fire beneath it.
Which is that I feelalive.
Again and again, that’s what I come back to. I’m bristling with life, chock-full of it. I’m basically levitating around my apartment as I shower and dress, make coffee and eat a yogurt and a protein bar. I’m skipping, giggling for no reason,singing under my freaking breath.
Yes, Jillian calls me her little Rae of Sunshine, and I’m generally a positive person by nature—but this is overboard even by my standards.
Where are the angry tears, huh? Where are the angsty diary entries? Um, hellooo—where are the police reports?!
All are missing. Because Lukas took something from me last night.
And I’m so grateful for it.
I’ve spent six years clenching my jaw. Last night, I opened it instead.
It. Felt. So. Good.
That’s what he gave me. Not an orgasm—he didn’t even let me touch myself, the bastard. What he gave me wasrelease.Permission to stop thinking, stop planning, stop being in charge of every single detail of my miserable little existence.
He took over. All I had to do was kneel there and let him.
So maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel like I was degraded. It feels like the first deep breath I’ve taken since I was nineteen years old.
That being said, it was a lot to take in, emotionally speaking. I need something normal and above-board. Luckily for me, it’s Saturday, and I know just the thing.
I pick up Jillian at ten, and we point my decrepit Honda toward the Taconic Parkway. The drive upstate is exactly what the doctor ordered. Two hours of rolling hills and snow-filled valleys, with Jillian controlling the aux and keeping up a running commentary on everything from the deplorable state of New York’s potholes to the suspicious number of deer crossing signs we pass.
“I’m just saying, if there arethatmany deer, maybe we should be worried,” she says, squinting dubiously at another yellow sign as she slurps at the straw of her iced coffee.
“Think they’re plotting something?” I tease. “Rebellion?”
“Don’t mock,” she warns solemnly. “You’ll be the first one against the wall when the deer uprising comes.”
