But I’ve mentally packed my belongings hundreds of times, so I know exactly where each item is and exactly where they all go.
It helps that when I came to this town two years ago, I was on a cross-country trip. Traveling light. I haven’t added many important physical items since then.
A handful of pictures of my grandparents I slip from the frames and sandwich in my tattered copy ofThe Count of Monte Cristo.
If I had time, I’d burn all the photos of Cory and me. But I need to be out of this town before dawn is even an idea on the horizon.
Most everything else in my duffel bags is clothing.
I leave behind my laptop and phone so I can’t be tracked. Cory is no hacker, but I have no idea what kind of people he knows.
Plus, he was born to hunt.
I pile my belongings into the trunk of my reliable Honda CRV. The same car I drove into this town, back when I thought I knew what pain was.
The most frivolous possession is my box full of greeting-card crafting materials. I consider leaving it, too, but just can’t part ways with all the pretty paper I’ve comforted myself with these past few years.
As a librarian, people would probably guess I’d mainly be piling books into my trunk. But I know the true worth of a book is the story it tells. I can replace most of the small collection I started accruing. The only titles I pack are the handful my grandma gave to me. Those are more than just books. They’re memories.
Some memories I want to hold on to.
The ones I created here, with Cory, I wish I could erase.
When I’ve taken everything from the house that I plan to drag along with me, I shut off the rest of the lights. In the dark kitchen, I walk to the notepad pasted on the counter and uncap the pen beside it.
I’m leaving before you can hurt me more than you already have.
—Abby
I want to add another line.Don’t follow me.
But Cory would only take that as a challenge. He was the authority in our relationship. I was not allowed to give him orders.
When I sign my name, I press harder with the pen, burning the letters into the page.
And I say goodbye to Abigail Green.
The woman who fell for a dangerous man and spent years paying for the mistake.
As I step out of the house, I assume my new name, along with a revitalized personhood.
Juliet Adair does not let anyone lay a finger on her.
Despite the urge to drive without my headlights on to make the car harder to spot, I reason that’ll look suspicious and up my chances of getting pulled over.
I need to get out of this town before anyone thinks to look for me.
Luckily, I’ve had help.
Not from the pack, of course. They would never side with me over Cory.
Humans are the only ones I can trust, and even that number is small.
When I get to the turnoff I’m looking for, I silently pray to whatever gods might be listening that I’m not going to find a completely empty road.
A quarter mile down the back lane, I spot a bumper.
Angie came through for me. Again. That woman is the only reason I think I might be able to get away from Cory.
