I’ll wear the fucking dress.
I still have it.It was so beautiful I couldn’t stand to part with it, but I never wore it again after that night.
I’ll wear it.If I can find it.If I can look at it.If I can stand the feel of it on my skin.
And I’ll trade myself for Belinda.
A breath in.A breath out.
It’s an easy decision.The simplest one in the world.
Belinda for me.
What it does to me is irrelevant.I’ve paid worse.I survived worse.
Not because I’m brave.It’s not a courageous thing I’m doing.
I’m scared to death.
But Belinda is more important than my fear.
I set the note on the nightstand and stand.My legs tremble a little, and I let them.Then I go to the closet and move hangers from right to left.
The blue dress is there, because of course it is.
I should have thrown it out long ago.Why didn’t I?
Maybe because I knew I’d need it someday.
And I was right.
I run the zipper down the garment bag and peel the plastic back.
I lift it off the hanger and hold it to me in front of my full-length mirror.The person looking back is a woman who has made it through hell and is still standing.
Still fucking standing.
I smile at her without teeth.
“I’m not yours,” I tell the dress.
What I mean is that I’m not Chef’s.I lay the dress on the chair by the window gently, as if it has meaning.
Which it does, of course.Just not good meaning.
I’m going in the morning.
That’s a given.
So what to do with today?
Already I know what I’ll do.
I’ll spend my last few hours of freedom with him.
With Hawk.
The man who has made choices I hate and still holds my gaze like he isn’t ashamed to show me the worst parts.The man who carries justice like a banner and a burden and sometimes forgets which one he’s waving.The man who makes my body remember it belongs to me.
