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As I’m building myself up to a steady jog, I notice a black Ford F-150 backed into a spot in the parking lot of my job.
“Who’s bringing their kid in at this time of day?” I murmur to myself. I want to peek in at the figure sitting in the driver’s seat, but I also don’t want the person to notice me staring at them while I’m running past their car.
I cross the street and head towards the path, letting myself slowly get into the rhythm of running and breathing, breathing and running. After a few minutes, I’m glad I decided on my jog. What once started as a hot as sin kink turned into a therapeutic routine to keep me from jumping off the deep end.
Two years ago, I’d had a mental breakdown—courtesy of my darling ex—and as I was running away from him, I felt like I could run forever, like if I didn’t stop, all of my problems would be left behind and I wouldn’t have to deal with them or think about them ever again.
That feeling didn’t last long once he found me and brought me back to the Fortress, but the couple of hours I had to myself I just ran.
It was a way for me to block out the world and be content in my own head and thoughts. I could block out the toxicity of my relationship, block out Ezra for just a few moments and try to remember what it was like to be normal. I wanted to remember what my life was like without him in it. Most people have yoga or meditation. Running is my happy place.
I take a right, and the sidewalk gives way to a gravel path. It’s long, starting behind a small shopping center, bisected by a main road, then cuts through the back of several residential streets before stopping at a forest. It’s a really nice trail to take, because it’s wide enough to where you’re not constantly bumping into other people.
I love it because it’s my own personal accomplishment. It took three months before I was finally able to run the entire two miles to the end and back to work before my lunch break was over. The first time I’d done it I cried; I can’t remember a time in my life where I’ve ever felt so proud of myself outside of finally leaving Ezra.
I’m so deep in my own thoughts that I don’t even notice the truck until it lets me cross the main road. It’s cloudy today, but I can still barely see the slight outline of a man sitting behind the wheel. I try not to look at him again as I nod a thanks and cross the busy street. As soon as I reach the other side of the road, the truck makes a sharp U-turn.
Is this guy following me?I can’t stop the thought from crossing my mind. It could just be a coincidence, right? Just because this is the second time I’ve seen him doesn’t necessarily mean I’m being followed.
But I can’t stop thewhat ifs.
What if this is someone who works for Ezra? Is it possible he’s found me after all this time? Is he here to get me back? I can’t go back to that mansion in the woods. I can’t go back to how things used to be.
My breathing quickens as I pick up my pace. I can hear the truck slowing down behind me, but I don’t look back. I don’t want to see if the man driving stops in the middle of the road to get out and chase me. If this is the end of my freedom, I want to have as many seconds of peace as I can get before I’m dragged back to Hell.
But nothing happens. I’m not grabbed from behind, and when I finally decide to turn around, the truck is gone.
I let out a shaky breath.Thank God.
Since I’m feeling so on edge, I decide not to run the entire way today.
The sky darkens as the storm clouds begin to roll in, and a chill permeates the air. Normally, I would be grateful for the less-than-desirable running weather, but paranoia and dread are burrowing into the pit of my stomach and making it hard for me to enjoy my run.
My eyes dart back and forth, making sure to be extra observant of my surroundings. I turn my music down just enough so I can hear if anyone comes up behind me. I hate this jittery feeling rattling inside of me. These runs are supposed to be the one thing that keeps me calm, and now I feel like I want to scream.
I swear if Ezra is trying to take me back…
Shaking my head, I try not to think about him, but it’s hard. He was my first and only boyfriend, my longest for sure, and that’s not something you can just let go of so easily. He had a way of making me feel like I was the only person in the world that mattered to him, and I guess I was just naïve enough to believe it.
It was so carnal—the passion, the intimacy. I still don’t know what that can feel like with anyone else, or even if I’lleverfeel that connection with someone else. I guess I haven’t really tried hard enough to form that kind of relationship with another man, never allowed myself to fully get over my ex.
Ezra’s bad news. I don’t know why the part of my brain that chooses love decided that he wasThe One, but I’ll probably spend the rest of my life regretting that decision. I hate the affect he still has on me, that he’s so far away and I still think about his controlling ass every single day.
He’s sexy and sweet and sinful all wrapped up in one painfully toxic package. I mean, he’s a criminal, the leader of the Eastlake Syndicate, so there’s not one part of me that expected him to be “good”, but I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into once we got comfortable with each other. The lying and screaming and aggression was just way too much for me to handle. It was hard being with him when he treated me so poorly most of the time, and I had no idea if he was cheating on me or plotting to kill me.
But despite all that, something in stomach still flutters for him.
I’m so deep in my thoughts that I don’t even realize I’ve almost reached the end of the trail.
“Shit,” I mutter, coming to a stop. Bending over, I place my hands on my knees and try to catch my breath.
I don’t notice the man behind me until he grabs me around the waist and drags me towards the forest. I don’t have time to even attempt to run before his large, dirty hand covers my mouth.
I try to scream, but my muffled cries are barely audible. I begin kicking and thrashing wildly, throwing my head back in the hopes of knocking him in his nose, but he anticipates my actions and leans his head to the side.
“Stop it,” he grunts. My stomach lurches as he breathes his nasty breath in my face.
I keep kicking and kicking until I finally land a blow to his shin. His cries of pain pierce the quiet as he drops me to the ground. I fall on my hands and knees, wincing as the sharp rocks bite into my skin. Just as I’m about to stand back up, a kick to the head has me falling back down.
