Page 4 of Hurts So Good

“Time to go!” Mrs. Rylee announces, clapping her hands. “Let’s hurry. We don’t want to be late.”

We pile out of the house and head over to church.

During the service, I listen as they talk and sing songs cheerfully. I haven’t felt so content in a long time. As I sit with my new family, a sense of belonging fills me.

We have lunch in a different room inside the church after service. It’s noisy—in a good way—with long tables and delicious homemade food. After we’ve eaten, we head home.

For the rest of the day, we play outside, have dinner, and watch TV until bedtime. It feels like a real family.

Mrs. Rylee leaves for work an hour after we’ve lain down. I hear her car drive off. Sierra snores softly in the next bed. I’m almost asleep when I hear the door creak open. I stiffen, but keep my eyes closed.

Footsteps creep closer to my bed. Mr. Rylee’s cologne hits me at the same time as his hovering shadow. I feel his breath on me as he watches me. He pushes my hair back with his fingertips.

He’s probably checking on us. Making sure we’re okay. It’s good that he cares.

But he stays and stays. I wonder if I should open my eyes, but something in my gut tells me to keep them closed.

I hear his breathing getting faster. My heart pounds in my chest as fear grips me. I want to believe he’d never do anything to harm us, but my gut is screaming something different. People can act nice even when they hate you. I’ve learned that the hard way.

Mr. And Mrs. Rylee haven’t given me a reason not to trust them. They’ve been extra kind to me, but it’s only been one day.

I move around to change my position, and Mr. Rylee leaves the room quickly. I release a heavy breath. He didn’t do anything bad, but I’m now contemplating how safe I am here. Deciding to keep my wits about me, I sleep lightly, preparing for the worst. No matter what, these are the cards I was dealt, and I refuse to go back into the system.

I have to make this work.

So I do what I do best: I try to survive.

CHAPTER THREE

Lakelynn

Ijerk awake, feeling my soaked sheets under me. The clock reads eight a.m.

I’ve barely gotten any rest, but after reliving what happened to me years ago, adrenaline courses through my body. I contemplate which of my vices I need to release the chaotic feeling churning within.

I decide to go on a run in the hopes of clearing my mind, so I get dressed and put my hair into a ponytail. I pause at the cash on my kitchen counter.

He came again. My stalker. The man who has become the lead in most of my dark fantasies.

He’s been around for years. I should be afraid of him—it’s the most logical response to the situation—but I’m not. His presence gives me a strange sense of security. I feel grounded when he’s near.

Maybe it’s because of the darkness inside me. The darkness I always hide away, like the scars from the cuts on my wrist. Unconsciously, I touch the thick leather band bracelet I keep on at all times. I started cutting to numb the pain of my past. It was my only outlet for the rage inside me. Growing up in the system, the only dependable thing in my life was trauma. Every good moment was temporary.

The pain and darkness within grew peaceful when I cut myself. I liked the pain and the adrenaline it caused. It allowed me to breathe again and reminded me of my first love, Ty. He was my happy place, my salvation.

But he left me. Then, with years of therapy, I learned to refuse the need to hurt myself and find a new outlet for what I’d been through.

I still fantasize about dark, wicked things, but instead of cutting myself, I run. I no longer want to hold on to the temporary things in my life. I crave consistency. My stalker is the closest thing I have to that. In a weird way, he’s my hero. His gallant intervention last night is an example of it.

Keith’s attempt to rape me brought back all the horrible memories of my past. It’s what triggered my dream last night. I haven’t thought about the Rylees in a long time.

But I refuse to succumb to the darkness. Trying to shake off the nausea rising in my throat as the images play in my mind, I bolt outside. Fresh air slams into me, and I welcome it.

The doorman of my apartment building tries to speak to me, but I wave him off and keep going.

I push myself to run faster, racing away from my past. Yes, I endured things, but I survived. I have scars, but I won’t let them define me.

I’m no longer that girl. I am not weak. I will not cower. I’ll stand tall and conquer my fears.

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