Page 163 of Give Me Love

I feel like a weight has been lifted, like finally the world has cleansed itself of one bad seed.

This man abused me every day.

He told me over and over how worthless I was and convinced me that my mother left because I was a horrible child.

I was underfed, and I’d never been to the doctor growing up. Hell, I missed so many days of school, I’m surprised I finished at all.

Child protective services came out all the time, but Daddy Dearest painted a pretty picture when they appeared. He was a doting stepfather. I was a spoiled little girl with Barbies and pretty clothes. But as soon as they left, it all got ripped away.

He threatened me, told me that if I said anything they’d throw me in a home far worse than the one I had. He also said he’d find me, and that I’d wish I’d never been born.

But now he’s dead.

I wanted him dead.

I’m glad he’s dead.

Still, I tossed and turned all night because something kept telling me to go home, to go back. That’s why a day later I got out of bed in the afternoon and decided to do just that. I needed closure. I needed to be reminded of how far I’d come so I could appreciate the now. Plus, I now owned a house, and I wanted to burn it to the fucking ground.

I grab my bag and toss a few clothes inside as I call Becca, asking if she can take over things at the shop while I’m gone.

After that, I call Claire and inform her of my plan.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” I tell her as I put my toothbrush into a small zip bag.

“Wait for me. I’ll go with you.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I need to do this alone. And I want to get away. I need to clear my head and figure things out.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, sounding concerned.

“I’m more than sure. I’ve written the hotel address down, so you’ll know where I’m staying.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call you when I make it there.”

“Be safe.”

“I will.”

“I love you, Kat. Everything will work out.”

“I love you, and I’m sure you’re right. I just can’t see it right now.”

“I know.”

“Talk later,” I say and hang up.

I place everything on the counter—my bag and the note with the address on it.

“I’m forgetting something,” I say, scratching my head. “Got my toothbrush, clothes, my phone… oh, my charger.” I walk over to the wall beside the couch as a knock sounds on my door. I wrap the cord up and walk to the door, not even bothering to look before opening it.

My chest falls.

I don’t need this right now.

I’m conflicted.

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