Page 55 of Pastel Kisses

I tiptoe across the slick floor, careful to place each step with the precision of a predator. Her rambling continues—fast, broken, frantic. She’s pacing. Her feet slap against the wood somewhere just outside the hallway, which gives me cover.

I press my hand to the wall for balance, each breath measured and silent as I creep forward.

My heart pounds so loud I swear it might betray me.

But I keep going.

One step. Two. Three. My bare foot hits the cold floor of the hallway as I lean around the edge of the bathroom wall, scanning.

She’s not in view. Good. That’s good.

I inch down the narrow corridor, using the wall as my guide and muffler, the metal bar clutched tight in my hand, ready.

This is it.

This is what I’ve been waiting for.

This is how I get us out of here.

And if she tries to stop me?

She won’t be walking away this time.

Her voice drifts from the darkness like a broken melody, leading me through the shadows of what I assume is the living room. The room is pitch black, corners swallowed by shadows, making it hard to judge the size or layout. But I can hear her. She’s mumbling to herself, pacing in slow circles, completely consumed by whatever psychotic spiral she’s riding tonight. I cling to the sound, letting it guide me forward like a twisted game of Marco Polo.

She doesn’t even know I’m behind her. She’s maybe two feet away, standing in the middle of the room, gazing at the floor like it holds all the answers to her madness. Her voice is erratic—one second sobbing, the next muttering about the baby and Jaxton and how it wasn’t supposed to go this way.

I inch forward, steps silent and calculated. My fingers tighten around the metal bar clutched in my fist, knuckles turning white from the pressure. The cold weight of it grounds me—my weapon, my justice. My heartbeat pulses in my ears, a rapid drum that drowns out all thought except for one:Now.This is my moment.

I take a single step closer, then another. The anticipation coils tighter in my chest like a lioness crouching, poised to strike. Every sense is heightened, breath shallow, eyes locked on her oblivious form. My muscles tremble, but it’s not fear—it’s rage, adrenaline, and months of suppressed pain clawing to be unleashed.

Then I move.

I slip around the corner and strike before she has a chance to react. The bar comes down hard with a sickeningcrackagainst her skull. She cries out in shock, dropping like a sack of stones to the floor.

But I don’t stop.

I go with her, falling to my knees and letting the months of helplessness explode through every swing of the bar. Again. And again. Her body twitches beneath the weight of each blow, but I don’t give her a second to catch her breath or think of some crazy way to retaliate.

She’s not going to win. Not tonight.

She’s still now. Moaning, barely. Her arm twitches once, but she doesn’t rise. I scramble back, panting, wide-eyed as I watch the blood pool beneath her head. Not enough to kill her—at least, I don’t think—but enough to be damn sure she’s not getting back up soon.

My chest heaves. My arms ache from the exertion. But the fog in my head is gone. My instincts shift violently from fight to flight, every nerve screaming at me togo, go, gobefore she wakes up and I lose my chance forever.

I lunge forward and yank open the pocket of her hoodie, nearly ripping it off the seam in my haste. My fingers close around a set of keys—yes—cold and metallic and heavier than freedom itself. I don't wait.

I bolt for the door.

Every footstep echoes like thunder in my ears. My bare feet slap against the hardwood, slipping slightly as I tear toward the exit with months’ worth of hope lighting my path. My breath is ragged, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters now is the metal in my palm and the door in front of me.

Freedom is one lock away.

No key is needed.

The door flies open with the force of desperation, and I launch myself outside, lungs expanding with the first gasp of real air I’ve had in months. It hits me hard—crisp, cool, and unfamiliar. My bare feet slap against the porch as I stumble into the daylight, blinking against the sun that feels like a foreign entity after so long in the shadows.

It’s daytime.

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