Page 53 of Give In

But anything useful, no.

After a while, I’d learned to embrace my name for the asset it was. Because when my exhaustion had reached its limits and quitting had been so tempting, hearing my name would strengthen my resolve. It’d remind me who I was and why I was working so hard.

Which made it a pretty sick cosmic joke that I’d been working myself into an early grave, yet with one vague note, I was right back where I’d started.

Feeling suffocated.

Looking over my shoulders, expecting to see their disappointed faces.

Bracing, waiting for their hissed admonishments.

With the carefully worded threat looming over my head, I wasn’t free of them—not that I ever had been. Almost every decision I’d made in my life was because of them. To get away from them. To be different than them. To spite them.

By running to escape them, I was only giving them more power over me. Something needed to change.

And it would.

Just not then.

Between school and work—not to mention Professor Mood Swings—I was stretched thin. If I added the inevitable showdown with my parents, something would have to break.

And I was pretty sure that something would be me.

I was still holding out hope my parents’ home would randomly burst into flames, and while they fled from a blaze that would destroy every shred of evidence I existed, they’d trip and hit their head, thereby erasing all memory of me.

Of course, while I was wishing for unrealistic nonsense, I also threw in winning the Powerball jackpot and discovering a way to eat all the pasta, bread, and cupcakes I wanted while never gaining a pound.

Since none of that was likely to happen, I’d spent every moment of free time frantically getting things in order to move. I hadn’t told anyone because there’d be inevitable questions, and there was only so much evasiveness I could pull off without looking like I was fleeing from a recent murder. My goal was to be gone within a week, which was unrealistically ambitious, but I was a woman with a plan.

A bad plan, but it was a plan.

Surprisingly, the easiest part of my decision had been deciding where to go. South Carolina offered great colleges, affordable living, and, most importantly, the ocean. Depending on what school I went to, the ocean wasn’t going to be right outside my window, but I’d be willing to drive a few hours to experience the peace it brought me.

Until I heard back about my applications, I’d needed to figure out my living arrangements. I’d found some possible apartments along the coast that were outside of the popular tourist destinations. Since it was also outside of vacation season, some places were listed at a steal, and had week to week leases.

If there was a silver lining to it all, it was the prospect of living completely alone. But that was a thin lining and more nickel plated than actual silver.

My first move had been almost all silver lining. Platinum, even. There’d still been a cloud because adulting was shit and life wasn’t always psychedelic rainbows and glittered puppies. But the lining of positives that’d surrounded it had been thick and beautiful.

Nothing about my impending relocation was like my first one. It wasn’t carefully planned out over years and years. Joy and excitement weren’t bubbling through me so strong, it took every ounce of willpower I had to act natural. Anticipation of a new adventure wasn’t making me giddy.

Last time, there’d been no doubts. I’d known to my soul that what I was doing was the right choice.

But with each step I took toward leaving, my doubt grew.

I was scared. Not the good kind that produced a rush of adrenaline—like from a roller coaster ride or, oh I dunno, going toe-to-toe with a maddening professor.

It was the bad fear. The toxic kind that ate away at my sanity and made me do stupid things, like looking at a brand-new apartment listing without thought to where I was.

Or who could see.

I didn’t wantanyoneto see, but I especially hadn’t wanted Professor Caine to. On one hand, there was the chance his arrogant, caveman bullshit would fuel me to give him a double one-fingered salute—heaven knew he deserved it.

Or it’d be the push I needed to leave Boston—again, while giving him the well-deserved salute.

But I greatly suspected he’d pick up on my doubt and pull at it. Like a loose thread on a sweater, he’d unravel me until there was nothing left.

And I’d bend.

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