Page 62 of The Illicit Play

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I don’t get what possessed me to think Cleo was the best and why I followed her down that path. Why did I have to break free?

I don’t know.

I don’t fucking know!

My head is splitting, my temples pounding. Tears are burning my throat, my nose, my eyes. I don’t want them to fall, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out.

I finally got busted, and there’s no place to run.

A shaky whimper punches out of me, my chest concaving before I suck in a breath and can’t hold back.The first sob rips out of me, giving permission for the rest of them to follow. The stress is too much to handle, and I’m finally exploding.

My stomach convulses, a shudder running through my body as I pull my knees to my chest and blubber into my jeans.

I have no idea how long Grady’s gonna take, or what the man’s gonna tell him when he arrives. Shit! He’ll work out that I tried to shoplift that nail polish at the pharmacy. That time he stood up for me when he really shouldn’t have.

Panic sizzles through me, and I squeeze my legs even tighter.

I can’t believe this is happening.

Really? You’re surprised? You shouldn’t be. You’re a fucking train wreck right now!

Man, I really need to sort out my life.

I can’t keep doing this.

No more shoplifting. That is it! I don’t want that thrill anymore. It was fun to start with, but it’s landed me in this shitty situation, and I can’t be so reckless again.

You should stop drinking too. You know what could have happened to you at that party if Grady hadn’t shown up. Think about it, dammit! THINK!

So I make myself.

I sit there in that hardback chair, bawling my eyes out and forcing myself to play out that scenario.

That guy probably would have raped me… or at least done shit to my body that I didn’t want him to. And I would have been helpless to stop him.

A shudder runs through me, shaking my entire frame.

Shit.

“Blake.” I whimper my name, hating myself for getting to this point. “You’re such a fuckup. You have to stop.” My voice cracks, and I press my lips against my knees.

Just stop.

But how?

What am I supposed to do?

I can’t go back to Chicago.

I don’t want to go home and admit all my sins.

So what do I do?

“He’s here.” The owner’s voice jolts me upright. The door swings open, and my boots slap onto the concrete floor. When I don’t immediately move, he gives me a pointed look. “Let’s go.”

With a thick swallow, I rise slowly from the chair, wondering why I’m not bolting out that door.

But I know what’s waiting for me on the other side, and that’s scary too.