Page 55 of The Devils Melody
The latest one lights up the screen as I stare.
Rich: Are you serious right now? You’re really gonna ignore me? After everything I do for you?
The fury builds so fast, it steals my breath. It would be funny if it wasn’t so goddamn predictable.Everything I do for you. Was punching me in the face was some romantic gesture for him?
I scroll.
Rich: We need to talk.
Rich: You’re being immature.
Rich: You were acting like a whore last night. I saved you from yourself.
Rich: Call me back or I’ll come find you.
There it is. The threat. Always subtle, always dressed in a tone that could pass for concern if you weren’t paying attention. Well I’m paying attention now. I’ve had to pay attention my whole goddamn life, and I know exactly what that means.
I grip the phone tight. So tight, I hear it creak in my palm. The anger flares hotter than the shame now, burningaway the chill of the nightmare. I want to block him. God, do I want to. But I don’t. Because I know what he does when he’s ignored. I know how fast “I’m worried” turns into “You made me do this.”
Some sick part of me still thinks if I just play nice, maybe this won’t escalate. Maybe he’ll lose interest, crawl back into whatever hole he came from. Maybe I can breathe for one fucking day. But I know better.
I drop the phone that’s practically burning in my hand and take a step back. My pulse hammers behind my eyes. I feel like I’m floating just a few inches outside my body, watching it all fall apart again in slow motion.
I can’t stay here. Can’t sit still and let this poison fester.
I rip open a drawer, grab a sports bra, leggings, and an old hoodie. I need movement, sweat, and the wind to rip this rot out of my lungs. Because if I sit with it too long…I’ll let him win.
And I don’t fucking lose anymore.
The car ride is a blur.I don’t remember walking through the back of the restaurant and avoiding Chen. Don’t remember starting the engine and pulling out onto the busy street. Just white noise and the crunch of gravel as I pull into the small parking lot by the trailhead.
This place usually calms me. Tall pines, packed dirt, birds chirping in the distance. There’s not a lot of places like this in the city, but the drive is usually worth it. A quiet run through the woods always brings me peace, but today it just feels like a setup. Why does it feel like the trees are holding their breath waiting to see what I’ll do next? Theunease is sickening, but I try my best to ignore it. I came here to relax, not make everything worse.
I slam the door harder than I mean to and pull my hoodie on, tucking my hands into the sleeves like some sort of security blanket. I put my headphones on, volume up with the bass pounding. I don’t pick a playlist. Just hit shuffle and start to move. One foot in front of the other, as fast as I can.
The first mile’s nothing. My body knows this part. Sweat loosens the tension in my shoulders, my lungs start to cooperate again, and for a second, I pretend I’m normal. Maybe this will make me feel like I didn't just wake up choking on ghosts and bile. As if I’m not being hunted by a man who thinks love means possession.
But it doesn’t last. That feeling creeps in again, the prickle right at the base of my neck. I’m being watched. I can sense it.
I slow down, pull my headphone off one ear, and glance over my shoulder. Nothing but trees, trail, and sunlight filtering through the canopy. A couple of joggers pass in the other direction, totally oblivious. No one looks out of place.
Get a grip, Wren. It’s just your nerves.
I stretch at the edge of the trail, pretending I’m not scanning every shadow like it’s about to lunge out at me. My heart’s already picking up speed again, and it’s not from the run. Pulling the headphone back onto my ear, I turn the music up louder and start again. Faster. Harder. But the buzz of my phone in my pocket breaks the rhythm.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again.
And again.Persistent.
My gut twists. I stop running, rip the headphones off my head, and pull the phone from my pocket. The screenlights up with his name.Rich. Of course it’s him. It’s always fucking him. Because he doesn’t let go. He never does.
I continue staring at the screen.
RICH CALLING
My thumb hovers overDecline,but I freeze. He’ll just call again, and again, and again, the way he always fucking does. I don’t answer. I can’t. My other hand grips the hem of my hoodie, twisting it hard in my fist as if I can wring the anxiety out that way.
