Page 2 of Painted Scars
“Alright, you thirsty bishes,” I announce, “let’s see what we’re reading.”
My four girlies dive into showcasing their individual tastes. Harper’s in a romantasy bloodbath, Nicki’s mafia-tied with a silver fox, Becca wants a sugar daddy, and Charlie’s deep into an Alpha biker werewolf. Stalker, of course.
What I won’t give for a sexy, silver fox billionaire stalker to take care of me.
That leaves me. TikTok hype sent me straight to my latest love, unhinged male love interests, who’ll do anything for their lady loves. I flick open my paperback to the chapter artwork, and dream about my morally gray man, sinking into his lap while I read, and he sharpens his knife, preparing to destroy my enemies. Justice is rarely served in this world, but it is in my imagination, and that’s where I prefer to hang out.
Comments trickle down the screen as our viewers list the titles they’re reading during the sprint.
“I’m starting the thirty-minute timer.” I let the chatter die down, set the clock, and lower the phone in its brace, overlooking the group of us. “Ready to read with us, bishes?”
I activate the TikTok timer and settle into my latest read. I’m straight into the smut scene and rub my thighs together—a slight action to hide my arousal, because no one needs to see that shit on a livestream. I’m at the part where the depraved stalker slams his knife into his captive right when a sharp, rude knock sounds on the door.
It sends a jolt through my spine, and I nearly jump out of my seat. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. The novel bends from my crushing it.
Josh barks and launches off Harper’s lap to assess the situation.
We’ve never had a visitor interrupt reading sprint time before, and it startles me. Anything related to closed doors triggers claustrophobia and memory of being trapped.
A familiar hand bears down on my shoulder. “Just breathe, cupcake.”
Harper.
I close my eyes. Count three breaths. Repeat three things I can control. How I react to this. Slow my breath. Face my fear and answer the door.
She slides the book from my aching fingers so I won’t damage it.
Another knock lands like a gunshot, and I flinch.
A memory slams in my ribcage. I know what awaits behind closed doors. My gaze pings to every corner for an escape. The window. The hall bearing my staircase and the front door. Fuck. Something as simple as a knock sends me into a spiral of anxiety that danger awaits. My body remembers what I tell it to forget. And Ireally wantto forget.
“I’ll get it.” Harper lifts from her seat and removes a switchblade from her pocket without any reservations about using it. Comfort object meets murder threat. We each have our own coping mechanisms. In this chaos, she’s the only place I feel safe.
Snippets of conversations with my therapist flit through my head.
Do small, brave things.
Take controlled risks.
This fear won’t rule me. It’s my bitch.
“No! I’ll get it.” My numb legs propel me out of my seat.
Harper’s by my side in an instant. If anything happens, she’s there to back me up and stab the fucker, and knowing she’s with me gives me the confidence to go to the door.
Somehow, I find the strength to carry me out of my lounge-library. The walk to the foyer takes forever. Josh’s barking stirs battle drums in my head. I summon the war paint—the color and sparkle the world sees. Bright enough to distract and brittle enough to crack.
Harper’s presence is a steady constant at my back.
I pause at the wooden front door, take three long breaths, and summon the courage to open it. My eyes crush shut, trying to stop the flicker of monsters hidden behind closed doors.
“Hope it’s a hot stalker,” she mutters, using her dark humor to haul me out of my decline.
I don’t smile right away. Her joke slipped under my guard like sunlight under blinds, and cracks the anxiety’s hold over me.
She prefers her men dark and depraved. I’m not as far on the dark side as her. I like my book boyfriends with a hint of marshmallow, which is why Josh Hammond is my ideal man.
“Whoever’s on the other side of this door has a death wish.” Harper twirls her knife.
