Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I saw the rage chase the pain out of his eyes.
It didn’t matter, though, so long as Samson was free, scampering off to whimper under the dining room table.
That beating was almost as bad as the one that had me blacking out. But the thing was, Joss had gotten better about beating me, knowing just how far to push it without causing permanent damage, without it getting bad enough for me to need to go to the hospital.
He’d stormed out afterward, muttering about getting something decent to eat.
I stayed there on the floor, crying in pain, until Samson came over to start licking my face.
My eyes slid open, I looked at him, and I knew it down to my bones.
It was time to go.
Not knowing how long I had, I rushed around the apartment, shoving some clothes, bath products, and a blanket into one of Joss’s backpacks and a big purse.
Then I grabbed as many of Samson’s toys and treats and a big plastic bag of his food as I could, hooked on his leash, and walked out of that apartment.
I had no real plan, not in an emergency situation. But I’d cleared out my bank account, then walked to a used car lot, and bought the only car I could afford. One with wonky air and heat, nearly bald tires, and almost two-hundred-thousand miles on it. From the looks of things, hard miles.
It didn’t matter.
It was a way out of town.
It was somewhere safe to sleep.
“How long did you live in your car?” Atlas asked, eyes sad.
“Eleven weeks.”
“You didn’t go to your mom?”
“She’d passed that spring.” It was the only outing I’d had, aside from taking out Samson.
The last of my family was in that coffin. And any safe space I may have been able to run to if or when I got away.
So I was completely on my own.
Well, aside from Samson.
And thank God for him.
He made the cold weather sleeping in the car tolerable. We curled up under the comforter and chased off the chill as I tried to figure out what the hell I could do, how I could get a job without a home.
Eventually, I started working little odd jobs. The kind of things where people paid cash, and I didn’t have to worry about filling employment forms. Dog walking, snow shoveling, weeding. Until, little by little, I was able to afford more than just food and gas, and got us a short-term renting situation.
Once I had that, getting an actual on-the-books job was easier.
“I thought everything was on track,” I told Atlas. “Until Joss showed up at the rental.”
I’d been coming back from the park with Samson. The rental was small and stuffy, a glorified box with a mini kitchen and a bathroom with such an awkward setup that I couldn’t completely close the door thanks to the sink cabinet. And the neighbors on both sides were loud enough to set my nerves on edge, so we spent as much time as possible out of our room.
I thank God that we’d been in the car when I was pulling into the lot.
A quick K-turn allowed me to get out of there, parking down a side street, my heart racing, panic gripping my system.
I sat there for seven hours until, finally, his car pulled down the street.
After waiting another half an hour, just in case, I rushed back to the rental, emptying everything back out of it, stuffing it into my car, and leaving it behind.
I thought something as simple as a new rental would help.
Until, one day, he showed up at my work.
And, unfortunately, that time, I hadn’t been able to avoid him. He’d grabbed my arm and pulled me outside with him, telling me he missed me, he was sorry, it would never happen again.
“You didn’t go back, did you?”
“No. Because the whole time he was making assurances to me, his hand was crushing my upper arm.”
“What’d you do?”
“I told him I would grab my things, then meet him out front. Then I slipped out the back, rushed out of there, got my stuff and Samson, and headed out of town.”
“To Navesink Bank?” Atlas asked.
“No. Unfortunately, he found me six more times across four states.”
“How?”
“Yeah, that was the problem,” I admitted. “I didn’t understand how it was happening, so there was no way to prevent it.
“Somehow, I hadn’t put the pieces together about Joss being into computers, and the fact that he was able to trace me wherever I went.”
“Was it through your phone?”
“That’s what I concluded the first time. I wasn’t on his plan, but I’d opened a new one for work purposes. I guess he figured out how to trace that. So I started using a burner.”
The second and third times, I’d concluded it was something to do with the rentals I was using, which were set up through a major website that, I guess, could be hacked.