Chapter 41
“Check out the new whip!” her uncle calls out, his voice gratingly cheerful as Lila approaches the truck parked crookedly in the driveway.
He leans against the rusted door with an air of pride, as if the dilapidated vehicle were something worth showing off.
The truck, riddled with dents and dings, looks anything but new.
Its paint is chipped and dull, the tires worn down, as though it had seen better days long before it ever came into his possession.
She can’t believe they spent her money on such a shitbox.
“Well, it’s new to me,” he adds with a chuckle, patting the hood as if introducing her to some prized possession.
His grin stretches wide, revealing teeth stained yellow from years of tobacco use and neglect.
Lila fights the urge to cringe, forcing her lips into something that only vaguely resembles a smile.
“Hope it’s good enough for you, though, Private School Princess,” he sneers, the familiar nickname laced with condescension.
His eyes linger on her, searching for any sign of irritation or indignation, waiting for her to snap back.
But Lila keeps her expression steady, as always, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“It’s been years. You can’t come up with something less lame?”
She hesitates before reluctantly sliding into the passenger seat.
The truck creaks under her weight, and when the door shuts with a metallic clank, she’s hit with the overwhelming stench of stale fast food.
The interior is a disaster. Greasy wrappers and balled-up napkins litter the floor, and crumpled bags are shoved beneath the seats.
Her body stiffens as she tries not to touch anything, silently seething.
Her stomach churns—not only from the smell, but from the unease of sitting beside him. She has never relied on her uncle for anything, but today she has no choice. She’d woken up with a clear plan: take a cab, get to the nearest city, and finally handle what she’d been putting off for far too long.
She needs to get on birth control. Fast.
But after waiting far too long, it became clear that hailing a cab wasn’t going to happen.
Almost no cab ever comes through her small town; there’s rarely a reason to.
Every app she checked showed the same message: no rides available.
Frustrated and out of options, she turned to her grandmother, hoping for a ride. Instead, she was sent to her uncle.
The old truck groans to life, rattling as it idles, and Sean cranks up the volume on a classic rock station. Lila doesn’t recognize the song, and the combination of blaring music and stale fast-food stench tells her she’s in for a miserable half hour.
She buckles herself in and folds her arms tightly across her chest, trying to block out the feeling that his presence is once again coating her in an invisible layer of grime. Trapped in the car as it pulls out of the aging, cracked driveway, the gravity of her situation presses down on her.
The decision to go on birth control has weighed on her for years.
Since she and Jake were long-distance for most of their relationship, she kept putting it off, hesitant to start something that might disrupt her otherwise balanced hormones.
The urgency hit her hard a few days ago when she woke in the middle of the night to find her period had finally arrived—late.
With everything else in her life spiraling out of control, her cycle had been the last thing on her mind.
Seeing that delayed reminder jolted her back to reality.
She can’t keep tempting fate.
It feels like a minor miracle she hasn’t gotten pregnant yet, considering how much Max seems to obsess over coming inside her.
It’s as if he wants to soak every inch of her pussy with his semen, to mark her as his from the inside out.
The thought sends a shiver down her spine.
The intensity of their relationship—his possessiveness, his unrelenting need for control—leaves her confused and vulnerable.
Yet who else could ever understand the situation better than he does?
She has no idea how he would react if she ever got pregnant, but one thing is painfully clear: she isn’t ready for that.
Luckily, she managed to snag an appointment online at the last minute. Unluckily, the only way to make it on time is to endure a half-hour drive alone with her uncle.
“You still dating that blond city-boy?”
“Blond city-man,” she corrects without thinking.
“No. Not anymore,” she murmurs.
“Huh. His loss.” He glances over, his eyes dragging up and down her before returning to the road. She shifts closer to the door, the seatbelt biting into her shoulder.
“So, what are you gonna be up to in The Bend, pretty girl?”
“Just wanted to see what’s new in Foxbend. Maybe swing by St. Mary. See how the school is after so long. You know, jog up some old memories. Maybe hang out with a few old friends,” she lies with forced nonchalance, hoping to mask her discomfort.
Sean shoots her a sidelong glance, a smirk creeping across his face. “Well, you can always hang out with your dear Uncle Sean. I’ve got some time to kill.”
“Oh, haha… thanks, but I’ve got plans. Can you pick me up at six?
” she asks, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Her real plan—for today and for the remainder of her stay—is to avoid spending too much time with both her uncle and her grandmother.
Arriving just before dinner feels like the safest bet.
“If not, I can probably try grabbing a cab back.”
Sean scowls, his eyes flashing with irritation, but he lets the subject drop and rolls down the windows, muttering that the A/C needs fixing. She says nothing, grateful for the rush of air that dulls the sour scent clinging to the truck.
When they finally reach their destination, Sean barely slows before dropping her off in front of her favorite bookstore.
The truck peels away with a loud screech, leaving Lila standing in a small cloud of dust. As it settles, she exhales, relief washing through her.
She’s finally free of his presence, even if only for a few hours.
Only three more nights.
With plenty of time to kill before her appointment, she heads inside and wanders the aisles. Her fingers trail along the spines of books, her attention far from the titles themselves. She wonders what Max is doing at that very moment.
Probably working, she thinks, frowning slightly.
She’d hoped the space away from him would help her think clearly.
Instead, he's somehow taken over her every thought. She expected him to bombard her with texts and calls, to be annoyed by them. Yet to her surprise, Max hasn’t reached out at all since their brief exchange when she arrived home the day before.
By the time she reaches the checkout, she’s holding two books against her chest. One is a steamy adult novel set in a fantastical world that’s been trending all over social media and hailed as the latest guilty pleasure among women everywhere—or so the colorful signs claim.
The other is an award-winning work of literary fiction.
She chose that one for Max after skimming a few pages.
It seems challenging enough to hold his interest, and she hopes it will be a welcome break from the heavier books he usually reads.
As she hands his book to the shopkeeper to be wrapped in festive Christmas paper and tied with a ribbon, a strange feeling settles over her. She’s buying a Christmas present for someone who has essentially been tormenting her for months.
The absurdity of it makes her head spin.
She wonders if he even celebrates Christmas.
His apartment is bare of holiday decorations.
He avoids family gatherings whenever he can, and she can’t picture him sitting through carols or smiling politely over eggnog.
The image of his broad frame decorating a tree or carefully hanging stockings nearly makes her laugh.
If she weren’t around, he would probably spend the holiday alone in that cold apartment—glued to his office chair or fielding late-night calls.
He strikes her as someone who finds comfort in silence rather than company.
He’s more of a Grinch than a sentimentalist, no matter how charming he appears in front of people he deems important or how often he insists he’s a romantic.
She pushes the thought aside and slips her new book, along with Max’s wrapped gift, into her canvas tote before heading to her appointment.
A couple of hours later, she walks toward a small local diner. The bell above the door jingles softly as she steps inside. A few heads turn, then drift back to steaming plates and quiet conversation.
Warm air and the smell of frying bacon drift toward her, comforting and familiar in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
She chooses a booth by the large windows and sinks into the torn red vinyl seat, the cushion squeaking beneath her. Outside, the afternoon sun hangs low, bathing the street in a soft, golden glow.
She enthusiastically orders a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and an Oreo shake.
Her voice sounds brighter than it has in weeks.
Today calls for a celebration—a private one only she will ever know about.
When the waitress leaves, she presses her fingertips gently over the small bandage on her upper arm.
There’s a faint ache beneath it. A bruise is already blooming. Proof.
She is now the proud owner of an arm implant that will keep her pregnancy-free for years. The thought brings a slow, secret smile to her lips. Her life hasn’t been shaped by her own choices lately, but this one is. This choice belongs to her.