Chapter 2 #2
“Coming!” Mama dashed into the kitchen, grabbing her keys from the table and the last cinnamon roll from the pan. “Be nice to your sister,” she told me before kissing my cheek and rushing out the door.
“I didn’t—” Left alone in the house with an empty pan and nothing but dregs in the bottom of the coffee pot, I huffed out a breath and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.
I rubbed at my chest, trying to loosen the tightness there as I swallowed through my equally tight throat. “I don’t even know what a Switch is.”
I loved my family, I really did. But I’d been living on my own since I turned eighteen and made my mother move back to Chicago to focus on giving Skylar a chance at a normal life.
Visiting for a week here or there was one thing.
Living with them, with no chance of escape when all I wanted was a moment alone, was too much.
Even when all I wanted was for them to be here with me, holding my hand or giving me hugs, letting me cry on their shoulders when the weight of my grief became too much.
The only thing I could do was focus on moving forward. Suck up the tears and step out into the world, pull up my big girl panties and act like it didn’t bother me that I’d lost everything I once thought I’d wanted.
Crying is for babies and losers, said a voice in the back of my mind that sounded remarkably like Beckett Guiles.
Shaking my head to rid myself of that thought, I focused instead on what Nana had told me when I came home: “Chin up, baby girl. Tears will only hold you back, and you’ve got too much living to do for that.”
I wiped away a stray tear and looked around the empty kitchen. Sitting alone and sulking wasn’t going to do me any good. I needed something to take my mind off everything. “Retail therapy it is, then.”
The list of things I needed to purchase before move-in day felt miles long.
I’d left my bed and anything that reminded me too much of Brooklyn or Beckett behind, so I had things I needed to replace.
There was furniture to order, dishes to buy, and new clothes to help me feel more like me and less like someone I’d never wanted to be.
A little pampering didn’t hurt, either. I’d gotten my hair and nails done.
Got a massage and a facial. I’d even gone a little crazy, booking an appointment at a tattoo and body piercing shop, to give myself two things I decided I needed: a tattoo on my wrist to symbolize the completion of my Brave tour, and a piercing on my clit.
Beckett had controlled my life while I was with him, and I was determined now to live for myself. I’d had the perfect tattoo designed for years, but his dislike of it had stopped me from getting it done.
And the piercing?
Well, that was purely for me. I was long overdue on enjoying my life, and I was no longer going to endure lackluster sex.
Just because I didn’t have a man to bring me to orgasm didn’t mean I had to settle for less.
In fact, with him out of my life, there was a stronger possibility that I could enjoy my body and my pleasure like I never had before.
In the middle of a trip to Macy’s, elbow deep in bath towels, it hit me: I was doing it.
Living my life, finding joy in the little things.
My new freedom. I could do anything I wanted, and nothing could stop me.
I now had the ability to choose to live how I wanted, decorating my home to my own desires, and wearing things that made me happy instead of trying to live up to expectations I never agreed with.
Bring on the comfy sweats and loungewear to live in around my house.
Sign me up for the silky and embellished clothing I’d always wanted but that Beckett had vetoed because it took the spotlight off him.
And while we were at it, how about some new lingerie—not just because I threw all my old stuff out, but because I wanted to feel beautiful no matter what I wore.
I was sorting through a rack of the silkiest lingerie sets I’d ever felt when I heard squealing from across the department store aisle. When I spun to see what the noise was, I found three girls running my way.
“Sloane! Oh my god! It’s Sloane Rivera!”
“Hi!” I waved to them, ready to embrace my favorite part of this life.
While I was on tour, I’d gotten used to my fans going crazy when they saw me, yelling and screaming and jumping around like meeting me was the best thing that had ever happened to them.
I’d learned to smile and wave and greet them with enthusiasm, and I was often lauded in the media for my patience and willingness to give to my fans.
It wasn’t hard, not when I saw their smiling faces and got to spend a few minutes of my time making their day.
As these girls raced toward me, I plastered on a smile that faltered almost immediately when I clocked their speed and realized they weren’t slowing down.
I froze in place, unable to get my body to move as they barreled toward me faster than they should have been able to move.
The first girl crashed into me, her arms wrapping around me and dragging me backward.
It was the next two hitting the first that pushed me over, my head knocking into the clothing rack beside me as I went down, my face smacking into the pole before I landed head-first on the rack’s metal foot.
With the girls on top of me and my head throbbing in pain, I couldn’t breathe.
I swore I was dying, swore I saw my life flash before my eyes.
Voices around me screamed and yelled and drowned out any thoughts I had except how much my head and body hurt.
Darkness descended on me before bright lights flashed in front of my eyes.
For a brief moment, I felt weightless, my body flying before I was scooped up and dragged away.