Oakley #3
“Let’s be quick about this,” Levi murmurs in my ear, and the words jar me from my wandering thoughts as I reacquaint myself with the whole reason we’re here. He doesn’t need to explain the reason for his insistence that we pack up quickly and get the hell out of here.
While I don’t feel threatened right now, Travis has clearly proven himself to be unpredictable, and I, for one, have no interest in sticking around long enough to find out whether or not he’s grown even bolder since last night.
The three of us make quick work of packing my meager belongings, not allowing ourselves the few extra minutes it would take to carefully pack each item, instead, resigning to throwing them in whatever spare totes and grocery bags we can find.
I can sort through my things later at the house, put them all away carefully in my new living space, like I did not so long ago in this room.
I wander into the bathroom while Levi and Justin continue their banter in the main room as they pack.
My eyes scan the space around me, searching for any toiletries I may have left behind, checking in the corners of the shower and retrieving the few stray bottles I left behind in my hurry last night.
It’s only when I stoop and pull open the cabinets under the sink that I spot the perfume bottle, hidden neatly behind some extra rolls of toilet paper.
Ignoring the other items, I gingerly grab the bottle and pull it out, stroking my fingers down the worn label as the liquid sloshes around inside it.
In my haste to leave Travis and finally start my new life, I hadn’t bothered to grab all of my things.
I took only the necessities, figuring I could restock when I got to town and settled in.
So to see the perfume bottle—that I’m certain I did not bring with me to North Creek—has another feeling of disquiet coursing through me.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m certain now, after seeing those texts this morning, that it was Travis who broke into my room yesterday.
I wasn’t aware of the extent of his perusal into my new life.
The half-empty bottle of his favorite perfume threatens to bring me back to the memory of the first time he bought it for me, us standing at the JCPenney perfume counter as we tried various fragrances just for the fun of it.
He had surprised me with the perfume the night he officially asked me to be his.
At the time, I was all too happy to oblige.
I was so fucking ignorant.
That scent became a weapon, a bargaining tool he used to lure me back each time he sensed he had gone too far.
I scoff at the thought. “Gone too far” is putting it mildly.
But still, following every single sleepless night where I cowered in fear, afraid to even breathe too loudly so as not to wake him after he’d finally exhausted himself with abusing me, he presented me with a new bottle of the perfume.
I had more bottles of the shit than any one person could use in a lifetime.
It was calculated mental warfare on his part, the strategic move of a malicious war general determined to win back the loyalty of his soldier. Just holding the bottle in my hands has nausea roiling through my gut.
He’s a cunning opponent, I’ll give him that. Dismissing the memory, I chuck the bottle with a loud thud into the trash can in the corner, gathering my things and exiting back into the main room.
“I’ll bring these out to the truck,” Justin declares as he loads both arms up with the mismatched bags.
I dump the few items I have into an empty bag.
“Got everything you need?” Levi’s question is a simple check-in, but the true question lies in the lines of concern etched deep into his forehead. Are you okay?
I force a smile on my face. “I’m ready.”
He nods, taking the bag from me and ushering me to the door.
My own words aren’t lost on me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I can say that I am fully ready to fight back for the life I’m worthy of.
And maybe it took the man standing at my back to remind me of what I truly deserve, but this fight brewing within me is something entirely of my own.
If anything, seeing that perfume bottle did the exact opposite of what Travis was trying to accomplish.
I’m sure he expected it to have me crawling back to him with my own words of apology for my shortcomings—for running—but he has taken far too much from me already.
I refuse to allow him to take anything else.
His fucking gesture only serves to stoke the fire within me until it’s a raging inferno, hell-bent on eating up the oxygen he still breathes until it suffocates and chokes the life out of him. I welcome the promise of his utter ruin with open arms.
With my chin held high, I grab the rustic sign off the wall before walking through the door and out into the open air.
I don’t allow myself a single glance back at the shell of myself I’m leaving within those walls. Instead, each step I take serves as a testament to my own personal metamorphosis.