Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,30
that I did.
And then he’d gone and held me when I’d been the one breaking apart. The way I did most nights. I’d woken up not sure if I wanted to hide it, pretend some more, or offer that part of myself to be held by those big, capable hands.
The biggest issue with all of this?
There was absolutely no question those capable hands had the power to crush.
And I needed to focus more on healing rather than setting myself up to get hurt again.
The air was hot and muggy, and the sun beat down on my skin where the rays speared through the leaves of the sprawling, gangly oaks that were interspersed with leafy palms that grew in front of the properties that lined the road.
The Earth’s beauty all around.
The rhythm of my steps and the steady thrum of the music pulsing from my earbuds lulled me into a peace.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
It called me to a place where the fears and the worries melted away.
When I ran, it felt like my spirit and body were in sync.
At one.
It was as if I could physically feel some of those internal scars healing. The ones that had been buried deep.
Ones I’d had to cover for so many years and pretend like they didn’t exist.
The ones Cory Douglas had inflicted.
I’d almost come to accept their presence as normal.
As a permanent, ordinary part of me.
Outrage flashed.
A blaze that singed my blood and a sickness that crawled beneath the surface of my skin.
A permanent ache.
Being brutalized the way I had was a far cry from what should be considered ordinary.
It made me sick that it almost was.
That it occurred so often, affected so many, that it’d become the everyday.
I refused to accept it.
Wanted to change it.
I knew the scars would forever remain. That they had played a part in shaping who I was today.
But I could feel them shifting. Transforming. As if when the wounds callused over, those fragile spots had become stronger.
The brittle fractures hardening.
The weakness strengthening.
That’s the way I felt.
Stronger.
I was terrified, but I was ready.
The ugly duckling that grew into a swan, but it didn’t have a thing to do with the exterior.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
I felt the rhythm in my ears.
My feet and my heart rate and the bass from the song that blasted through my earbuds.
When I’d made it about two miles from the house, I decided I’d better get back before I let myself drift too far.
Carolina George was scheduled for their first practice at ten, and I needed to grab a shower before I was due to watch Amelia.
It was auntie duty time.
My heart fluttered.
Now that was one label I was all too eager to accept.
I glanced over my shoulder to check that the road was clear.
Lush branches swayed beneath the bright, glaring sun, and birds flitted through the morning air. Other than that, there wasn’t a soul afoot.
The neighborhood was quiet and overflowing with the tranquility I’d felt the moment we’d crossed onto the island.
I made a U onto the other side of the road and started in the opposite direction.
My playlist changed to a faster, rowdier song, and my strides grew longer.
Stronger and faster.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
Drenched in sweat, I hooked a left when I got to the intersecting street. It led through an older neighborhood that cut through the middle of the island. The houses here were more modest and without a beach view.
Here, the trees grew thicker, the foliage dense and green.
With the back of my hand, I swiped the sweat dripping across my forehead, feeling the burn in my muscles and exhilarated at the same time.
An expectation gathered at the far corners of my senses.
I felt like I was on the cusp of…something.
Something great.
Something big.
Something that might change everything.
An elderly woman who was tending to her flower garden waved as I passed, and I waved back, a smile on my face and flickers of joy sparking all around.
I gave myself over to it.
The exertion.
The freedom.
I guessed I was about halfway down the street when that free feeling shifted.
When it curled and twisted and mangled into a prickling of dread.
I tried to ignore it.
Shake it off.
I was so tired of it—so tired of being a prisoner to the fear.
So tired of the paranoia that had stolen so many of my days.
Crippling.
Making me question what was real and what should cause me concern.
But that disquiet only intensified. It slithered down my spine in a sticky awareness.