The Ink That Brands Us ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next night I found myself sitting on my bed staring down at my phone, silent tears streamed down my face. The pictures I had been looking at were proof of my worst fears come true. The number that had sent then was unknown, but the images were clear.

    Jensen never texted or called me the night before and I couldn't reach him the entire day. I tried not to worry, but now I knew why he wasn't answering. He clearly had been too busy entertaining someone else while I was out of town.

    Christ, I had been played for a fool.

    Saw was right when she had warned me in the beginning. She told me he was a dog and I should've listened. He made me believe I was different, that I was something special, but the way he was holding onto this mystery girl and the way he leaned into her told a different story.

    My stomach rolled, and I forced myself to look away.

Closing my eyes, I tried to get a handle on the whirlwind that was my thoughts. Thinking rationally, I knew I should call him and confront him. But I was never good at being rational.

Anger surged through me and I gripped my phone tighter before letting out a strangled cry. With all my might, I hurled my phone at the wall. I almost smiled when it gave a satisfying crunch on impact before shattering to the floor.

    My world seemed to cave in around me and I felt as if I would suffocate under the weight of it all. The urge to run, to do something was overpowering. It made me feel like a tiger trapped in a cage looking for a way out.

    I ran to my closet and dug around for an old pair of tennis shoes, then found an old pair of track pants in one of my drawers.

After I changed, I bounded down the stairs and out the door. I couldn't be sure, but I think my parents had called after me. I couldn't stop though. I had to clear my head and running was the perfect escape.

    My feet pounded the pavement as I headed down the familiar road. My thoughts seemed to fall into place with each step I took. A plan was forming, and I ground in deeper pushing myself to run harder. I never wanted to stop, to go back to the wreck that was waiting for me when I returned.

    It was well into the early morning by the time I returned to my parents. My breathing was coming in rasps and the stitch in my side was demanding to be felt but I did my best to ignore the pain.

As I limped my way up the drive, I noticed that the lights were all off.

    Guilt coursed through me as I realized my parents probably had stayed up as late as they could to wait for me.

To my relief, the door swung open quietly, and I realized this was the first time in my life that I ever snuck into this house. I'd never stayed out this late before; I always made curfew.

    It felt foolish to creep up the stairs like I was a teenager, but I did it anyway. I was too afraid that my parents would wake up and ask me why I ran out. I wasn't ready to talk about it. Not to them or anyone. It felt like if I talked about it then it was real and right now I wasn't ready for it to be any more real.

    Once inside my room, I stripped out of my sweat-drenched clothes and climbed into the bath. The warm water soothed my screaming muscles, and I welcomed the pain. It was a nice destruction from the real pain that I would soon be forced to deal with.

    By the time I emerged from the bathroom, the sun was up and I could hear my parents moving around downstairs. It took me a while to dress, my muscles screamed with every movement. When I finished, I sat on the bed and thought about my plan.