Chapter 8 Big Bad Wolf

• What is my purpose? Is it to forever feel unworthy and useless? Am I only intended to yearn for my passion, only to never see it through? I sobbed at these questions as my grief shrouded me with hopelessness. If only I had never met Michael, or if I had started working earlier, even though he disapproved of the idea, I might never have been in this fucked up situation.
• I am a complete emotional mess; my shower took longer than it should have, but I was somewhat able to gather what was left of my fragmented soundness. I need to get to the bistro ASAP and find my happy place. I don’t know why, but there it always feels like my true home.
• I dried myself and applied lotion over my marks of shame, hoping the sweet smell and its medicinal properties would magically heal them. I tied my wet hair into a bun, and put on makeup to try to hide my melancholy face as well as the bruises on my neck. Once finished, I carefully opened the door and peeked out, making sure Jerry was nowhere to be seen or at least did not catch me by surprise. I hear noises coming from his room. Good, I can sneak out and make a run for it once I reach the door. I bolted at that thought; I swear I never moved so fast in my entire life. As my fingertips brushed the smooth metal of the handle, I felt claw-like fingers sink into my fleshy hips. It was fucking painful, and my heart nearly stopped. I cried in pure terror until the wind was knocked out of me as my back slammed against Jerry’s chest.