My eyes glazed over and I was fifteen again, in a small back room of my mother’s house with the hulking figure of her boyfriend standing over me, a belt raised above his head.
It crashed down again and again on my back, head, and shoulders. Nasty, hateful words streamed out of his mouth, dank ugliness that coated my skin.
I trembled not with fear but with anger. This had gone on for way too long. The bruises were taking longer to heal. I had to get away. With every beating the words had gotten more hateful, and the belt had come down harder. If I didn’t find a way out of this mess I’d be dead and buried in the backyard before I hit eighteen. Wishing my mother would step in and help me was a waste of my time.
When he left the room that day, I’d drafted the first version of what became known as my lifeplan, the document that laid out the route that would lead me to my goals: independence, safety, and financial success. I couldn’t depend on my weak, co-dependent mother to save me, so I had to save myself.
I shook my head, pulling it out of the clouds and bringing it back to the present. No. I refuse to let those memories ruin my best friend’s party. I took a deep breath and expelled the ghosts haunting the recesses of my mind. I was twenty-five now and my lifeplan had gotten me this far. Taking a small break to go to Vegas wouldn’t change anything. Taking a little two-day trip to Vegas with my best girlfriends presented zero risk to my lifeplan. I could do this. I would not allow Fear to be my constant companion anymore.
I clicked my mouse, bringing up the document that had to be finished before I got on the plane.
Chapter Two
A CHORUS OF SQUEALS ROSE up as I walked over to the check-in area of Palm Beach International Airport. My best friends from college, Candice and Kelly, were standing near the Delta line.
“You made it!” yelled Candice, running towards me, paying zero attention to the bystanders staring at her. This was her usual way of making it through life. Oblivious. Loud. Ready to party at a moment’s notice. She came on tiptoes, her shoes making any other type of walking impossible. She is the most lovable airhead I’ve ever known.
“Ooph.” Her surgically enhanced chest slammed into mine, knocking some of the air out of my lungs. “Miss me?” I asked over her shoulder, my eyes crossing just a little.
“Oh my god, yes.” She squeezed me hard once and pulled away. “You hibernate in that office of yours all week long, every weekend, and then you spend all your free time with Puke. Of course I miss you.”
“It’s Luke, and I went to lunch with you just last week.” I stepped back, picking up the overnight bag I’d dropped on the ground by my feet and putting the strap over my shoulder. “You know I have to make partner …”
“…By the time you’re thirty. I know, I know, I know. It’s going to be engraved on your headstone.” She put her arm through mine, leaning in and sniffing me. She did that all the time, always on the lookout for her next favorite perfume.
“Headstone? Hopefully, I’ll be partner at the firm by the time I have that little depressing ornament over my head.” I glanced sideways at her, smiling secretly over the fact that her lips looked like they’d been stung by wasps again. Once Candice discovered collagen a few years ago, she’d never gone back. One of her favorite sayings is ‘thin lips sink ships’ which makes complete sense to her; she doesn’t care that it doesn’t to anyone else. I’ve never asked for clarification of the ‘ships’ part of that equation because sometimes her thought processes give me headaches they’re so asinine. But as goofy as she can be, she’s still one-half of my best friend whole. Candice, Kelly, and I were known as the three amigas in college and that hadn’t changed, even though our lives couldn’t be more different now.
We walked over to the counter to join Kelly. She was having an animated conversation with the wispy-looking male ticket agent, first waving her arms around and then putting her hands in praying position. She looked like a regular church lady with her button down blouse and neatly-pressed khaki pants. Love had mellowed her out since college, but under that conservative, polished veneer was a crazy girl who used to dye her hair purple and do shots of tequila off male-stripper stomachs.
Candice snorted at the claim I was laying on my future partnership. “I’ve told you a hundred times. You won’t make partner by the time you’re thirty if you don’t get out more. My cousin’s cousin’s husband’s brother died of a heart attack when he was only twenty-eight. Twenty-eight!”
“You’re cousin’s cousin’s husband’s sister’s … whatever … had a heart defect, and you’ve told me before he got chicken pox so bad he was hospitalized, so I’m pretty sure him not being a female lawyer working a few extra hours a week didn’t contribute to his death.”