Wretched Love

I’d spent almost two decades being belittled, insulted, abused. As fucked-up as it was, that was my normal. There was a kind of… safety in that. I knew what to expect. Had conditioned myself how to respond to it.

This was all new. And unnerving. I felt like I was in freefall.

“On top of that,” Swiss continued, obviously unaware of the turmoil inside my head. “These are not women who would ever judge you or treat you different because you didn’t have lipstick on or whatever the fuck.”

I stared at him, battling the ideas and routines that had been conditioned inside me for years.

It wasn’t like I had a bunch of other options. Yes, I could hide in here the entire day, but I’d eventually have to leave. Swiss’s window was large enough for me to crawl out of, but I wasn’t quite desperate enough to crawl out a window.

Beyond that, I didn’t want to leave Swiss. Not yet. An empty motel room waited for me. Decisions. Reality.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

He grinned and kissed me. “That’s my girl,” he rumbled against my lips.