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Just like I told myself I was grateful when I woke up and he was gone.
I wanted to stay buried under the covers, ignoring the world outside. But hiding wouldn’t change anything, so I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom.
“You look like shit, Molly,” I said to my reflection.
I did, but I supposed it made sense.
After all, I had been kidnapped.
And got your heart broken.
I ignored that thought, turned off the light, and padded down the hallway.
I hated to admit it, but my place felt so different, so empty, without him.
“You know what he did, Molly,” I said before I chuckled.
This fucker had me so out of sorts, I was talking to myself out loud.
As if I needed more proof that Enzo was no good for me.
I’d known that but ignored it for the thrill.
Sure, I’d told myself whatever was going on with Enzo was on a stopwatch.
It couldn’t have lasted.
Even though little embers of hope had tried to burn through, I’d forced myself to be realistic. Eventually, reason would have prevailed and Enzo and I would have gone our separate ways.
So in truth, I should have been grateful for what I’d found out. Getting kidnapped was one thing, should have been enough to prove that Enzo was far too dangerous and that I needed to keep my distance.
And if that hadn’t done it, there was the fact that he had drugged me.
Lied to me.
It was as simple as that. Proof of who and what Enzo was.
Sure, it stung, but I’d get over it.
Get over him.
I told myself that as I dressed, pausing for a moment to remember that I was wearing my trusty black overalls. The same ones I’d worn the second time I’d met him.
Not the second time, stupid. You forgot that because he drugged you, I reminded myself.
That memory sat sour on my tongue, and had bile burning at the back of my throat. But I welcomed the pain.
If everything I had felt with Enzo wasn’t a fantasy, it was based on a lie.
I could never, ever, allow myself to forget it.
Somehow, I managed to go to work and got through most of the day. Eventually, I felt almost normal.
Until it was time to close.
“Ugh, what is that awful smell?” I muttered as I arranged the cleaning products, trying to ignore my turning stomach.
If nothing else, working at the shelter would give you a stomach of steel. We kept the facility impeccably clean, but new animals were usually in bad shape, so cleaning and grooming them was standard operating procedure.