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“Because I’m always in that house. I just want to be somewhere different and just have some time away from everything and everyone.”

She scoffs, and I scowl. The fact that I have to beg my mother for a few days of alone time to do as I please is ridiculous. But I’m so close to the finish line that I’m not going to trip now by arguing with her and losing my window of opportunity. Once I’m away and out of her clutches, I’ll be able to breathe and make all the decisions for myself without her breathing fire down my neck.

“Look, Mom, it’s only a few days, and we already agreed to it. I have massage therapists, cosmetologists, dermatologists, and estheticians all booked and ready. Just let me have this. I’ve been going nonstop for the past six months since the American leg of the tour started, and I need this in order to keep going.”

I don’t often try to sweet talk her or use begging to get what I want; normally, I argue and strong-arm her to get anything out of her.

I give her my most dejected and pleading look without looking too hopeful.

“Fine,” she concedes in a clipped tone.

I want to scream, but instead, I drop my shoulders and soften my expression to hopefully make her think this was all her doing, that I’m so grateful she gave me such a gift. She loves feeling like the powerful one in our dynamic.

“Thank you, Mom.”

“Just be ready to get back to work when it’s over. We have a meeting scheduled with the label about your next album and some legal things we need to go over.”

She grabs her sparkly clutch, and the echoing click of her stilettos on the tile floor as she crosses the space makes me want to cringe. That sound is the equivalent of the Jaws theme song in my mind.

I also notice how she glosses over “legal things,” like I don’t know my contract is ending, and she wants to try and trap me in another one without my knowledge. She has no idea what I know. She likes to micromanage from a distance, so she never saw me reading and rereading my contract and doing research on my rights and the consequences of breaking a contract.

I know that as of the moment I stepped off that stage, my contract was complete and fulfilled, leaving me legally free to do whatever the fuck I please. But if I let on that, I know that she would no doubt somehow ensure I could never escape. She would have people following me and keeping tabs on me more so than the regular security check-ins. She thinks she has me so far under her thumb that I would never even consider leaving. And that’s exactly how I want her. Naïve and blind.

“Will do, Mom. See you in a few days.”

I lead her with a guiding hand towards the door, subtly telling her to get the fuck out. She does with nothing more than a wave over her shoulder. She really has forgotten what it means to be a mother.

I exhale with a relieved breath when she’s on the other side of the locked door.

“That was close.”

“If she wouldn’t have left on her own, I would have made her.”

“I would have loved to see that but I’m glad she didn’t argue more. If she goes willingly, she’s less likely to return.”

Luna side-eyes me like I’m speaking Klingon. I just roll my eyes at her. My mother is gone and there’s only one night left between me and freedom.

Chapter 2 – Lottie

Holy shit is all I can think as I stare at myself in the mirror. My long blonde strands that have been my signature look for years are gone. My hair is short, not even brushing the tops of my shoulders with a soft wave, and I feel a million pounds lighter. The long strands of evidence of the hair massacre have been swept up and bagged, leaving no proof of a crime, and I’m dressed in the pale blue and white uniform shirt of the treatment team that showed up two hours ago.

I’ll fit right in with the small group of women. They brought along girls who looked similar to me in height or hair color so that I could blend in with the group. No one will look twice when I leave with them. All I have to do is keep my eyes and face averted, and Luna will do the rest.

I can’t bring much with me since that would be suspicious, an esthetician rolling out a massive suitcase that they didn’t have when they arrived. So, I can only pack a small rolling suitcase that’ll blend in with the other rolling cases of products they brought.

Because of that, I had to leave a lot behind. Maybe I can get it back in the future, like my vinyl record collection, custom-built guitars, and my father’s guitar, which is my most priceless possession. I’ve only packed the necessities that would be toodifficult to get in the small town like my favorite broken-in shoes, bras that fit just right, and professionally curated hair products, which will now last a lot longer with the lack of hair I’ll have to deal with. Not to mention the amount of cash I have in my bag. Cash is untraceable, and I was told most of the businesses in Snowberry are cash-based.

“Are you ready?” Luna enters the bathroom and watches me through the reflection in the mirror.

“So ready I could barely sleep last night.”

“Good. You have your plan, the map, and cash. Do you remember where to go and how to avoid being seen? What to say when someone recognizes you?”

“Yes. Keep my head down, don’t talk to anyone if I don’t have to, and if they recognize me, play it off like I’m a common girl who happens to look like a celebrity and get it all the time. I’m going to cross over to Caesars Palace, pick up a cab from the taxi line, and take it to the used car dealership. I’ll pick something simple to blend in and then drive.”

Luna nods approvingly. She wouldn’t be as approving if she knew I also planned to make a little detour to the Caesar forum shops before catching that taxi. But I have to get more clothes than the few I packed, and I doubt there will be many places to get good-quality pieces in Snowberry.

I can’t help it; I grew accustomed to wearing name-brand clothing over the years. I can’t stand cheap materials and ill-fitting designs. I’ll keep it basic, nothing flashy. Swear. Okay, maybe there’ll be a few colorful dresses, but no red carpet-looks. I won’t need those anymore. Definitely multiple pairs of jeans.