Page 37 of Desperate Crimes

My mouth is dry.

My head’s still foggy, but the haze is lifting just enough for the panic to settle in behind it.

I sit on the edge of the massive bed and try to steady my breathing.

That’s when I notice it.

A bottle of water, perfectly chilled, condensation glistening on the outside. Beside it, a small tray with snacks—fruit, crackers, almonds, dark chocolate squares.

The kind I like. The exact kind I like.

It should freak me out more than it does.

I grab the water first, unscrewing the cap and downing half the bottle in a few gulps.

Then, I tear into a square of chocolate with shaking fingers. My stomach knots with every bite, but the sugar helps calm the worst of the jitters.

I try lying down, but I can’t sleep.

Not really.

I just keep shifting atop the sheets, silk brushing over bare skin, too aware of everything.

The scent of roses lingers in the air, and I love it.

I hate that I love it.

Liar.

I ignore my inner voice and close my eyes, but the silence? It’s too loud.

There’s this pulsing beat of something in the air.

And a hum beneath my skin that feels suspiciously like longing.

Eventually, I give up.

I slide out of bed, hugging my tight dress to my body, arms around my waist.

I’m thicker than what’s considered trendy. A size sixteen in a size zero world. But most of the women in my family are curvy, and I know how to dress to accentuate my fuller figure.

That doesn’t mean I don’t have my insecurities. We all do. And I hate that when people meet me for the first time they assume they know me. They assume I overeat, don’t exercise, that kind of thing.

Fuck them.

I played soccer from the time I was in preschool through college. I love to hike, swim, and to go for bike rides. I love walks in the city. Trips to zoos and museums.

Even now, while I try to find what it is I want to do with my life, I’m fairly active. I just started a pole dancing class with my cousins Cora and Jade. It’s on Wednesdays.

The class is fun. And I love spending time with the girls.

And suddenly, I wonder if I’ll ever get back to that. To my life.

That old fear slithers back up my throat, and I try to swallow it down, but it’s not easy.

I inhale a fortifying breath, then I pad across the floor, barefoot and unsure of where I’m going.

My hand brushes over the wall until I find a smooth, hidden seam.