Chapter 33

In a slip of a dress and high-end lingerie, I must look like hell, a torn, blood-covered, ragged mess who was dragged through a bush backward. Filthy and damp, and I can’t even imagine how my face looks if my makeup is smeared everywhere or entirely washed off. My hair is probably like a bird’s nest, my expensive cut and color ruined. Most of my acrylic nails are snapped or scuffed up on my shredded hands. I’m probably facially blood-covered, crusted and gritty like my arms and legs.

My chin drops to my chest, and I collapse. I’ve done it several times, and with each setback, I give myself a moment and pull up again, but not this time. I sit here in a rumpled mess, kneeling but bent forward, without the ability to even raise my head or take one more step. I’m done. I’m spent. There’s nothing left to give. My energy levels are wavering in the negative. My limbs no longer listen.

Panting loudly and hurting to the point I no longer feel it. My eyes are heavy and sleepy, and