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Tell me, what would you do for someone you love? Anything. I would do anything.
Once, the girl had worn her name proudly, like a crown. Once, someone whispered her name back to her, love on their tongue.
Once she was loved. Her name Elizabeth held strong meaning. It belonged to someone so important.
The best prisons are the ones created in our own minds.
Food for thought.
That the truth is these people are not strangers. They are the men who you sleep with, the men you work with, the men you raise. I wish this wasn’t what it means to be female—it is not a matter of if something bad will happen, but when.
“Okay, Ellie.” Cerise smiles. She is a middle child. A people pleaser. A helper. Some clichés are true.
Why did no one ever tell Lydia that the most dangerous thing in the world isn’t natural disasters or wars or weapons? It is unremarkable men with beautiful smiles and even bigger promises.
That someday she will unlock the doors. Leave the crawlspace. Sleep in a bed. Cut her hair. Call an old friend. Kiss an old love. Hold her niece. Laugh with her sister. Hug her mother and father. Run headlong into her future, carrying the loss in one hand and hope in the other.
This is Chelsey’s final goodbye, a wound closing—sometimes these things heal naturally, sometimes they must be cauterized. At last. At last.
She lets the grief roll through her and crest. A foamy burst. Because what is grief but the other side of love?
The past is unchangeable. But the future is uncertain, and Chelsey is ready.
This single word. Freedom.
