Page 61 of Conceal

Okay. The first step is to stop avoiding the world.

I take a deep breath in and out, reminding myself that I’m strong. That I can do anything. Even if I haven’t felt strong lately. Knowing Juliet wasn’t sold has given me something else to fight for. It’s a little of my past that I might be able to make my future again.

Notifications interrupt each other as the phone powers on, and text message after text, missed call after missed call loads.

I ignore the calls. They’re from my brother and father.

It’s the text messages that I care about the most.

From my guys.

Tears spring back into my eyes reading the heartfelt confessions.

Lev: I got into a fight tonight. It was the only thing I could think of to do. Missing you hurts too much

Roman: I pray you're safe, Tanya. And if anyone dares to hurt you, I'll set the entire city on fire

Mik: Life is not the same without you. I'm telling Sparkles that you're just on vacation and coming back to us soon

Daily text messages, telling me about their day or how they miss me. I need to get free, if not for myself, then for my guys. No. Scratch that. I’m going to get free for all of us. I deserve a happily ever-after. Maybe that’s what I loved all those years. Not love itself, but the ability to choose yourself, who you love, who you spend your time with.

I didn’t need love from a man. I needed to learn how to love myself. That realization hits me like a truck. I stand and look at myself in the full-length mirror, maybe seeing myself really for the first time ever. Before, when I’d look in the mirror, it was always critical - my eyelashes were never long enough, so I’d wear fake ones. I’d contour the shape of my face to be better with makeup. I’d do my hair so that every strand laid perfectly.

But who gives a shit?

Lev, Mik and Ro don’t love me because of what I look like. Their eyes would soften with affection when I was at my rawest - makeup-free, hair a mess, wearing pajamas or one of their shirts.

And I want a love that’s going to last long into old age, when I’m wrinkled and gray.

But I don’t love myself. I maybe never have. Because I don’t know what that looks like? My mother wasn’t a good example. And my father is a narcissist and maybe a psychopath. Can psychopaths love themselves? My brother loves my father, but he’s compromised himself in the process.

No.

I need to figure out what self-love looks like on my own.

And right now, that means coming up with a plan.

I text our group chat.

Me: Thank you for being there today. It meant a lot to me.

Me: I'm making my way back to you. I promise

I change into pajamas and drop onto the floor. I do five push-ups before my arms shake. Then I do five sit-ups. If this princess is saving herself, she needs to be physically strong, too. Then I do five air squats.

I do these until I physically can’t anymore, willing my brain to work.

If the boys can’t help me. And my family refuses to. Who do I have left?

Hannah.

I scramble back onto the bed and grab my phone.

I’m sure she knows about my wedding to the son of the man who tried to kill her. Or maybe she doesn’t. I don’t know how involved she is with the mafia politics of her men.

Me: Hi Hannah. Have you heard the news?

Her reply is immediate.