The cuffs felt hard as steel around her wrists, the cotton gag filling her whole throat. The road in front of her went vague, because she was still locked in that room. Had never left, could never escape.

Frantically, she focused all her energy on trying to move. Anything, any part of her she could control. One toe twitched in response. She curled her toes hard, even when that pressed the gas pedal harder.

No matter how tightly you tied someone, no matter how hard you choked them, they could still move their toes.

Her bumper shot sparks as it edged close enough to kiss the concrete barrier.

Fresh adrenaline ripped through her, and she remembered that moment in her room when she’d touched her body and realized it was still her own. Right now, nothing held her in place but her mind. Her mind.

Her hands clamped tight on the wheel, and she took the curve.

Andra inhaled air down deep in her lungs. Sweet and light and utterly under her control. She adjusted the path of the truck, as steady now as if she were holding reins.

She’d done it. Pulled herself out of a full-blown attack twice in one day, despite being stressed to the max. She grinned and pounded the dash with one fist, wishing she could call LJ. He’d just laugh and say—her stomach dropped. He wouldn’t say anything to her, probably ever again.

Leaving had been the right thing to do, the best thing for him and everyone in his life. And no matter how much it hurt, she knew she was strong enough to give him that one final gift.

Andra sat back in her seat, exhausted and proud and sick to her stomach all at once. If she could wiggle her toes, she could pull herself out of the attacks, now that she knew it was possible. Even without LJ, things would be different now.

Every time she had taken more control over her life, her attacks had gotten a little weaker, a little less frequent. She’d never get back to being the carefree girl she’d been in high school. But today, she could tell she was moving ever closer to the woman she would become, and somewhere deep in her gut, that felt better. More solid.

And yet every mile she drove away from New Orleans felt like it carried her further from the future she wanted.

Thirty-three

The Ford truck barely pulled off the highway, two tires still sitting on the white lines marking the shoulder. LJ hopped out of the bed of the pickup and grabbed his duffel, giving a little wave of thanks through the side window to the young couple who’d finally picked him up a few miles back. They smiled but didn’t roll down the window to say goodbye before they took off, dust and gravel scattering in their wake.