Chapter 3

I pushed myself off the bed, my legs a little shaky, and walked towards them.

I snatched my purse off the nightstand before Jessica could even think about reaching for it. Last time, she'd "borrowed" my spare key from it.

"Emily, what the hell?" Mike said, stepping in front of Jessica as if to protect her from me.

"What the hell, Mike?" I shot back, my voice rising. "Whose boyfriend are you, anyway? You're always taking her side."

My eyes darted between them, the unspoken accusation hanging heavy in the air. "Or is there something more going on here?"

They both flinched. Jessica's face went pale, and Mike looked flustered.

Good. They were leeches, both of them, always after my paycheck from the bakery, always "borrowing" things. They weren't ready for their cash cow to wise up. Not yet.

"Em, how could you even say that?" Jessica's voice quavered, and her eyes welled up with those damn crocodile tears. "We've been friends since freshman year! Just because I want to borrow your car, you accuse me of... of that?"

She was good. I'd give her that. Always the victim.

I shrugged, unmoved. "Say whatever you want. The car's not available."

I looked pointedly at Mike. "But he has a truck, doesn't he? A big, manly Ford F-150. Why don't you borrow that, Jess? Why are you so fixated on my Mustang?"

Mike immediately stiffened. "No way. I need my truck this weekend. My dad's got that bad knee, remember? Can't get around without me driving him."

A convenient excuse. Always an excuse.

"See?" I said to Jessica with a cold smile. "Looks like he's not willing to lend you his precious truck either. Guess you'll have to take the bus."

I grabbed my actual car keys from the hook by the door. The feel of the cool metal in my palm was grounding.

"I'm late for work," I said, turning my back on their stunned faces.

Stepping out into the fresh morning air felt like breaking the surface after being held underwater. I took a deep breath, then another.

The rage was still there, but now it was mixed with a cold, hard resolve.

I got into my Mustang, the worn leather seat a familiar comfort. This time, I was in the driver's seat. And I was going to stay there.