Credence

Tiernan
I sling the saddle over the bench in the barn, not caring if that’s where I’m
supposed to put it or not.
He won’t keep me here if I don’t want to stay, will he?
Whether or not he intends to, actually scares me less than knowing he
can. I came here thinking I was a guest and him having power it wouldn’t
even occur to him to use.
Well, it did, I guess. Maybe he thinks he can get rent out of me.
Or maybe he thinks me being a woman makes me a good cook? I’m not.
I exit the stable and head for the house, taking a shortcut through the
attached shop and walking toward the door that will take me right into the
kitchen.
I shake my head at myself. I can’t go home.
And I don’t want to go back to Brynmor. God, the idea of seeing anyone
I know… I close my eyes. Or smelling that house.
I can’t face it. The stark white walls. Sitting in classrooms crowded with
people I don’t know how to talk to.
My stomach turns, and I stop, leaning my forehead into something
hanging from the ceiling in the shop. I wrap my arm around a punching bag
and close my eyes.
I can’t go home.
I grip the leather, clenching it in my fist, and everything—my new
reality—starts sinking in.