Release Me

scrapes against metal. I drop the key ring. Fumbling, I bend down to pick it up again, only to whack my forehead on the wheel. I clutch the keys tight and curse, and pound my fist against the wheel one more time.
    The tears are welling again, and I breathe deep. It’s too much, too fast. The move, the job, Damien.
    I want to crawl out of my own skin. I want to escape. I want—
    I grab a handful of my skirt and thrust it up so that the material is gathered at my hips, exposing a triangle of panties and my bare thighs above the stockings.
    Don’t
.
    Just a little. Just this once
.
    Don’t
.
    But I do. I spread my legs and press the key into the soft flesh of my inner thigh. Once upon a time, I kept a knife on my key ring. I wish I still had it.
No. No, I don’t
.
    The key’s teeth bite into my skin, but it’s nothing. Mosquito bites. I need more if I’m going to keep the storm at bay—and it’s that realization of my need that hits me like a slap in the face.
    Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, what the fuck am I doing?
    Before I can talk myself out of it, I shove open the door and toss the keys out into the dim parking garage. I hear them skitter across the asphalt. I don’t see where they land.
    I sit there breathing deeply, telling myself that’s not who I am. I haven’t cut for over three years. I fought, and I won.
    I’m not that girl anymore.
    Except of course, I am. I’ll always be that girl. I can wish all I want, and I can run across the country, but those scars don’t go away, and they won’t stay hidden forever.
    I guess I learned that the hard way. That’s why I ran from Damien, isn’t it? And that’s why I’ll keep on running.
    A wave of loneliness crashes over me, and I think about whatOllie said. About how nothing would change. About how I could call him anytime I needed him.
    I need him now.
    I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. I have Ollie on speed dial and I punch in the number. It rings. Once. Twice. On the third ring, a woman’s voice answers.
Courtney
.
    “Hello? Hello, who is this?”
    I forgot to give Ollie my new phone number. I’m not in his contacts, and she has no idea who’s on the other end of the line.
    I hang up, breathing hard. After a moment, I dial another number. This time, Jamie’s voice mail answers.
    “Never mind,” I say, forcing a cheer into my voice that I don’t feel. “I’m going shopping and thought you might want to meet up. But no big.”
    I hang up thinking that shopping sounds like a damn fine idea. Retail therapy won’t cure the world’s ills, but it works pretty well to take your mind off them. On that point, at least, I agree with my mother.
    I take a deep breath, then another. I’m calmer now, ready to go. Ready to crank the radio up on a classic country station and let George Strait sing about how his problems are so much worse than mine.
    I glance out my window, but don’t see the keys. With a sigh, I push open my door and get out of the car, adjusting my skirt as I do. I’d thrown them hard, so they’re probably yards away near the dark green Mercedes or the massive Cadillac SUV. The only flashlight I have is the app on my iPhone, and I hope it’ll be enough.
    My heels click on the asphalt as I cross the garage to the Mercedes. The area with the Mercedes and the Cadillac isn’t as dark as the corner with my car, but it’s still dim, and I frown as I contort my body and shine the light, trying to look under the two cars without getting down on my knees and putting huge runs in my stockings.
    It takes a while, but after circling the cars twice, I finally see the keys hidden in a shadow behind the Mercedes’ back tire.
    I snatch them up, then freeze when I see movement in my peripheral vision. There, near the stairwell by my car, I see the shadow of a man.
    “Hello?”
    The shadow doesn’t move, and I shiver, unnerved by the sensation that he is watching me.
    “Hey,” I call. “Who’s there?” I stand, debating whether I should move forward—toward the shadow and the car—or whether I should start walking back toward Stark Tower and get a security guard to escort me.
    I hold up my phone. “I’m calling security. You might want to take a hike.”
    At first, the man doesn’t move. Then the shadow moves backward and is absorbed by the deeper darkness. A moment later, I hear a metallic creak, followed by the heavy thunk of the stairwell door slamming shut.
    I shiver and hurry to my car. Right then, all I want is to get