Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted novel Chapter 74

74 Ava: Preparing for the Worst

The sun is beginning to set when a slight detour from the circular thoughts I’ve had about tonight finally

occurs to me.

A weapon.

Who says I have to accept my fate without fighting?

No one.

I can at least try to arm myself.

But with what?

I have knives in the kitchen, of course. I’ll grab a couple. But they’ll be too large to keep in my pockets.

What else can I use?

I’d grab a rock, but I’m not even allowed in the yard to

find one.

A pen? I can stab someone in the eye with a pen, so I grab a few of them and put them in either pocket. After some hesitation, I grab an old belt. I can try to swing it at someone and hit them with the buckle, right?

I put it on, without sliding it through any belt loops.

1504

12

C

74 Ava: Preparing for the Worst

The easier to get to, the better.

Desperation creeps in as I realize how ill–prepared I am. My gaze lands on a can of hairspray, and I snatch it up, tucking it into the depths of my backpack. Not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.

Sneaking downstairs is easy. Mom’s ignoring me, as usual, as she sits in the living room and watches TV. Jessa’s with her, doing something on her phone. Neither look up as I pass by. Dad’s probably in his

office.

In the kitchen, I wrap up a couple knives with kitchen towels. A penlight in the everything drawer is my favorite find, and a small folding utility knife that probably belonged to Phoenix a long time ago. Those go in my pocket.

I make a small plate of food in an attempt to disguise the knives I bring upstairs in case Mom or Jessa looks

my way.

Of course, they don’t.

Closing the door behind me with a soft exhale of relief, I jump and almost spill my food when I hear the burner vibrate twice against the desk.

27

< 74 Ava: Preparing for the Worst

Setting my plate and knives down, I fumble to retrieve

it, hands shaking.

[PHOENIX: I’ll swing by around midnight when everyone’s asleep. Be ready.]

A wave of nausea washes over me as the reality of the situation sinks in. I’m really doing this–leaving everything behind on the mere promise of freedom. My fingers hover over the keypad, contemplating a response, but what is there to say?

Instead, I let the phone slip from my grasp, clattering onto the desk as I sink onto the edge of my bed, burying my face in my hands. The weight of my decisions presses down on me, threatening to

suffocate me.

A voice in the back of my mind whispers that I should just run–leave this place behind and figure out the rest as I go. But they’ll catch me within hours, if not sooner. I can’t shift, and everyone else can.