In the Shackles of Love by Patrick S. (books to read in your 20s .TXT) 📖
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down his cheeks as he rushed toward Renae. She screamed and ducked to the right, tumbling away from the hallway.
He didn’t halt. He was incapable of hurting her, even though she had lied to him. A lesser man might have taken out his rage on Renae, but not Eliot. All he could do now was focus on escape, on surviving, on running. Hurting a woman was out of the question; he could never hurt a woman.
In the garage, sweating, he jumped into his truck and waited, waited, waited for the garage door to slide open. When it was high enough, he skidded out onto the gravel entryway.
Sobbing both from anguish and rage, he fishtailed through puddles. Once, he looked in the mirror and saw Renae standing on his porch, hand on chest. She was shouting something, but his ears were filled with engine roar and internal thunder.
The gate to his house opened only by a code. Twice he punched in the wrong code, all the while knowing that the sirens were closing fast. They would descend with fury, and Renae would feed them more of her lies.
Love. His father may have been right when he said that most women were never up to any good. Michel Hardy turned out to be a drunken, ill-equipped, heartless, gutless, good-for-nothing human being, but in that one regard Eliot now wished he’d listened.
Maybe love was not meant for him just yet. This fiasco certainly hadn’t bolstered his confidence.
Finally, on the fourth or fifth try, he punched the right code and the gate opened. He paused for a moment at the highway. There was a curve in the road to the left, from where the sirens came, and he was allowed a brief time in which he could escape before they saw his pickup.
Hesitation would mean imprisonment. He was not equipped for such conditions.
Eliot sped along the open road, away from his house, away from the police, and away from Renae. He sobbed so violently at losing his first true love that several times he veered onto the gravel shoulder.
The police would search for him. Like bloodhounds, the agents of hate would not rest until they sniffed out the man who had loved a woman so much that he tried only to protect her from all harm.
He could run for as long as needed. After all, he’d been running since age thirteen. And there were millions of women out there. There had
He didn’t halt. He was incapable of hurting her, even though she had lied to him. A lesser man might have taken out his rage on Renae, but not Eliot. All he could do now was focus on escape, on surviving, on running. Hurting a woman was out of the question; he could never hurt a woman.
In the garage, sweating, he jumped into his truck and waited, waited, waited for the garage door to slide open. When it was high enough, he skidded out onto the gravel entryway.
Sobbing both from anguish and rage, he fishtailed through puddles. Once, he looked in the mirror and saw Renae standing on his porch, hand on chest. She was shouting something, but his ears were filled with engine roar and internal thunder.
The gate to his house opened only by a code. Twice he punched in the wrong code, all the while knowing that the sirens were closing fast. They would descend with fury, and Renae would feed them more of her lies.
Love. His father may have been right when he said that most women were never up to any good. Michel Hardy turned out to be a drunken, ill-equipped, heartless, gutless, good-for-nothing human being, but in that one regard Eliot now wished he’d listened.
Maybe love was not meant for him just yet. This fiasco certainly hadn’t bolstered his confidence.
Finally, on the fourth or fifth try, he punched the right code and the gate opened. He paused for a moment at the highway. There was a curve in the road to the left, from where the sirens came, and he was allowed a brief time in which he could escape before they saw his pickup.
Hesitation would mean imprisonment. He was not equipped for such conditions.
Eliot sped along the open road, away from his house, away from the police, and away from Renae. He sobbed so violently at losing his first true love that several times he veered onto the gravel shoulder.
The police would search for him. Like bloodhounds, the agents of hate would not rest until they sniffed out the man who had loved a woman so much that he tried only to protect her from all harm.
He could run for as long as needed. After all, he’d been running since age thirteen. And there were millions of women out there. There had
to be one with whom he could share his enormous love, someone that could help him rebuild the shattered heart Renae had broken. There was, if not a soul mate, a woman capable of giving him peace, of understanding the profound logic he carried within. He must find the woman who was the exception to his father’s rule.
Into the glazed evening he drove, hopeful and sad, excited and fearful, a man with a singular purpose so worthwhile that surely not even the shackles of prison would be so cruel as to close before he experienced true love.
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Publication Date: 02-07-2012
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