Taking in my surroundings, I make sure there aren’t any cars or people I don’t recognize. I want to run inside and lock the doors, but I force myself to take a deep breath and ignore that instinct. The only thing I’d change about this house if I could ishaving a garage I could park in. I used to never leave when it was dark or stay out past dark.
The first time I did girls’ night with Ansley, I barely enjoyed it because all I could think of was walking from my car to the front door in the dark. I almost didn’t go again because of that. I told Rose, and she said it was normal to experience some anxiety with the way I grew up, but to not allow it to interfere with making friends. She suggested I get some pepper spray so I’d feel a little more safe. Pepper spray in hand, I unlock the door and step inside, looking around the street one last time before closing the door.
The alarm beeps, letting me know I have thirty seconds to put in the code before it goes off. Inserting the code quickly, I turn back to the door to lock the deadbolt, slide the bar, then put on the chain lock before walking to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes and into my gardening clothes.
Walking into the backyard, I follow the perimeter of the privacy fence I had installed when I moved in and look for any loose pieces to make sure there aren’t any holes where someone could peep in. It’s become my nightly ritual.
I used to do it in the mornings when I woke up too, but I’ve tried to ease into nights only and so far I’m okay. It may seem excessive, but there are times when I still feel like someone is watching me. It might just be my imagination, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. My stepfather is crazy and it wouldn’t surprise me if he found me. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t found me yet. It’s not like I went that far.
Only a couple of hours. I moved to a town we would visit sometimes with my mom and we had monthly lunches with Victor. When I saw the job listing for Lincoln’s company, I applied immediately. I wanted to move further, but I’ve never been on my own. I needed some familiarity.
Grabbing my gloves and gardening tools, I kneel to pull the weeds where I plan on planting my new flowers. I love flowers. I love how cathartic it is to pull weeds, plant flowers, and watch them grow into something beautiful. It reminds me of my mom and all the hours we spent together doing this very thing before she died.
Rose is right. Sometimes I can go days, even weeks, without thinking about my mom. I can even go days without thinking about the hell I lived in after she died. Then other days it feels like it just happened. Once all the weeds are pulled, I create the holes for the flowers.
“I’m so tired, mom. I’m so tired of feeling like I always have to be on guard. Of being afraid, and being strong. I just want someone else to be strong for me. Just for a little while.” I suck in a shaky breath, my chest tight and my eyes burning. But I don’t cry.
Chapter six
Olivia
Iescape to a bathroom on another floor. It’s a single stall, so I have some privacy. We just released a new app, so if any issues come up, I’m the first person people come to. I place a hand on my chest as the tightness becomes unbearable. I rub my thumbnail back and forth along the small cut on the tip of my index finger. The sting of pain loosens the vise around my heart.
I pull my cell phone out of the pocket of my blazer, dial Victor’s number for the hundredth time, then stare at it. I rub my thumbnail along the small cut one more time before pressing the call button.
He answers on the first ring. “Victor.”
I open my mouth to say something. Anything. But nothing comes out, so I hang up. I lean my head back and stare up at the ceiling and count the number of tiles until my heart stopsbeating like crazy in my chest. Putting my phone on mute, I place it back in my pocket and leave the bathroom.
Does Victor know the things Donovan did to me? Would he care? What if he did tell Donovan he saw me?
Instead of taking the elevator back to my floor, I use the stairs to give myself some more time to get my emotions back under control. Because no one cares that I’m currently going through a mental and emotional crisis. They’re probably going through one as well.
Every person you come into contact with is going through something. It could be as small as the coffee shop got their order wrong or as big as they were just diagnosed with some type of life-changing disease. That’s why I try to be kind to everyone, because you never know if you’ll be the person who pushes them off that ledge or stops them from jumping.
I choose to be the one that stops them from jumping because I have a feeling one day I might need that in return. And I want to be on the right side of karma when that day comes. So, I plaster a smile on my face, push the door open to my floor, and answer the questions that are thrown at me.
Caroline walks into the locker room with a tired smile. I return her smile, still working to push down my emotions. I’ll deal with them later. Maybe.
“Tired?” I ask her. She answers with a yawn and a nod. I huff as I grab my clothes to change in a stall.
“I wanted to skip today’s workout so badly, but Sebastian keeps saying I need to at least stretch some to help with my recovery from the race,” she says.
“If it makes you feel any better, I really didn’t want to workout today either. We can at least do thirty minutes.” I bite the inside of my cheek as I run my finger over the scars on the inside of my thigh. I pulled the tin out last night, but all I did was stare at it.
Then this morning I accidentally cut the tip of my finger with a stack of papers. I forgot how the slight pain released so much tension in my chest. It’s been a year, maybe more, but ever since I saw Victor I’ve been struggling more than usual and gardening hasn’t been helping like it usually does.
Getting dressed, I tell myself working out will help. It will quiet my thoughts, which will help and will force me to focus on my breathing. I close my eyes t, roll my shoulders, take a deep breath that doesn’t fill my lungs, and walk out of the stall. I smile at Caroline as she finishes tying her shoes, hoping it reaches my eyes.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod and follow her out. We stretch for a few minutes, then do a quick strength training workout. Bass, the gym owner and Caroline’s boyfriend, comes over and chats with us, giving some pointers every few minutes. I zone out and focus on counting my reps instead of the unease that won’t go away. When we get done and make our way back to the locker room, Caroline touches my hand gently.
Her voice is laced with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I answer immediately, giving her a bright smile.
Her eyebrows furrow. “You were really quiet today.”
