I don’t know if I should wish that my snarky inner thoughts would shut up and go away. At least they’re covering up what’s usually banging around my skull. They might be berating me, but they’re much kinder thoughts than they usually are, and they’re tinged with almost no panic.
Probably because the sleeping pills are still dulling my nervous system.
Although, I can’t say that I’ve tried any medication that has actually worked.
But last night, there was significantlylesspanic than there should have been.
It’s in my nature to be a fixer. I know, it’s ironic given that I haven’t been able to fix myself. I was always that person before, and it didn’t die in me just because I locked myself in an apartment. When it comes to my clients, I put in long hours trying to make sure that they go away happy and their problems are taken care of. Before my parents basically stopped talking to me, I could tell how upset my mom was, and I tried my best to assure her, even though I was the one in need of assurance.
I didn’t go through trauma alone. That attack didn’t just happen to me.
I give Maverick the only answer I can, but at least it’s honest. “Right now. I’m doing as well as I could have expected.”
“I’ll be back in ten,” he promises.
While he’s gone, I take the opportunity to get out of bed. I’m still in my pajamas. There doesn’t appear to be a bathroom down here. I don’t have to pee yet anyway. I change into a pair of leggings, a camisole, and an oversized knit sweater. My face goes red hot when I see that Maverick included a generous amount of bras and panties in the side pouch of the bag. Everything is folded, from my underwear to my clothes. He actually was able to fit quite a bit in here, but I only own one suitcase. It’s obviously been unused. I ordered it years ago, in a fit of inspiration. My mom had this idea that if I had some kind of vacation to look forward to, I could just manifest getting better for it. It was early days, when we both still held out hope for things like that.
I brush my hair out and tug it back into a low ponytail. I’m too rough, thinking about my parents’ agonized faces. I know they still care, but I can’t even remember the last time they called or checked in. I’d have to go through my texts to find the date and time stamp.
My cosmetic bag has a collection of makeup, my toothbrush, toothpaste, and face serum. Maverick didn’t have to pack that. It was ready to go.
I take out my laptop, walk over to the desk, and get it set up. I put my phone beside it, but it’s powered off and I don’t turn it on. I feed the cats first, filling up their bowls with their hard food and adding half a can of wet food to the top of each one.
Pumpkin and Sprite both come running. They don’t seem to mind being in a new place. No one hid under the couch or the bed or tried to get into a corner, all hunched up and frightened.
They chow down with the same hearty appetites as ever.
I notice a big bowl of water set out beside the couch and can’t help but smile.
When someone shows love for someone else’s pets, it meansa lot.
So, because he watered the cats, you can just ignore that he freaking kidnapped you?
Noble intentions don’t excuse anything. I know that. I don’t want to get into an inner battle with myself about all the gray areas of life right now. I have emails to answer.
I’m busy doing that when Maverick returns. He walks right up to the desk and sets down a large mug that smells shockingly divine. The whipped foam at the top jiggles and ripples.
“Sorry. It took me a few extra minutes to figure out the coffee machine. I haven’t used it before. I guess Scythe likes fancy drinks.”
“Scythe?”
“Yeah. That’s his club name.”
As if he heard his name all the way upstairs, the door bangs open and an older, tattooed, burly, leather clad man who doesn’t look the least bit like Maverick, stalks through the basement. He’s throwing off some clearly hostile vibes, but none of it is directed at me.
“Oh, no,” he growls thunderously, stabbing a finger in Maverick’s direction. “This is not happening.”
“What’s not happening?” Maverick asks. He doesn’t look the least bit rattled or guilty. He actually raises his mug and slowly sips the hot coffee. When he pulls the mug away, there’s a white line of foam on his upper lip.
I don’t want to lick it off of him. I really don’t.
“I know you, Maverick. You might not think that I do, but I fucking do. You haven’t changed one bit. Always trying to save the world. This is the woman you told me about. Your pen pal. The one you were so desperate to find a way to try to help. You brought her here, and I’m going to guess it wasn’t willingly.”
Maverick’s eyes travel to me. The cats keep munching their breakfast happily enough. “Does she look unwilling to you?” Scythe’s face turns an ominous shade of red. Before he can blow up, Maverick points to the cats. “Shh. Don’t scare the kitties. If you yell, you’ll make everyone uncomfortable.”
I’ve never seen anyone look as exasperated as Maverick’s poor cousin. Despite his badass appearance, he has soft eyes and probably a good soul. “I’m not gonna yell. But wearegonna talk about this. All three of us. Upstairs.”
“I- I’m not sure that I’d like to go upstairs yet,” I whisper. I don’t know when or if the panic will set in. I’m in a house. It’s not mine, but it is a house. It’s safe. I’m safe. Windows have never been a problem for me, but I haven’t looked out of one that wasn’t my apartment’s in years. I don’t know how I’ll react.
