"Miss? You can't sleep here. You'll have to go somewhere else; we're closing."
I'm confused—we just got here. Kai's got the place rented and the choreographer booked out for at least three more hours. I glance at my watch, frowning, but sure enough, I've zoned out and taken a two hour nap when I only intended to close my eyes for ten minutes. Now, all the free time I planned to spend catching up on the latest fashion and working on my portfolio for any future social media management clients who might reach out is gone, wasted on a nap that wasn't even that good. I still feel just as tired as I did when we showed up, except for now, my eyes are a bit red, too.
Because I forgot to take my contacts out to switch to glasses while I worked on the computer.
I groan, packing my things up as I reassure the worker that I'll be out in a few minutes, and then fish out my eyedrops and try to remedy my lack of intelligent decisions today.
I accidentally pack up my cellphone in the bottom of my bag when I shove all my things into it, and before I can get five feet out of the cafeteria, it starts to ring.
"You're a mess, always stressed, you're just looking to impress?—"
Kai's ringtone isn't that. I know that sound, and I'm not answering it. It's either an old flame whose contact I've deleted, or a spam call, and neither one of those sounds like someone I'd like to talk to right now. So I let it go to voicemail. If it's important, they'll leave me a message.
The next song it plays is the same, and I shake it off, knowing there's more important things to make happen right now, like getting to wherever Kai is and making sure he's not killed his choreographer or fired him over some perceived slight or lack of ability or drive.
Thankfully, they're still going at it when I come up on the door to the studio they're using, so I set down my bag outside the doorway, stuff my hand into the bottom of the damn thing, and yank my phone out, determined to silence it once and for all by shutting it off until I'm ready to talk to people.
The name on the caller ID makes my blood run cold.
Theo The Terrible.
I've only got his name saved in my contacts still so I know not to answer his calls. He doesn't make them often anymore, but when I first lost my job with him, when I first told him no, they happened every day. Several times a day, he'd call me up to remind me that he wasn't finished with me. ThatnobodytellsTheo Swanson no. That he'd get what he wanted from me, or he'd make my life hell.
When I made it plain to him that I didn't care what he did, the calls slowed, until one day, they just didn't come.
The first day he went without calling me was like a breath of fresh air. Until the next call came a week later, shattering the false sense of security I'd built around myself.
I haven't had to feel that helpless fear in months. Why now, all of a sudden, after going so long without contact, would he try to reach out again?
My hands shake, but I'm proud of myself for not even bothering to answer it, or hit the fuck you button. Instead, I just let it ring through to the voicemail, and when he calls again, I silence the ringer and set it back in the bottom of my bag, shaking like a leaf the whole time.
I'm shaken. Disturbed. Because his renewed interest can't mean anything good. All he's ever wanted out of me was my body, and then, when he couldn't have that, all he wanted then was my surrender. Since I refused him that, the only thing he has left is disrupting my sense of peace and security. And he relishes the fear I approach his memory with, I'm sure.
He knows what he does to me every time I see his name on my caller ID. He doesn't care. It's like he's not human, or he's incapable of human emotion, empathy, sympathy, or regret.
Men like him never change.
I almost don't hear the sound of someone approaching me, but since I'm on high alert, adrenaline is pumping through my veins, and I'm spiraling, old habits kick in, and I don't even bother checking who's behind me before I reach for the hand that falls on my shoulder, twist their arm around and forward, yanking them off-balance, and spin as I pull a pen out of my hair and put it against their throat.
Those self-defense training classes come in handy, when I can remember what I learned in them.
"Shit, Denali—stop, stop, it's me, what the fuck?!?"
I come to and realize that I've got the sharp end of my ballpoint pen pressed against the jugular of my fuckingboss.
Shit.Well, there goes my gainful employment.
The pen hits the floor when it falls from my grip, clattering there in the silence as Kai and I regard each other with a wariness that hasn't been present in our working relationship since the day I met him. To him, I'm dangerous now, a loose cannon who is likely to kill him if he approaches me wrong. To me, he's an unknown variable, and now, he might decide that keeping me around isn't worth the trouble it could mean for him in the future.
I'm damaged, I know that. It's my problem to deal with. But this is just the icing on the cake. Now that everything's stabilized for me, even though it's not in the way I imagined it, a single phone call brings everything to a screeching halt and ruins any chance of improvement I had in my life. All the money I could have saved, that I spent on upgrades and replacements and spoiling myself and Taco, it all feels like a stinging slap in the face now, because I might need to sell all the things that I thought I could afford to make ends meet while I scramble to find a few dead-end jobs to cover the cost of food and rent and?—
"Denali!" Kai's voice is like a razor blade to my brain, and I shake out of whatever this stupid frozen moment is and shiver, curling in on myself now that the fear-fueled adrenaline has leeched from my system, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.
"S-sorry," I mumble, reaching desperately for the strap of my messenger bag. "A-are you finished for the night?"
His eyes narrow as he watches me curiously. "No, actually. I was going to come find you and tell you to just go ahead andhave our driver take you back to your apartment. I'm planning to work a few extra hours tonight to perfect this routine, so I won't have to pay this asshole for another week of his bullshit." His famous scowl comes out to play, and I'm reminded that wherever Theo is, he's not here. I'm here, with Kai, and Theo can't hurt me.
He can, but I tell myself he can't, because the alternative is to live in fear that he'll always be able to reach me, that I'll never escape him. And that's not living. That's not even surviving. That's existing, plain and simple. Nothing more to it than that.
