What a fucking shit show.
I struggled to keep myself together after Nash gripped my wrist again last night. It wasn’t him that triggered me. It was the suddenness of it all, combined with my nerves after seeing them at the restaurant.
My unconsciousness pulling me back into my past is less surprising but certainly not a pleasant experience. I thought I was doing better, not having had flashbacks or nightmares of the institution for a while before I got here. But it seems like my trauma is just beneath the surface, waiting for me to slip so it can remind me of the painful memories I’ve been trying so hard to bury.
The radio hums in the background, and the fairy lights cast a gentle glow around the room.
I’m out of there.
Pushing open one of the short orange curtains, I see the sun starting to rise on the horizon. Quickly packing my toiletry bag, I make my way to the bathroom block to freshen up and brush my teeth. Afterward, I slip into my running gear, lace up my shoes, and secure my hair into a high ponytail.
I had heard that Lubec boasted numerous cobblestone beaches, mossy hiking trails, and boardwalks perfect for a run. Desperately needing a run to clear my head, I check the map on my phone to determine which route is closest. After a few stretches with my hands on the outside of the van, I no longer feel as stiff and am ready to go.
I start a slow jog, taking in the surroundings and savoring how the early morning light gradually casts itself over the still-slumbering town where a few businesses are already opening up for the week. It’s tranquil here, so quiet that there doesn’t even seem to be a stoplight in sight.
What a contrast to San Francisco.
I make a mental note to take my camera for an early morning stroll one day before I leave here. That’s another thing I inherited from Nan. When I started clearing out our house and selling everything I couldn’t take with me or didn’t need, I found an old analog camera with a collection of pictures and some stillgood-to-use film in the attic. I started taking pictures while on the road, and I love the vibe they capture.
Every once in a while, I turn my van into a makeshift darkroom to develop them. I have a red lamp that provides just enough light to keep me from spiraling. Someday, when I have a house, I’m going to have a dedicated dark room for developing pictures where I can hang them up to dry properly, not like now with my old laundry wire over a bucket.
One can dream, right?
Panting, I arrive at the Mowry Beach reserve. I bend down, my hands just over my knees, taking a few moments to breathe. When I look up, I can’t help but mutter a “Wow.”
The place is even prettier than the pictures. The sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm, inviting glow over the landscape. The beach is indeed a rugged cobblestone one with hundreds of pebbles, but the tide is low, making it look like a mud flat. The boardwalk on my other side stretches before me, winding through short shrubs, tall grasses, and cattails.
I take a moment to appreciate the beauty and quiet around me, to feel the sun on my skin, the soft rustling of the leaves on the bushes in the gentle breeze, the distant call of seagulls, and the smell of salt in the air.
My initial steps are hesitant as I step on the boardwalk, not sure if it is slippery, but it’s not, and soon enough, I find my rhythm. The wood beneath my feet creaks with each stride, and I feel the tension in my muscles easing.
My breath steadies as I fall into a comfortable pace.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The rhythmic sound of my breath becomes a soothing cadence. It’s like meditation, a way to reconnect with the present moment and escape the ghosts of the past. The anxiety from thenightmare begins to loosen its grip on me. I feel better, lighter, as if I’m shedding the weight of my fears with every step.
Reaching the end of the boardwalk, I’m not ready to stop, so I turn and make my way back at a faster pace. A few minutes later, I stop at the parking area where the boardwalk started. The ocean stretches out to the horizon, its waves shimmering in the morning light.
I take a moment to stretch, feeling the pleasant burn in my muscles. Each move is deliberate, a physical affirmation that I’m here, in this moment, alive and well.
The past may have left its mark, but it doesn’t define me.
My peaceful moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of an engine. A black, sleek BMW M6 appears out of nowhere and nearly drives right over me. My heart pounds in my chest as I jump back to avoid being hit. The car comes to a halt, and my anger surges.
I can’t see inside. Its windows are tinted too dark.
No way that’s even legal.
I’m tempted to kick the car, butit’s such a damn nice car.The asshole is the one behind the wheel. So, with my heart still racing and arms crossed over my chest, I’m ready to give the driver a piece of my mind.
But when the door swings open, my words catch in my throat. It’s Business Guy, dressed in running clothes, giving the seagulls and me a great view of his thick thighs and broad, muscular chest.
Since when am I into thighs?
He doesn’t even spare me a glance as he steps around the car, puts on some in-ear headphones, and calmly starts his run on the boardwalk, just as I did minutes ago.
