The beep echoes slowly in my ear.
“H-Hey… I… didn’t mean to not answer. I-I’m sorry. Call me back?” I swallow, and I could swear my vision blurs. “I’m sorry. I’m not ignoring you. I… I’m not.”
The phone auto-hangs after I let silence eat up the voicemail. I peel it from my face, stare at the screen, and hit dial again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, the same end. Voicemail.
By the fourth attempt, I can’t breathe. My chest is hollow and heavy all at once, panic clawing its way inside me.
My knees slam into the damp ground. The cold bites through denim—sharper, crueler. I fold forward, clutching my shirt desperately, as if I can drag the air back into my lungs with my fists.
Stupid.
Sofuckingstupid.
I should’ve answered at the bar.
He’s in California. He can’t come here.
He won’t. He doesn’t know where I’m at.
He can look into county records. He’s a cop, his dad’s the chief. He’s got connections.
The moment black dots scatter across my vision, a soft meow yanks me from the crater I’ve fallen into. Clover is padding towardme until she’s curled across my thighs. The weight of her body forces me upright, and just like that, oxygen floods in. My lungs remembering how to work.
She all but hisses at me until I draw a shaky hand down her back. With each pass, the terror ebbs like it was never there, replaced by the low rumble of her purr.
Eyes shut, chin tucked, I let the night fill me instead; the push of water against shore, Clover’s steady purring, and the faint thud of a screen door.
My chest jolts—Keo?
There are no accompanying footsteps that follow. I don’t look. I don’t want proof that no one’s coming.
Thathe’snot coming to help me.
I don’t know how long I sit here, ten minutes or twenty, but when I stand with Clover in my arms, my heart is still caught in my throat.
If someone told me this cat was made of magic, I wouldn’t even question it. Though, I do wonder how she even got out. Had she pushed the screen door open? Maybe Keo left the door open. That seems dangerous, considering I could swear she’s a housecat.
When I step into the cabin, the living room is empty, but I can see the bathroom light glowing from down the hall toward Keo’s room.
For a moment, I imagine telling him everything—that I never came because of Michael, that I’ve been chained in a place I’ve wanted to escape for years.
The fantasy I play in my head is that Keo is furious for me; books a flight to California to beat the shit out of my ex.
But in reality? I fear he’d just tell me to grow a backbone.
And maybe he’s right. Because even free, I feel locked inside—no doors, no windows, no way out. I keep circling back, like the walls follow me wherever I go.
Mike should’ve just let me go to jail. He’s basically built me one, threw me in it, and tossed away the key.
The groan that escapes my throat feels raw.
I clear it, but the clogging ache lingers. Something heavy and warm presses against my head, and it takes me a beat to realize it’s Clover. She’s turned me into her personal pillow.
