A pressure is wrapped around my arm, and I think it’s someone’s hand.
“Let’s take you for a rest, huh?”
18
Indie
Oceans (Where Feet May Fail) - Hillsong UNITED, TAYA
Present day
Reginaplacesthecupof steaming hot coffee in front of me.
“Thanks,” I murmur, taking it off her and wrapping my hands around it. She sits on the other side of our L-shaped sofa, blowing out a breath.
“How did you sleep?”
I take a sip, letting it scorch the walls of my throat before I answer, “Like shit, you?”
I tossed and turned all night, waking up in puddles of sweat as the past threatened to rear its ugly head. Thinking about sections of that time in my life with my free will gives me thecontrol; I can shut it down or release the anger. Unprotected in my sleep?
That’s a different story. I’m left vulnerable.
Although I was exhausted before it could get to the worst part. Regina had to pick so many more branches out of my hair. I even had mud caked so deeply under my fingernails from clawing myself up.
I still can’t get it completely out.
The right side of my body is peppered with a rainbow of blue and purple bruises, and my back feels like someone stuck a steel toe cap into it.
“The same. I think I did ten laps of the house with my gun.” She huffs a laugh.
I checked the cameras when I couldn’t get back to sleep this morning; there didn’t appear to be any cars that drove into our street the entire night.
Grabbing my laptop, I place it on the coffee table, pulling up the feeds from the cabin. But they’re offline.
“Do you think he knew someone was coming?” Regina asks, and I slap the lid down.
“Maybe. He’s been prepared for it, but it doesn’t make sense. This guy was prepared for an ambush, not his ex turning up.”
You don’t go to the lengths of kitting yourself out like the fucking army and adding floodlights into a temporary property for one woman.
“Have you contacted Victoria yet?” I ask, taking another sip of coffee.
“Was waiting for the caffeine to kick in.” She holds the cup in one hand, typing with the other on her laptop.
Her fingers rattle off the keys, and the scene from last night replays again in my head.
Being chased by the person you love? It sends a sick thrill of excitement through you, because you know they’d never intentionally harm you.
Running from a gun-wielding maniac whowantsto kill you?
Yeah, I almost pissed my pants.
Maybe eventually I’ll be able to add this experience to my character building, like I have with everything else.
“Weird,” she mumbles, and I glance over at her, her brows scrunched up.
“What did she say?” I ask, putting the coffee on the table and making my way over to her.
