It takes only a minute for my brain to catch up with my eyes, and to then tell my feet to move, as I push my way through the crowd. I need to get closer to her, to touch her, feel her warmth and hear her breath. To know that she’s actually real and alive. More than that, to know that she’s here.
I’ve never moved so fast, ducking and dodging outstretched legs and flailing limbs as I try to keep her in my sights. I’m nearly there, close enough that she should be able to hear me, see me moving among the bodies.
“Addison!” I holler, my voice coming out ragged when I’m winded by a couple of off course elbows. “Addy, is it really you?”
Rounding the last corner, all I’ve got to do is slither my way past a couple more rows of people, when the behemoths that started this thing take each other down. Both hit the ground, barrel rolling over one another and straight towards the crowd. The group shuffles back, quickly side-stepping to avoid being steam-rolled, but their motions have them pushing into me once again. Falling over my feet, I hit the sand with a soft thud, cursing as my ankle bends in a funny way but I don’t stop.
I’m on my feet again instantly, the stinging pain in my leg only a nuisance compared to what’s at stake. I can’t lose her, not again. She’s literally the air thatI breathe and the water which drowns me. The blood running through my veins and the knife that leaves me bleeding out. Addison is everything to me and I refuse to even think about losing her twice. My arms swing wildly, allowing me to push past the last few people and run to the middle—but she’s no longer there.
I spin, violently, in an attempt to see if I can locate her again. Watching for any kind of movement that could be someone walking off or leaving, but there’s nothing. No movement, no sight, no trace. My face falls and my chest tightens. Had I imagined her? Did I get hit in the head without knowing about it? I could have sworn she had been right here. Shoulders pressed against the people beside her bunching up the fabric of her hoodie. Sweat dripping down her neck, tracing a line between the curves of her breasts. My imagination can’t be that detailed… can it?
If this is all a trick of the mind, I think I’ve finally snapped, because seeing her like that… is even crueler than the nightmares.
Chapter Three
Mikayla
I woke up wanting to spend time along the beach. It isn’t the first time I’ve walked in the ocean, having made stops in places like Boston and San Francisco during my year of running. But the urge to be around the water today feels… different somehow. As if the waves will carry the lingering worries away with the tide and bring back a renewed strength.
Throwing on my converse, jean shorts, and hooded leather jacket, I lock up my room and proceed to walk. When I originally looked up this place, it drew my attention due to its proximity to a public beach and it doesn’t disappoint. It’s taken less than ten minutes to reach the area and remove my footwear.
The waves have always called to me, at least for the last twelve years. Sitting close, listening to them crash onto the sand is a sound that could soothe even themost troubled of souls. It always acts like a balm, calming the erratic rhythm of my heart when things feel out of my control.
Those first three years, stuck in the stuffy and secluded cabin, it was all I had. Listening to the sounds of the ocean as it ebbed and flowed. The tide rising and falling with the cycle of the moon. It was what I fell asleep to each night, the only calm I could cling to when Colt and his crew would come for me. A constant rhythm that provided a minuscule amount of stability.
Even now, nine years later, the waves bring me serenity and a sense that everything will be okay.
I’ve spent a few hours now walking back and forth along the shoreline, shoes in hand as the salt water rushes across my toes. The sun is high in the sky, the breeze flowing through my hair and bringing the delightful aroma of grilled meat. Which, of course, then causes my stomach to elicit an unholy sound.
“Whoops, skipped breakfast,” I mumble under my breath, before heading for a small cafe I noticed earlier.
I’ll just get something quick, and then head back to the motel. My savings is dwindling, and I need to figure out a way to earn some income. I could contact J, ask for a job, but I don’t want to be indebted to him again. He’s never called in his favor, even after all this time. It’s always by my request that I take on jobs, and that needs to stop. As I’m rounding the corner of a condo complex, the cafe just ahead, a walking wall of steroids pops up, blocking my path.
“Well, well. You sure are a fine thing to look at, now aren’t ya? How ‘bout you and I get a drink, and I can show you just how fine you are?” Steroids says with complete and utter confidence.
He’s not… that doesn’t…
“Does that line actually work on people?” My brows arch, as I try to hold in the laughter threatening to burst from my chest. When my restraint—along with his dumbfounded expression—finally snaps, the chuckle rolls out of me, sharp and unyielding.
“Good try, Buddy. I’m sure whoever you tested that on, loves you very much,” I coo, tapping his shoulder a couple of times.
Stepping around his frozen frame, I head for the cafe once again, erasing any and all thoughts about that encounter out of my head. As it turns out, much like every other pig-headed gym buff I’ve come across, Steroids here managed to find his lost balls just in the nick of time. The moment I hit the boardwalk, a hand wraps around my elbow, pulling me back to the sand and his scowling face.
“What the fuck, Bitch! You can’t just insult me and then walk away. Who do you think you are?” With a quick tug, I’m pressed against his chest, my face getting up close and personal with his nipples. My neck twists, arching uncomfortably to be able to look at him. I feel the darkness inside me rising to the surface, itching to be released as my expression contorts from amusement to irritation.
Mother fucker has no idea who he’s messing with.
My eye twitches, as I try to calm the rage boiling within. My head—whichshouldbe urging me to not kill him— is instead, running through all the ways I could incapacitate this asshole using only my pinky finger.
Still looking him dead in the eye, I’m about to put this oversized pin-head on his ass, when another male voice comes from behind me.
“Hey, guy who forgot leg day. Let the lady go,” the second man says as he takes a position at my back.
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then I’ll make you,” retorts my knight in shining… beach wear?
There’s a part of me, the part that still houses the little girl looking for love and approval. The part that’s been buried and crushed under years of torment and survival, that warms at this stranger coming to my defense. Too bad the much larger, louder, raging bitch part of me is in control. She wants to remind both of these pompous twats that she’s not a damsel in distress and doesn’t need a rescue crew.
