All thoughts of photos and evidence fly out the window.
Instinct tells me to run.
So I do.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I race down the hallway, Ken’s heavy footsteps right behind me. “Noelle,” he calls, “stop this. You’re acting like a child. Don’t do something you’re going to regret.”
I don’t answer him. It’s all I can do not to burst into hysterical sobs.
Just before I reach the front exit, he makes a final try for me, his hand glancing off my shoulder as I shove the door open. Then I leap off the top step, skipping the two beneath it, landing with a hard thud that almost knocks me to my knees.
From there, I sprint down the sidewalk, my bag bouncing against my side. Each breath is a painful stab to my chest. My heartbeat thunders in my head.
The race to my car feels like it takes hours, though it can’t be more than a minute. With every step, I’m convinced I’m about to be grabbed. Maybe hurt. Violated. Even killed.
I never would have thought it before—my boss going as far as to actually hurt me. But now… I’m not sure.
By the time I reach my car and fling myself inside it, I’m a complete wreck. It takes me three tries to get the car started, and once I do, I’m crying too hard to see the road. My shaking hands can’t seem to get the seatbelt to work. When I reach for my phone, it slips from my sweat-slicked fingers and slides under my seat.
Just get home,I tell myself.Get home, lock all the doors, and call the police.
What if he hides all the cameras,that annoying voice of logic asks.How can you prove what he did?
I don’t know,I reply silently,but I had to get out of there.
After taking several shuddering breaths, I finally trust myself enough to drive without killing someone. So I put the car in gear and pull onto the road, checking my rear and side view mirrors frantically just in case Ken comes out of nowhere.
But he doesn’t.
Thank God.
For a second there, back in the theater, I wasn’t sure if he’d?—
My phone chimes from beneath my seat.
Then again.
And again.
By the time I reach a red light, I’ve received at least ten texts.
While I’m waiting for the light to change, I put the car in park so I can search for my phone. Once I retrieve it, I quickly glance at the messages.
They’re all from Ken.
Noelle, come back. Let’s talk about this.
You’re overreacting. This isn’t a big deal. Come back.
I’m sorry if you took things the wrong way. Come back so we can fix this.
By the seventh message, the tone of them changes.
You’re making a huge mistake. It’s not too late to change your mind.
This is your last chance. Come back before you ruin your career.
And then, finally, the most terrifying of all.
