@wren-the-farmer: Corey? Hi. My name is Wren and I think we have a shared acquaintance...
My stomach leaps into my throat, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut tight for a second to control the burgeoning hope in my chest. With shaking hands, I start to type out a reply.
@core-bear: Oh, really? I only have one person I’m hoping to hear from…could it be him? He’s a private dancer…
The reference to our silly little in-joke is the only thing I can think of to make it clear to Rain, if this is indeed somehow connected to him, that I want to speak to him and know he’s OK.
@wren-the-farmer: Does he dance for money?
@core-bear: Fuck...Rain? Is that you?
@wren-the-farmer: Yes babe. It’s me. Are youOK?
The relief filling me is palpable, tears stinging my eyes. He’s OK. I mean, I knew he was alive, at least, since I saw the photo. But honestly? Knowing he’s on the other end of this message thread has a lump forming in my throat and a sudden desperation to escape this shitty life and go be with him.
I may have made good friends here in Emma and John, but I need to do something to get myself out of that damn tent. It’s no way to live long term, and quite aside from anything else, I want to finally make my gran proud. She was so supportive of me when she took me in and helped me through uni. And I feel like I squandered her support and wasted the degree I worked so bloody hard for. I need to take a step to get myself one bit closer to the life both she and I wanted for myself. And more than anything, I want to see for myself that Rain is really alright.
@core-bear: I’m fine. Worried sick about you! I thought he’d fucking killed you! Where are you?
@wren-the-farmer: I’m sorry I disappeared but...I’ll tell you all about it soon. Are you OK?
He’s avoiding answering my questionabout where he is, and it rankles. Does he not trust me? Does he think I’m going to tell Dan where he is? The thought hurts more than it should, but he clearly thinks I’m still there with them. He has no way of knowing I’ve been gone almost as long as he has.
@core-bear: Not going to tell me where you are?
@wren-the-farmer: Not on here babe...just in case. Are. You. OK???
I understand where he’s coming from. Truly, I do. He finally managed to get away from Dan the psycho and wants to protect himself. I know he doesn’t mean to imply I’d tell anyone where he is; he just wants to be safe. The fact he’s repeatedly asking if I’m OK tells me he knows how toxic my situation with Dominic was, and is worried something happened to me, maybe even as a result of him leaving. Is he feeling guilty? I don’t want that. If Dan did something bad enough for him to run away and want to keep his new location this secret, then I don’t want him to lug around any guilt about me. I can’t say I’m not doing the same.
But how do I tell him I’m really not OK? Maybe I just need to be honest. Maybe he can help me figure out how to get out of this very tenuous situation I’m living in. Decidinghonesty is the best policy, I start typing.
@core-bear: No. I’m so far from OK. I need help. I’m kind of stuck. When I thought he’d killed you, I ran. I was so fucking scared. I didn’t have anywhere to go so I jumped on about 4 trains all over the fucking place to make sure they couldn’t follow me. Paranoid, I know.
@wren-the-farmer: There’s no such thing as paranoid when it comes to those two. Corey...where are you? Where are you staying?
@core-bear: I’ve been sleeping rough but then when it got really cold, I went to a shelter. I get in there most nights. It’s in Coventry. I literally sent myself to Coventry. Who the fuck do I think I am...Lady Godiva?
Three dots bounce on the screen. It takes a while, and before his reply appears, John emerges from his office, rubbing his eyes. He must be doing training plans on the computer. I’ve tried to explain that if he got a newer computer, it would be a lot easier and faster, but he says he’s not getting rid of it as long as it works. I think his definition of ‘works’ and mine might be quite different.
John leans against the reception desk, stretching his back side to side. He looks atthe phone in my hand, and I immediately feel guilty. Is he going to think I’m sitting here skiving from work and doomscrolling?
“Sorry, John. I-I had a message from, er, my brother. I’ve not heard from him in a while, so I was just replying,” I lie terribly. I always have done, and I’m sure John sees straight through me. I hate that my first thought is I’ve disappointed him. I’m fully aware he’s doing me a huge favour, employing me cash-in-hand and off the books. But, after a few years in a relationship with someone who saw me as an asset to be sold to the highest bidder, my self-confidence is basically in the gutter, and my natural urge to seek approval is crawling under my skin.
I swallow thickly, making a conscious effort to stem the spiral of intrusive thoughts threatening my mind. I’m not totally successful. What if he’s going to sack you? Refuse to pay you because you’ve not worked your hours? Get angry and shout, or lash out?
John’s heavy hand on my shoulder shakes me out of my own head, and he tilts his with a look of concern on his face.
“OK?” he asks, and I nod with a small smile.
“I’m sorry for being on my phone. I’ll staya bit later to make up for it.”
“Don’t be daft, it’s quiet. You’re fine.” He squeezes my shoulder reassuringly before making his way into the kitchen. A few seconds later, I hear the hum of the microwave as he heats up some leftovers for his lunch.
“Corey,” he calls from the kitchen doorway. I look up at him and lift my chin in question.
“Yeah?”
“There’s some leftover stew and dumplings in the fridge for you.” My lips curve in a smile at him, but he’s already gone.
