Charles got creative and sent me an email instead. Danny never said anything about checking my emails, so I assumed it was safe. Now I was afraid to pick up the phone at all. The second article he sent was still on my mind. He was in Virginia or had been at least, and he was hurting people—because of me.
The revelation that Charles didn’t just kill Celeste, that he had murdered other people, was sickening. Parker was right, I couldn’t just leave. My body was in fight-or-flight, and I was leaning more toward flight.
Rico. Celeste. That poor woman.
I plopped back onto the bed, my head landing on the pillow, sending my curls into more disarray. It was time to face the truth. I couldn’t keep on the way that I’ve been.
I can’t do this alone.
Even though I knew that was true, doubt still crept in and threatened to change my mind. The last few years seemed like one whole series of bad choices—mostly staying when I should have left and trusting too easily. I stayed with my ex for much longer than I should have, even though the relationship was rotten and my smiles became fake. He made me feel seen, and then he changed his mind. He wanted me in the shadows—hisspecifically. My pressed hair drew too much attention, or the skirt I wore was too short. He said he was just ‘looking out forme’ because he loved me. By the time we broke up, I didn’t know what protection looked like. My ex had warped the definition of the word.
Protection looked a lot like control to me.
I didn’t mean to snap at Parker last night, but he triggered something in me. For a moment, I wasn’t standing in front of Parker, and it was my ex telling me I couldn’t go out because he had to work.
“You’re in a relationship, you don’t need to be out drinking late at night, E.”
“Babe, I’m just catching up with a few girlfriends and coming home. I’m not going to a party. You’d be the only man there.”
“Aight, E. Since you’re doing you, I’ll do me. I gotta go to work. We’ll talk when we talk.”
He hung up on me and dodged all my calls for the weekend. I didn’t end up going out that night. He would’ve known that if he hadn’t blocked me. No matter what, I always bent to his will. My ex wielded my trust and love like a weapon. After him, I struggled to let anyone get close to me. Then Charles had to go and obliterate all sense of trust.
Parker isn’t trying to control you.
Huffing out an exhale, I rose from the bed and padded through to the bathroom to get ready for the day. I took my time in the bathroom getting ready. I put a little extra effort into styling my auburn curls, even adding a little highlighter to my face and mascara to my eyes to give myself a natural glow. While I combed through my hair with an undoubtedly expensive conditioner in the shower, I thought more about Parker’s suggestion. Even if I didn’t accomplish anything on my list, it would be good to think about things I wanted to do. Giving myself a once-over, I help myself to the clothes in the closet,selecting a blue-and-white maxi dress with a Greek key pattern, paired with white braided sandals.
Once I was dressed and my hair was moussed to almost perfection, I reached for the small notepad in the bedside table drawer.
If I made it through this, I wanted to try being me again, or at least whatever version of me exists now.
One thing for sure, I knew it was time for me to quit my job. I didn’t know how long I’d be here, and frankly, I didn’t really want to go back. I have been working at Mosaic Inc for the past two years as a Marketing Designer on a small team creating advertisements for various companies. It was during my last year of college when Celeste was murdered. At first, when I was offered a position at Mosaic, I was flattered because it was everything I could’ve asked for in a job. I admired the work they did, and many of their campaigns had inspired my own work. I had tossed the idea back and forth about whether I wanted to work for myself or sell my soul to corporate.
The plan was always to start my own company, but after I lost Celeste, I needed something more secure to cover the expenses we had shared. Iris needed help paying for her funeral, and I had hospital bills piling up. I took the first job I was offered and shifted gears.
My boss, Marcie, was kind and was a great mentor. She helped me learn the ropes and adjust to the corporate world quickly, as we were the only two women on our floor. I felt a pit in my stomach at the thought of disappointing her. The truth was, I didn’t love my job or the work that I was doing anymore. It was a means to an end. But, for Marcie, it was more. She had invested a lot of time in me, and I knew that when she got the promotion she was vying for, she would lend a hand and take me up with her.
When both the people I loved most in the world were taken from me too soon, I stopped living altogether. My therapist constantly told me to live my life for me, not for anyone else. It all started with my decision to stay in New York. Every choice, every yes to someone else started feeling like a betrayal to me. I didn’t take this job because I wanted to. I did it because I had to. If I left our home behind, that meant I couldn’t be there for Iris. Even when she cursed my name and blamed me for her loss, I stayed, and I sent money to her every month until she passed away, too.
I stopped going to therapy because I couldn’t lie to Dr. Beck and tell him that I was doing “the work.” I went to work at a job I didn’t love because I needed to keep the house that held the memories. I worked long hours to avoid being in that same house with those same memories. I’m sure he would’ve understood that I wasn’t ready to let go of it all—let go of her— but admitting that felt like too much. So I avoided the calls from the office to reschedule my appointments, and I told myself that I didn’t need therapy anymore. The panic attacks had been few and far between. I could handle the nightly nightmares. I deserved to have the memory replay in my head.
Shaking my head to dispel the negative thoughts, I tried to find the silver lining. I was in a new place, and although danger was nipping at my heels, I felt like maybe this list could help me get back to being myself. I would never be the Evelyn Howard I was before everything happened. I wasn’t naive to think so. But maybe being here could set me on my way to being whole. That started with leaving Mosaic. It was time to stop hiding behind work and actually make an effort at healing.
I was still here, and I needed to remember that.
Setting the pad and paper down, feeling satisfied with the list, I took a deep breath and reached for my phone in the drawer. The only message I received was from Parker, warningme that his sisters would be helping me find a dress for the gala and to let him know if I needed saving.
A small smile spread across my face.
The twins were a funny pair. They had given me a full tour of the house while talking a mile a minute about any and everything. I didn’t have a chance to feel uncomfortable around them because, honestly, they didn’t let me get a word in edgewise. I felt a strange sense of comfort listening to their chatter and the way they oddly finished each other's sentences or knew what the other was about to say before it was said. Being around the twins gave me a brief distraction from the constant sadness that has plagued me since I lost my sister. Instead, happier memories came to mind, and I could feel the bits of joy I used to when I thought of her.
I laughed to myself at the memory of Celeste trying to replicate my mother’s stew chicken recipe. Celeste knew I would be missing my mother even more that day and tried to do something sweet for me. She hadn’t burned the rice, but she did fry the plantains to a charred crisp that day, which led to me teasing her about her infamous cooking skills for the rest of the night.
The laughter had taken away some of the sadness that I felt that day. She always knew how to make me laugh when I was feeling out of sorts. She was sweet in that way, always thinking about how to make people laugh or smile. Celeste knew that I would never quite be able to close the wound that losing my mother left me, and she didn’t try to force me to move on from my grief. Instead, she talked to me about her, and reminded me of the funny memories or little sayings my mother had. She cooked her food, or at least she tried, and played songs that reminded us of our childhood. Celeste never let me wallow too long in my sadness.
There was no one here to pull me out of my grief, to stop me from turning into the sad shell of a person I was now. This isn’t what she would have wanted for me.
As I sprayed one of the coconut-scented fragrances I found in the bathroom on my body, I heard a knock on the door.
