She furrows her brow, looking genuinely confused. “You covered the cab that got me home, let alone everything you did to get me into that car in the first place. Plus the clothes.”
Waiting until she meets my eyes so that I can ensure the point hits home, I try to restrain the venom that threatens to creep into my voice since it’s not directed at her in the slightest. “You don’t owe me shit, Emmeline. Not for the cab, not for the clothes, and not for the basic human decency. If you’re here because you actually want a friend, I gladly accept. I lost my faith in humanity a long time ago, after seeing how far people will actually go out of their way to keep pretending that everything’s fine. You coming here gave me a little bit of hope that I’d finally found someone that would prove me wrong, so if you’re going to ruin that by only showing up because you feel like you owe me something, or are inviting me to dinner out of obligation to ease your conscience, I’d rather you leave.”
Releasing a long breath, I rein in my temper, dialing my vehemence back a notch. “I’m not some saint simply because I didn’t walk away; that’s supposed to be the damn bare minimum. You’re the one that went through hell, not me. If anyone deserves some extra kindness, it’s you. I don’t deserve praise or presents, nor do I want them. You want to thank me, thensee me,like I saw you. That’s all I want.”
Both Emmy and Boden are looking at me intently now, but I refuse to break the stare down first. I don’t want a pity thanks because they feel obligated. I want a friend, and Emmy is the first person I’ve met since moving to Shadow Ridge that acknowledges I exist as more than a reason to take up space.
“I look forward to Friday,” Boden slowly declares, catching me off guard. “Seven o'clock.”
“Seven o’ clock,” I repeat automatically, and he tips his head in agreement.
With one more hug and a whispered ‘thank you’, Emmy departs, Boden following behind her. Only after I hear the building door slam shut three floors below do I walk inside my apartment, taking my cold coffee straight to the microwave. Stripping out of my dress and changing into pajama shorts and a tank top, I take my reheated coffee to the couch, flipping on the TV to fill the silence.
It wasn’t until I met Emmeline, her presence bright enough to fill up a room, that I was forced to realize how quiet and dim mine actually is.
Chapter 3
Sabrina
––––––––
“That sneaky jerk.”
Shaking my head at the fifty dollar bill slipped beneath my front door with a note that says,Not a reward, just cab money in case Bo doesn’t show:),I pick it up with a laugh. Tucking it inside of the front cover of a book on my shelf in the living room, I slip on my shoes and prepare for another day of mind-numbing repetition.
An obscene amount of stairs with my crossbody purse bouncing against my hip, the same old faces and lewd obscenities hurled my way, and a lobby full of people that would never notice my absence if I was abducted and murdered right under their noses. I go through the motions, each hour chipping away a little more at my soul, until it’s finally time to head home, my weekdays a monotonous repeat that makes me want to bang my head against the wall at least twice a day.
Taking the steps two at a time, I head into my apartment, tossing some leftovers into the microwave for dinner and slipping into my pajamas. Grabbing the lukewarm bowl, I sink onto my couch, watching the next episode of my nightly show and trying to convince myself that I’m not looking forward to Friday nearly as much as I actually am.
How pathetic; jumping at the first bit of attention someone pays you.
I shove my mother’s words from my head, humming to myself as I finish the dishes, looking around my apartment as a nervous tension builds. A chill crawls down my spine and I dry my hands, double checking the door to ensure it’s locked. Appeased, I take a few steps away, but that nagging sensation refuses to be ignored, so even though it’s ridiculous overkill, I slide the couch in front of the door, feeling on edge. There’s not a single reason to be, but ever since stumbling across Emmy in that alley, everything’s seemed less secure than before. Doors, windows; what good are they really to keep someone out if they’re determined to get in?
Safety is an illusion, and mine’s been shattered. I can barely sleep these last several days, looking at every shadow as if it means to rise up like a whip and drag me down into its depths. I’m torn; despising the silence, yet too uneasy to fill it with white noise which would leave me vulnerable if something were to happen. Ultimately, I settle for crawling into bed and turning the TV on with a sleep timer. Five years of being perfectly fine in this city, and now I’m jumping at shadows.
Because you witnessed what’s lurking in them.
