—D
The phone slips from my fingers, clattering onto the hardwood.
My whole body goes cold. Then hot. Then cold again.
Stupid. I'm so fucking stupid. I've antagonized him further. I've poked the bear. Hard.
I didn't calm him down—I only made it worse.
The restraining order feels useless against whatever he's planning.
I should bring this to the police. Show them the threat.
But what good would it do? They couldn't arrest him for vandalizing the pool hall. What makes me think they'll take this seriously? What else can they do?
I wrap my arms around my knees, rocking slightly.
Julian. He threatened Julian.
A sob catches in my throat.
I pace the living room, bare feet slapping against Julian's hardwood. My chest feels tight, like someone's wrapped it in plastic wrap, squeezing tighter with every breath.
I can't eat. Haven't touched the leftovers Julian left in the fridge before heading to a gig. The thought of food makes my stomach clench.
Sleep? Forget it. I tried last night. I lie there staring at the ceiling for three hours before giving up and doomscrolling until dawn.
My laptop sits on the coffee table. I drop onto the couch, flip it open.
Gun ownership requirements in Maine
The search results begin to populate across my screen, one link after another appearing in rapid succession. Background checks—federal and state-level, apparently. Safety courses with locations and schedules, some in Portland. Waiting periods that seem to stretch on forever, days and days of bureaucratic red tape before you can even hold the damn thing.
I picture myself holding a gun in my trembling hands, the cold metal heavy and foreign against my palms. My hands would shake—they always shake when I'm scared, when my heart races like this, when adrenaline floods my system.
I can see it so clearly: Daniel lunging forward, his fingers wrapping around my wrist with that iron grip he's so good at, the one that leaves bruises shaped like fingerprints. The struggle. The gun twisting between us, the barrel spinning wildly in the chaos, pointing everywhere and nowhere.
And then, God, then it would be aimed at Julian—beautiful, kind Julian who's only trying to help me, who doesn't deserve any of this nightmare I've dragged into his life.
"No." I slam the laptop shut. "Absolutely not."
I already have mace—used it on Daniel in the parking lot. And the personal alarm Jenna bought me, the one that screams like a banshee when you pull the cord.
Guns aren't for me. With my luck, I'd be the one bleeding out on the floor.
My phone sits on the cushion next to me. I grab it, scroll through my contacts, hit Raine's name.
He picks up on the fourth ring. "Yo."
"Hey. Just checking in about the phone. Any progress?"
Silence stretches for three seconds too long. "Uh, yeah, about that—"
My jaw tightens.
"Been crazy busy. My other aunt, the one in Vermont? She's been having some health issues, and I had to drive up there over the weekend, help her move some furniture—"
"Right…”
