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I grab the cart of books that need to be shelved, frantic for anything that can get me out of this conversation and keep my mind busy. The weight of the cart should feel comforting, but today, even that felt wrong. I can hear Hudson’s footsteps, rushing behind me to keep up as I push the cart down the first aisle.

“Hudson, please go do your job,” I plead, keeping my eyes ahead. I need to be alone. I need to figure out what the hell is going on with me.

“There’s nothing to do; it’s been a slow morning. I just want to make sure you’re okay. You’ve seemed a little off for a while now, but you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I’m fine; I already told you.”

I certainly wasn’t fine, but it feels more like an affirmation that I’m trying to convince myself to believe. I turn to keep my focus on the books, running my fingers along their spines, trying to lose myself in the familiar task. I feel anger rampaging in my chest, rather than ease.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but can I say that I’m glad it’s over? We could all tell that relationship was killing you.”

I spin around, my long hair whipping into my face, anger still bubbling from deep within. The force of it shocks me; where has this feeling been hiding? This should have appeared a year ago when I really needed it.

“You want to know what’s killing me?” I snap. “This conversation. You, hovering over me, thinking I’m broken and need fixing. You’re acting like you know what’s best for me when you don’t know a damn thing about my life. You think just because you work here and we chit-chat every day about nothing, that it gives you the right to comment on my relationship? Seems to me you’ve been waiting for this moment to come.”

I pull in a deep breath, stopping my tirade when I realize everything that has spilled out of me. It feels as if that had existed just beneath the surface, looking for an excuse to be unleashed.

Hudson raises his hands in surrender; his face is unreadable, but I can see a sliver of hurt flicker in his eyes. He turns and walks away without saying anything else, his footsteps loud in the quiet library.

I stay in place, staring at his back for a moment, the stillness settling back around me. For a second, I wonder if I’d been too harsh, but a stronger, more insistent voice inside of me whispers that I haven’t been harsh enough.

It should have disturbed me, but instead, it feels like I’m putting on armor.

3

Darling

The drive home is almost from muscle memory alone; I barely remember any of it besides a single honk my way. My mind races with thoughts I can’t seem to control. It’s almost a fight to grab hold of the hurricane inside my head.

When I reach my porch, I stop dead in my tracks. Sitting in front of the welcome mat is another bouquet. This arrangement is even more elaborate than the first: dark roses, baby’s breath, and sprigs of something I don’t recognize. I stand there, staring at the display before kneeling to grab the note with trembling fingers.

My Darling,

You are worth all of this and more.

– Ghost

The same handwriting, the same thick, expensive-feeling card stock, and the same name that makes me feel sick. Alarm creeps up my spine as I shove the note into my pocket with the other one, not bothering to look at the flowers anymore. I shove them to the side with my foot, and they tip over, spilling and cracking the glass.

I’m not ready to deal with this. I don’t understand what all of this means.

I practically slam the door behind me, locking it, then checking it again to make sure it’s secure. The deadbolt, the chain, the knob—everything has to be locked. I rush into the kitchen, grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, and pour the majority of the bottle into my 40-ounce tumbler. I need this; the noise in my head needs to be quieted.

I shuffle over to the couch, making myself comfortable in the corner as I try not to wince at the tart wine going down my throat. The alcohol hits my empty stomach with a warm wave, and for the first time all day, some of the tension in my body begins to relieve itself. I grab my phone from my pocket and scroll until I find Blaire’s name.

I need to talk to her. She has the magical ability to make things make sense; she’s the only one who will be able to tell me whether or not I’m losing my damn mind.

It rings only once before her bright, beautiful face appears on my screen. Her smile is wide and easy, finally a glimpse of something familiar and warm in my cracking world.

“Hey girlie, what’s up?” Blaire’s voice is full of energy in the way you can tell she used to be a cheerleader. I wish I could muster up even a fraction of that peppy energy.

“Getting fucked up,” I chuckle, though it sounds more hopeless than amused. I hold up the tumbler for her to see, sloshing the wine slightly. “I’ve had the worst day of my life.”

Blaire’s smile instantly fades, and her expression shifts to one of concern. She is the only one who knows how bad things got with Caleb. I trust her not to judge the bruises I hide with makeup.

“What happened?” Even her tone has lost that cheerful vibe she had just seconds ago.

“If I’m being totally honest with you, I don’t know.” I fight back the tears that threaten to fall. My voice is tight with the effects of tipsiness and exhaustion. “I’m so confused, and I-I think I’m going crazy.”