Page 3 of A Little More Hope

Theoretically, I understood their reasoning, but frustration and anger continually plagued my mind, knowing there’d never be an answer. The shout hadn’t been in my imagination but had come from a cop in a passing patrol car who’d stopped to investigate when they caught movement in the alley. My assailants had fired three shots—one at me, and two at the cops, who’d instantly retaliated, ending with my attackers being shot and killed. So, according to the police, I’m safe apparently.

Safe.

A single word encompassing a whole world of images and feelings.

Cozy nights in front of the TV.

Being held in the arms of a loved one.

Safe. Something I recognized with bone-deep certainty I’d never feel ever again.

Rinsing the suds from my body along with my dark thoughts, I shut off the water and opened the shower door, cooler air filling the stall, setting off goose bumps along my skin. Grabbing the nearest towel and carefully drying myself off, I hissed at the tenderness in my muscles as I bent to rub my legs, the pain from my damaged ribs a constant ache in my side.

Shit, I was a mess.

After padding into the bedroom, I dressed carefully in clean sweatpants and a T-shirt, mindful of my injuries. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, least of all Gabe, who’d already seen me at my worst. I wasn’t going out and hadn’t since the first day I’d gotten out of the hospital, so who cared what I wore?

Running my fingers through my damp hair to settle the too long strands in place, I emerged from the bedroom to see Gabe in the kitchen, his jacket now hanging on the bar chair. He’d pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard and set them out on the countertop, ready for the food.

When I reentered the living area, Gabe pressed a couple of buttons on the microwave. “You were in there awhile, so I decided to give them a reheat,” he said by way of explanation. When the bell pinged, he retrieved the two sandwiches, and unwrapping them from their paper packaging, placed them on the plates.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “I didn’t realize I’d taken so long.”

He shrugged. “No problem,” and he gestured with his head as he picked up the plates. “Go sit.”

I carefully sat down in my favorite black leather armchair as he handed me my sandwich before he settled on the sofa to my right.

We sat together in silence. He was waiting for me to speak, but I didn’t have much to say. To give myself thinking time, I picked up my food and took a large bite of my sandwich. The sweetness of the salt beef slid over my tastebuds before the bitter sauerkraut followed. After days of nothing, the simple meal tasted delicious.

“So?” Gabe’s tone made me inwardly groan.

Putting down my sandwich I gave him a direct look. “I’m fine. Okay?”

He scoffed. “So fine you’ve not left your apartment in over a week?”

I sighed. I’d been doing a lot of that lately.

“Look, Gabe.” I stopped talking, as whatever I said next would be a lie. I wasn’t fine, but I wasn’t sure how to go about fixing my mess, or how to express my thoughts clearly enough to tell him so.

I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

Sitting forward on the edge of the sofa, Gabe gave me a sympathetic smile. I fucking hated it. “Look, I know it’s a struggle, and I get it.” He held up his hands. “And I’m not trying to patronize you.”

I gave a slight head tilt, in appreciation of him saying so.

“But you can’t continue on this way. You do know that, right?”

Deep down, I did, but any decisions about how to move forward with my life were all so muddled in my mind that I struggled to find a way out.

“I do,” I replied. “But it’s hard. There’s so much noise in my head, but I can’t work out how to make it stop.”

“Maybe you should take a break for a while, get a change of scenery.”

I frowned. “Change of scenery?”

“Yeah, get out of the city for a bit. Relax.”

“Relax?” I kept repeating him, but for some reason, his words weren’t registering.

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