Page 200 of Callan

This can’t be about me?

Is it about him?

Is his leaving early connected to this?

What about having sex with me before he left? Did that have a special meaning? I so hope not.

The more I think about it, the stranger my thoughts become and the more sickening the sensation in my body.

The increasingly loud noise inches closer, and I feel ill.

With nowhere to go, I'm getting used to the idea that this might be the twist in our story I didn’t see coming.

I put so much trust in him, but do I really know him?

He’s told me bits and pieces about himself, enough to tether me to him, but who is he in reality?

We all have a dark side we don’t want to reveal out of fear that no one would like us if they knew the truth.

Secrets that can never see the light of day, or they’ll ruin everything.

What was I to him?

Was it only about having fun?

Why not?

People have fun in the most awkward situations, and they often bend reality to make it happen.

What if we are those people?

Breathless, I sag in my chair and wrap my fingers around my still warm coffee, waiting for life to deliver one of the most painful blows. A harsh lesson.

Betrayal by the man I trust.

What if I trusted the wrong man?

Three cars pull up in front of our building. One is unmarked.

The fourth one joins them soon after, and armed men flood the street.

All that for me?

Shouldn’t it be an investigation first? And wasn’t I the victim yesterday afternoon? What about my rights?

I wish I could call someone.

Kayla? Or her parents, perhaps?

Although, frankly, I might need a lawyer.

When I was little, if anything dangerous came my way, I’d shrug my shoulders and close my eyes as if that magically protected me.

I’m tempted to do that now, although I can’t close my eyes or cover my ears as heavy footsteps stomp up the stairs.

I’m fucked.

Goodbye, humble, sweet life.

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