Page 106 of Protected from Malice
But do Iwantto go out on my own? Not really. Not yet. Not when the memories are still so fresh.
As I push open the door leading to the lounge, I recall what my counselor said at our last appointment. “Baby steps, Eden.You’ve been through a lot in a short time. It’s normal to have some anxiety. Don’t think of asking for help as a weakness. It’s a strength. And the people who care about you; theywantto help.”
It’s an attitude shift, for sure—going from hiding my struggles to openly admitting them. But she’s right. I didn’t ask for help before, and it just made things worse. So this time, I tell Rafe when I have a nightmare. I talk to Indy about things I used to worry might upset him. And I might—might—even tell my mom about everything. Eventually.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice the man standing by the vending machine right away. Which,great job. I only just escaped two kidnapping attempts and an attempted murder. Maybe I should be a little more observant?
To be fair, the building is very secure. It’s not like random people can just waltz in off the street. You either have to be an employee or be approved through HR to visit. But really, I should try to be more aware of my surroundings, even here. Rafe would. So would Indy. Which means I should, too.
My hand is still on the door when the man turns around to look at me. He’s wearing a suit, which is unusual for this part of the building, and at first glance, he looks to be somewhere in his late twenties. Kind of conventionally attractive, with that floppy hair some of the guys like, and a tan that looks too dark for the early spring Portland weather.
I can’t help the initial rush of anxiety that comes with being alone in a room with a strange man. But I try to push past it, forcing a reluctant smile as I meet his gaze.
“Hey,” he starts, shooting me a quick smile in return, “do you know how this machine works?”
The instant I hear his voice, my heart stops.
“I’m here visiting my college buddy,” he continues, “but he’s meeting with his dad right now, so he sent me here to grab some coffee. Matt Langworthy. You know his dad, I’m sure. He’s…”
He trails off as recognition washes across his face.
A beat later, he tries to mask it.
This stranger—the origin of my nightmares—rakes his hand through his hair. A large, gold ring glints beneath the fluorescent lights.
A ring that looks an awful lot like a fraternity ring.
A fraternity ring I tried to describe to the police, but I couldn’t remember enough about it to be useful. Not in my terror. Not when my vision was blurred with tears.
“Well,” he says as he takes a step towards me. “I think I’ll just go to the coffee shop instead.”
Instinct screams at me to run.
But my body is frozen.
I can’t speak. Can’t move.
My brain is stuck on a loop; hearing his voice over and over.
Hearing that distinctive, hoarse, southern twang, not talking about coffee, but threatening me. Warning me to be quiet. Telling me I’d hurt so much worse if I tried to fight back.
It’s him.
It’shim.
I never saw his face, but I know it’s him.
His voice. His ring.
I know it.
A low, keening sound works its way up my throat.
Tremors ripple though my body.
It’s him.
How can this be?
