Page 21 of His To Erase
Ani
After last night’s shift, my body aches in that used up, still vibrating from noise and people kind of way. My brain floats somewhere between consciousness and denial—half-asleep, and half-reluctant to wake up at all.
Today is mine.
No bar. No library. No drunk flirtations. No fake smiles. No smug, cocky men walking in like they own the air.
Just me. My bed. And no plans.
The first real full day off I’ve had in—I don’t even know how long.
I stretch slowly, blinking at the ceiling, letting the weight of silence press into me. It’s almost nice enough to pretend things are normal.
Today I’m supposed to start looking at buildings.
The thought should make me feel excited and hopeful, like I’m finally moving toward the thing I swore I wanted.
But instead, it knots in my chest—tight and sharp and way too familiar. This was always the dream, wasn’t it?
A little bookshop. Nothing flashy. Just… safe. And mine.
Somewhere quiet, somewhere new. Somewhere that smells like pages and paper instead of spilled beer and cigarette breath. Somewhere I could breathe, and start over. And now that it’s actually here—on the edge of becoming real—I don’t know what to do with it.
It’s hard to chase a dream when you’re still trying to convince yourself you deserve one.
It’s also hard to have your dream life when you’re still looking over your shoulder.
It’s been over six months. Surely, no one’s after me anymore. Surely, I’m safe to actually start living again.
Right?
I exhale, rolling onto my side and reaching blindly for my phone on the nightstand. Maybe I’ll check some new listings. See what’s out there. See if this dream still fits or if I’ve outgrown it without realizing.
Maybe I’ll even text Sarah—see if she wants to come with. I didn’t get to see her at the bar last night, and she’s not on the schedule tonight either.
I tap the screen, and I have one new message.
Sarah: Babe. I wanted to hang today, I swear. But I’ve been puking my guts out for like three hours straight. Pretty sure my insides are staging a coup, so I don’t get laid.
I stare at her message, thumb hovering over the screen. But then my phone buzzes again.
Sarah: Also I think I’m dying.
If I don’t make it, you can have my vibrator and my collection of emotionally unavailable fictional men.
I snort.
Me: Wow. A whole legacy. Should I give your eulogy or just read your search history out loud?
Sarah: Just scatter my ashes in the bar bathroom where I peaked socially. Tell the cute guy from Tuesday I loved him.
Me: He asked if ranch comes on the side, Sarah. You’re better than that.
Sarah: Am I though?
Before I can fire back, another message pops up—and this one wipes the grin right off my face.
Boss: Need you tonight. Taylor already told me you’d cover. Thanks.
