Page 21 of Hiding for the Holidays
I scan the empty yard as I make my way to the street. I’m not sure what the time is, but it’s probably after six based on the sun. I doubt I’ll be able to get any sleep before I go to my other job. The walk alone was forty minutes from my room to Iron Oaks.
I pull my hood up and close my jacket tightly around me. It feels like every day is colder than the last. With today’s pay, I should really invest in some gloves. But when I think about my terrible bedding, I debate replacing that instead. There are somany things I want, I could easily spend my entire day's wages in the blink of an eye.
At least I had an extra fifty dollars in my pocket from cleaning last night. And I was starving. Deciding to make a stop at the supermarket, I turn right down the next street as the town slowly wakes up.
A chill goes down my spine, and I turn around, my eyes searching for any sign of threat, but I don’t see anyone. I keep getting that feeling, and I think it’s just nerves. If Scott were here, he would have already taken me or hurt me. He wouldn’t be hiding in the shadows, at least not for this long.
I hate how much my life has become about him, about my fear of him. It wasn’t always like this. He used to be kind and sweet. Unlike all my college boyfriends, Scott constantly surprised me with flowers and gifts and words of love and affection.
Later I learned there’s a term for what he did; it’s called love bombing. At first, it felt incredibly romantic, midnight texts telling me he’s thinking of me, surprise roses, weekend getaways. He constantly told me how attractive he found me and how much he cared about me.
But all that sparkle was just bait. By the time the insults started, the isolation, the anger… I was already tangled in the trap, too in love with the fantasy to see the danger underneath. By the time I realized who he really was, my only choice was the run.
Now, one might wonder why I didn’t just go to the police and have him arrested. Well, I tried. The first time he hit me, he left a nasty bruise on my ribs. I went to the police and filed a report. They brought him in for questioning and in the end; they told me he showed them a bruise of his own and said that I attacked him first, that I got bruisedwhen he tried to defend himself. They said it was his word against mine and they had no actual evidence and couldn’t file a charge against him.
When we got home, he swore he didn’t mean to hurt me, that it was an accident, that he’d change, and I stupidly convinced myself to believe him. Because most of the time he was kind and considerate.
But it was all a lie, and the sweet version of him showed less and less, and when he crossed that line again, punching me across my face, I knew I had to end things with him.
He informed me he had friends on the police force and he would tell them I was unstable, that I needed to be institutionalized.
He knew my brief history of mental instability. Losing my dad to a sudden aneurysm, and then losing my mom to cancer barely a year later, left me depressed and anxious. I sought help and even spent a week in a mental health facility. It helped me to get my emotions under control, but mostly the facility had terrified me, and I didn’t want to end up back there again.
So when Scott threatened to send me there, I told him I forgave him, that I understood, and when he fell asleep, I ran.
Stepping into Iron Oaks, I muffle my yawn. I’m utterly exhausted from working all night and the equipment moving we did yesterday, plus not even having time to lay down for a minute last night.
Today was going to be a long day. There was still more equipment to move, and I wanted to start painting the walls.
“Good morning, Clara,” Grant calls from where he’s moving some weights around.
I move over to see what he’s doing. “Good morning, Grant.Hey—you finished moving all the squat racks. When did you do that?”
“I open the gym at six, so I figured I’d get started on that.” Wow, I didn't really expect them to do much without me here to manage them. I’m pleased to know they are taking my suggestions seriously and actually want to improve their gym. Some business owners want to make more money but don’t want to actually change anything.
“Leo is going to pick up the paint you requested on his way in, too.”
“Wow, that’s great.”
“We’ll have this place looking new in no time,” he says with a grin. I nod in agreement as I scan to see what else we need to do. “Hey, Clara?”
“Hmm?” I turn back to him in question.
“Where are you from?” His question freezes me on the spot. Why is he suddenly asking that? And how do I answer?
“Ahh, here and there.”
“Where did you grow up?” I press my lips together, not wanting to lie as he grabs another weight and puts it on the rack. When I don’t answer he continues, “I grew up in Mount Pleasant. You heard of it? It’s in Oregon.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“It was nice. Small, like Silent Pines.”
“Why did you decide to move to Montana, instead?” I ask in curiosity.
He grabs another weight and glances over at me. “Sometimes you just need a fresh start.”
I swallow nervously. Is he talking about himself or me?
