Page 24 of Chasing Wildflowers
He pushes me against the door with his body. “You will never escape me, Ceciley,” he whispers against my ear, his hot breath on my cheek. The deadbolt echos, sliding into place—sealing my fate.
My phone jars me awake, my heart hammering in my chest.
I sit up slowly, blanket falling to my lap, and place a hand to my chest as if it will slow the rhythm. My eyes scan the room, the familiar space grounding me and bringing me back to reality.
Soft morning light spills through the window through sheer white curtains, highlighting the lush plants I love so much. My eyes land on the beautiful antique vanity I found at an estate sale Kam and I attended a few years ago. Things I love. Things that are part of my new life.
I inhale deeply. Once. Twice.
Breathing through the panic. It’s always the same, Byron catches me before I get out the door. It’s taken me years but I've learned to deal with them, or at least live with them.
They used to follow me for days, causing me to jump at every noise. Afraid he was around every corner, just waiting to jump out at me like some boogeyman.
Hewasmy boogeyman, but he’s dead now.
I gently remind myself that I am safe. It was just a nightmare. Echoes of the past. It’s okay to still be jumpy, even now. It doesn’t make me weak. There is no timeline to healing.
Going to a traditional therapist was out of the question. Not with a fake name and a past I’m hiding from. So I studied PTSD and domestic abuse on my own, learning ways to quiet the nightmare and heal after the trauma I lived through.
The first few years were the worst. The nightmare plagued me almost nightly. Leaving me raw and on edge. Now, there are often months between.
My encounter with Luke must have triggered it.
Just another reason to be glad I ended things when I did.
I rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes and climb out of bed, grabbing my phone off the nightstand. I hit play on the voicemail, putting it on speaker as I move through the house on autopilot, checking locks. An old habit I don’t bother changing.
The voice on the other end is cheery, with the rasp of too many years spent as a smoker. “This is Greg, at Flint’s Auto Body. I’m just calling to let you know your car will be ready by three o’clock. We will be here until six this evening. Have a nice day.”
Relief washes over me. At least I won’t have to call a tow truck. Chip must have seen the state of my car and called for me.
Kam’s preferred pop music fills the car as we drive down Main Street toward the body shop. “I can’t believe he sliced your tires and called you a whore,” shefumes, steering wheel gripped in one hand, iced coffee in the other. “What a fucking douchebag.”
“He’s going on thebanned list. He can get fucked,” I mutter, sipping my own iced coffee.
He is done drinking atThe Broken Bottle. Lifetime Ban. I know Chip will back me on it. He doesn’t take kindly to people fucking with his staff.
She gives me a sideways glance, eyes full of suspicion. “How did you get home? I didn’t have any missed calls from you.”
I twirl my straw nervously, watching as the ice clinks together. “Jameson.”
She slams the brakes, tires squealing against asphalt, sending me forward, the seatbelt digging into my shoulder and my coffee sloshing in the clear plastic cup.
Her eyes are locked on me. “I knew it. Tell me everything.”
I squirm under the weight of her accusing gaze and look around nervously at the people who have stopped to stare. “Kam, go. You can’t just stop in the middle of the road. People are looking at us,” I warn, slumping down in my seat, heat creeping up my neck.
She continues to stare, not budging…hell she’s not even blinking.
I groan, sinking further into the seat, my face now on fire as a car blares their horn behind us. “He told Luke to apologize, and said if he called me a whore again, he’d be eating his teeth. Then Luke got in his face and tried to swing at him, but Jameson caught his fist like it was nothing and pinned him against the wall. Then he made them both leave.” The words tumble out in a rush.
She releases the break, and continues down Main Street, ignoring the blaring horns.
I sit up, eyes still nervously looking around. “Jameson said he came back because he was worried Luke might try something when I was alone.”
She squeals, the sound echoing off the windows, and somehow perfectly in sync withChristna Aguileraas she sings about what a girl wants.
I roll my eyes. “It was just a ride home, which I only took because you sleep like the dead.”
