Page 70 of The One Who Won’t Get Away
Chapter 29
Nadya
IT WAS PAST TWO INthe morning, and my mind refused to believe darkness was good for anything but bracing for the next disaster.I’d bolted the door and checked the camera above it, but shadows still teemed with monsters.Every time I blinked, eleven teardrops shimmered behind my closed lids.
I wrapped my arms tight around my ribs and shivered as I paced.Bare feet on the old linoleum felt like walking on frozen glass, but the cold barely registered.All I noticed was the soft tap-tap of my toes.A red LED on the security camera winked at me every time I passed.I told myself it was a barrier, but it didn’t feel like enough to settle me.
A car honked outside.I jumped sideways and bumped into my desk.
“Jesus,” I hissed, then took a slow breath as I rubbed my hip.There’d be a bruise in the morning.
By lap three, I cracked open my closet door and dragged out a blank canvas.I placed it on the easel by the window, flipped on a lamp, and didn’t pause to plan.
My mind switched from looking for monsters to considering composition and how each color would mix with the next.
I squeezed blobs onto an old plastic pallet and mixed a blue so dark it looked like the night sky.With the edge of my brush, I stabbed red into the swirl, then I started at the top of the canvas, dragging brushstrokes to cover the entire canvas.My palms felt clammy against the heat of the lamp, but my hands had stopped shaking, so that was a win.
When the sky went opaque, I sketched faces—little oval ghosts with no mouths because monsters mute their victims.A fine brush carved dark slashes for eyes.I outlined noses with a single line, but it was the hollow eyes that held the weight.Each face shrank as I moved downward, forming a funnel.
Still, it wasn’t quite right.Slowly, I started reshaping each face, turning them into droplets.
Each drop was a child.A life.A future stolen.
My pulse steadied as I painted, and my hands found a calm rhythm.When I finally set the brush down, the first layer gleamed wet beneath the lamp.It would need to work on it some more, but I wouldn’t be able to do that until it dried, so I left the canvas for now, walking to the bathroom instead.
There, I held my paint-covered hands under the tap, then scrubbed my hands raw while blue and red spun together in the sink.In the mirror, my reflection stared back, pale and haunted, hair wild and circles under my eyes deep enough to drown in.I was a mess inside and out, and I had no idea how to fix it.
A part of me started to hope that Nick was right and the therapist would do the trick.Weird, because another part of me still resisted the idea.
Back in my room, I checked my phone—3:15 AM.
Damn.I still didn’t want to sleep.If I tried, I’d just lay there all antsy.Although, there was one thing that could help.I was supposed to cut back, but was this really the best time to stop drinking?
Pff.Quit drinking, as if I were an alcoholic or something.I wasn’t.I just needed a way to silence my thoughts and get some sleep.
Melissa’s face came unbidden along with her messy apartment.But I wasn’t like her.I had this thing under control.
I would just have one drink to settle myself and that would be it.
Retrieving a bottle and a shot glass from my dresser, I poured myself a drink, then downed it quickly before the smell could fully hit me.
The first shot burn was the worst.The second went easier.By the third, I finally felt like I could survive this night.
I capped the bottle and hid it in the dresser again, then climbed into bed.
Under the blanket, heat crawled from my stomach outward.My eyelids closed...and the loop began.
What if he came back?No, he was locked up.But what if someone else broke in?And this time, they’d come through my bedroom window instead of the balcony.Nick wouldn’t be able to catch them in time.
I flipped onto my side and stared at the locked window.They didn’t have to unlock it.They could just use those glass-cutting things like in the movies.
