Page 5 of Risks of Temptation
Not that I've given anyone a chance in years. After a while, I stopped trying to be normal and have a relationship. It's too painful, stresses me out, and there isn't anyone I'm attracted to or feel safe around.
You're destined to be a lonely old maid. Your grave will probably have, "Most boring person on earth," engraved on it, along with, "Virgin forever."
Except you aren't a virgin. He stole that from you.
Zaka's face flies into my mind, and my pulse increases. It was twenty-five years ago. I shouldn't allow him to haunt me anymore or steal one more second of my life.
But he does.
I want to move past it. I hate feeling like a victim and how much Naomi always worries about me. It's become her job, even more since our mother passed away.
I want people, especially those closest to me, to see me as strong. Instead, I'm the weak woman who can't keep her emotions together or handle easy things...like being at home by herself without every light in the house on and all the curtains shut.
Naomi's ongoing lack of confidence in my ability to handle anything more than yoga class or my virtual job teaching English to Spanish-speaking children hits a nerve. Beating myself up won't solve anything. I know this and try to stop it when I begin. However, sometimes, it's not so easy, and tonight is one of those times.
I double-check the door is locked and take a shower. When I get out, I crawl into bed, leaving the light on in my room.
I can never sleep well with the light on. The dark is how I sleep best, but I have to feel safe. Nothing about being on my own at night makes me feel secure.
The noise of the city always freaks me out when I'm alone. Every honk, loud shout, or door slam makes me jump. The irony is if Naomi is here, I'm fine. It's soothing. I'll sleep like a baby, uninterrupted, for hours.
Another reason you're a complete loser and a sad waste of space.
I sigh, tossing and turning, wishing I could sleep but unable to. The digital clock next to my bed reads three thirty.
Where is Naomi? She should be home by now.
Uneasiness fills me. I expected her to stroll in just after midnight. She's met with Ezra late at night before, but this is the latest she's ever been for a work meeting.
As more time passes, my worry grows. I try to call her cell phone. It rings over and over then goes to voicemail.
I hardly ever interrupt Naomi at the news station. She has a prominent job as an investigative journalist. I'm proud of her accomplishments. I don't want to burden her further by distracting her at work. The few times I have had to call her, she always picks up right away.
Maybe I didn't hear her, and she's in her room.
She would have turned all the lights off, including the one in my bedroom.
I always pretend I'm asleep when she comes in and does it. But she's always done it.
I get out of bed and check. She's nowhere. I pace the apartment and call again, only to have the same results.
There's a big commotion outside the building, and I jump. I peek outside the curtain. Several men are having a disagreement below my unit. The men sound drunk, and I pull the curtains closed again to try and hide what's going on, not wanting to see if they end up in a fist fight.
It's enough to make me go back to my bedroom and crawl under the covers. I keep trying Naomi, but she never answers. When my clock turns to five, I get dressed.
I can't stay here anymore. I need to find her.
Where am I going to even look?
The station. She probably just got engrossed in her story.
I'm putting on my socks when I hear the door open. I run out of my room. "Naomi, where have—"
I freeze.
Two men with perfectly groomed hair, wearing all black, including gloves, stand in my apartment. One is bald. His scalp is shiny. His thick, dark eyebrows are perfectly trimmed, and his nose appears squashed, as if too small for his face. The scowl he carries is frightening.
The other has hair combed to the side. It's thick and in pieces, with gel holding it firmly. His nose is long and wide. A scar runs from the corner of his mouth to the bottom of his chin. Unlike his partner, he has a sick smile on his face.
