4
Emma
The next day after work, I get home late. I decide to go to the gym next to my office and take advantage of their first month free membership. I know that I need to lose some weight and I have been neglecting myself long enough. Besides, working out is a good way of taking my mind off things and that's exactly what I need right now.
I run on the treadmill and then head over to the weights section. I have always been intimidated by this area, largely because there are a lot of men here who lift heavy things while grunting.
Luckily, this evening the place is deserted. I pick up two twenty pound weights and do bicep curls. After three good sets, I take a little break and then pick them up again. I was in for a surprise.
I can barely move them up.
“Okay, that's too much,” I say in a huff. I switch to something more manageable and I do four quality sets.
I don't know that many barbell exercises so I look on my phone and do about five others, some targeting my glutes, others my abs and shoulders.
I have been somewhat inspired by all of those business models on Instagram to try weightlifting, something I have never done before. I'm not a big runner, but I will run on occasion. Just like I will do yoga and Pilates on occasion, but nothing ever really sticks.
I know that I'm not in the best shape and I don't naturally love exercise. This feels good. Suddenly, I feel strong, powerful, and more confident.
I decide to give this a try. Maybe even come here four days a week. It certainly can't hurt. If nothing else, at least it'll give me an hour I can avoid thinking about Liam and everything that I have lost.
I grab my bag from the locker and look at my sweaty face in the mirror. My makeup is practically nonexistent and my hair is limp and pulled up into a high ponytail. My face is beet red and flushed with blood, giving it the round, filled look of someone a lot younger.
The locker rooms are quite nice. The lighting is pleasing and not at all harsh, perfect for a selfie. The doors of the lockers themselves are covered in bamboo, creating a spa-like atmosphere. When I got the tour last week, the manager even showed me that they have a sauna next to the showers. I'll have to try it sometime, just not now.
I force my jacket over my sweaty arms, hating how it sticks to my bare skin.
I was lucky with parking, having found a spot just one street over, but this is downtown LA. Once the offices close for the day, so do the shops and the city basically empties out.
Despite the condos and the lofts that have been built up around here, this part of the city is still pretty dead on the evenings and on weekends. All the clubs, the big party spots, and the bars are in West LA, starting with Hollywood and spreading all the way to Santa Monica and Venice by the ocean.
There are a few bars around here catering to the office crowd, but the nearest one is about a quarter of a mile away.
I hold my purse tightly and walked down the empty street. I pass the Coffee Bean, which sometimes has a line out on the street in the mornings, along with a boutique, both with the lights turned low and security cameras on.
In the distance, somebody walks toward me. My breathing slows down and I realize that I shouldn’t have gone to the gym this late. This is exactly what Kristen told me not to do and here I am risking it all just to get a workout in.
Luckily, the person in the distance turns at the corner and disappears out of sight.
When I turn left at the light, I see my car and let out a small sigh of relief. I'm almost there.
“Stop freaking out. Stop making yourself crazy,” I say to myself. “You have made this walk a million times before. Just because that happened to Allison, doesn't mean that it's going to happen to me. Liam and I aren't even together anymore. He's not testifying against anyone. There's no reason for them to hurt me.”
These words become my mantra and I say them over and over to myself but still, I don't believe them. Of course, I have something to worry about.
I have everything to worry about. His previous girlfriend was killed in the most brutal way, just to send him a message. Who's to say that they won’t do the same thing to me?
Just out of spite. Just to get back at him for running away and making them search.
I feel like such a moron. A fool.
Why did I pursue that story?
Why did I publish it?
Why did I ever make notes about it?
It's always exciting when a journalist puts her life in danger in a movie or in a book, but when it comes to real life, it's not like that. This is reality. There are actual stakes.
I don't intend to end up in a suitcase on anyone's doorstep. I don't intend to be anyone's message.
Right before I get to my car, a man of about fifty years old, dressed in a leather jacket, with his head covered up by a hoodie pops out of nowhere. He appears right behind me and my blood runs cold in fear.
I grab my keys and stick them between my fingers to try to use them as a weapon. My heart skips a beat and then another. I turn to face him a little bit, placing my back against the wall, so that I can be ready for any attack. He speeds up his gait. He glances over at me, but then averts his eyes. With his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, he looks like a man on a mission. I brace myself and hold my keys tightly in between my knuckles, ready to strike. I pull my hand out of my pocket and let it sway near my thigh.
When he gets right in front of me, his jacket rides up and I see the gun. It's just the handle, but it's clearly tucked into the back of his waistband.
I stop moving and just lean against the glass of the Jamba Juice storefront. He picks up his feet and continues to walk ahead of me.
He's not after me. He's just a stranger with something else on his mind, but my hands continue to tremble.
I rush over to my car and don't let the keys out of my fist until I'm safe inside with the doors locked. I want to stay here forever, motionless and semi-safe, but I know that I can’t. I force myself to start the engine and to drive home.
I can't find parking anywhere for blocks. I live in a much more walkable neighborhood and there are lots of people walking around, heading to dinner and then to late night drinks with friends.
Their presence both relaxes me and puts me on edge. I don't exhale until I put my keys in the door and double lock it from the inside.
5
Emma
After a long and restless night, I decide to go to my parents’ house for the weekend. I need to get away from here and from the thoughts that are plaguing my mind. I text Mom on the way there and she tells me that she'll be back later that afternoon.
When I drive through the gate and up the winding driveway, I’m surrounded by old live oaks sprawling their branches out in all directions.
Glancing out the window, I look at the rolling hills below me that collide with the ocean. The hills are golden brown, mainly undisturbed and wild. The view is magnificent. Breathtaking.
After a while, you get used to it and start taking it for granted, but I haven't been here in a while and it catches me by surprise.
The sky above is bright blue, in contrast with the slightly deeper shade of the ocean below. I can't see the shoreline and there are no waves. The Pacific Ocean looks placid, living up to its name.