With a prick climbing up my spine, I stare at the window, the gun slipping against my palms until I breathe out a frustrated sigh.
This is necessary. Getting used to being home alone after a break-in is something that simply has to happen. I’m not the only one who goes through this anxiety. There’s a break-in nearly every thirteen seconds, adding up to over two and a half million a year. So many people go through this. Still, as I set the gun down on the counter, remove my shower cap and stare at my reflection, I loathe that fear is leading my actions. I suppose the comparison isn’t quite the same. Two and a half million people don’t encounter serial killers … or get gifted flowers and forbidden kisses during their break-ins.
My gaze drops to my lips and I let my fingertips drift there. It’s not like I’d use the gun, I remind myself as I set it down and go about my routine.
I have questions and Marcus has answers. Answers Cody supposedly doesn’t have. Taking my time with my moisturizer and normal nightly routine, I let the accusations toward both Cody and Marcus build up in my mind. Right before shutting them all down again.
My bed creaks when I sit on the edge of it, spreading a sweet-smelling lavender lotion down my thighs and calves. The oversized sleep shirt I’m wearing is a soft cotton and I let myself breathe for a moment. Auntie Susan used to tell me, You have to give yourself grace; no one else will.
I can’t help the small whisper in response at the back of my mind: Cody would. Cody would grant me grace. Hell, letting out my frustration in a huff, I place the amber glass bottle of lotion on my dresser and know that he gave me more grace than he should have this past weekend. I don’t deserve it, and he knows that now. Yet he still wanted me and I can’t fathom why.
My mind is still a whirlwind of everything that’s happened in the past few weeks.
Pretending as if I’ll sleep at all tonight, I take the lightweight gun with me to the kitchen for a glass of water to bring to bed. This gun is coming with me everywhere. I have my firearms license and there’s not a chance in hell Cody would have let me walk out his door without it. The kitchen light is still on and the front door boasts a blinking red light, signifying the alarms are all set. If anyone were to try to join me tonight in this place, the alarms will sound and Cody will know instantly too.
I’m not blind to the fact that he’s circled the building multiple times. In fact, it warms something inside of me.
If anyone had told me years ago that he would look out for me like he has, I’d have told them to fuck off and stop filling my brain with white knight fantasies.
I didn’t get to where I am in life by relying on anyone else. Taking another sip of my water, I lean against the farmhouse sink.
This morning, naked in Cody’s bed, I came to a simple conclusion. I want to be in my own home and alone. No security detail, no prince in shining armor with a sad backstory. No nothing. I need to be on my own. How am I going to get better if I rely on Cody? I can’t and I won’t. Given this past weekend, I’ve obviously lost it.
Half a day on my own has already been good for me and clearing my head. The first half was spent arguing with Cody … again. The water rushes out of the faucet and I fill my glass before heading back to my mostly cleaned bedroom.
I spent the rest of the day unpacking and cleaning up the piles of paperwork, all while talking to my sister. We spent nearly three hours on the phone. First, I let her unload and then I did some unloading of my own, keeping out some small details. Like every piece about Marcus. Somehow, he’s become my secret and I don’t know what will happen if I tell anyone. Really I’m afraid of what will happen if I tell. I’ll lose him and quite possibly ostracize myself, lose my job … forfeit my sanity. No one knows I kissed him, and I’d like to keep it that way.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand, so I trade it for the glass of water and plop down cross-legged on the bed.
Mom is doing better.
I answer my sister quickly enough to hopefully put her anxious mind at ease: Good. I knew she would.
I’m still worried. Something’s just not right.
I hesitate, not knowing what to tell Cadence until I settle on: You’re a worrier. Mom is fine and she knows she can come to us if she needs anything.
My fingers reach up to the collar of my throat, to that dip where a thin chain would rest if I was wearing a necklace. It’s a nervous habit, but instead of touching metal it’s only skin brushing against skin as I assure myself, yes, she would. Mom would tell us if she needed us. She’d tell us if anything was wrong.
My message to my sister goes unanswered even though I’m aware she’s read it and so I start to doubt myself. Without waiting any longer for her to reply, I promise her I’ll be home this weekend and we can have a girls’ night. Just the three of us.
Her joke about me having time off over a reporter and bad press makes me roll my eyes, but more than that, I’m grateful for the distraction. I shake my head at the thought that all that’s wrong right now in my life is just bad press. What a pretty little lie.
The truth will come out and you’ll be back to your workaholic self. It’s the last text she sends before I plug in my cell and decide I really need to sleep. I’ve barely slept to the point where now my eyes are raw and dry. I got in a half hour catnap earlier but woke up with my heart beating out of my chest. If I can sleep tonight without waking up in a panic, I’ll count it as a win.
No sleeping pills, though; I want to stay alert. No, I think as I sigh heavily, I need to stay alert.
The moment I lay down, a satin wrap around my hair and the blanket tucked all the way up to my chin, my phone pings but it’s not my sister like I expect.
I’m only a phone call away. Cody’s message elicits a guilt that barricades my throat. I have to swallow it down before telling him I know and I’m here if he needs anything.
I add in a thank you, although it doesn’t offer me any peace. I shouldn’t be thanking him for my independence.
It’s not like we’re more than fuck buddies and I almost tell him that, but my wretched heart hurts daring to think the words, let alone say them. I don’t want anything more, and neither does he that I’m aware of. So all of this … the protection he’s given me … it’s just him being kind and doing what he knows how to do. I appreciate that.
I appreciate you, I write to him because that’s all I know how to say right now. It doesn’t explain why the back of my eyes prick with unshed tears and I suddenly feel so alone.
Lying on my back and staring at the spinning ceiling fan, I come to the only conclusion my exhausted mind has to offer: I think I’m falling for him and that’s terrifying. In all of this mess and turmoil, my heart is apparently in chaos too. Last night, I slipped deeper into his arms than I ever have before.
He’s only a phone call away and he’s texted me that twice already tonight. That’s good enough for now.
I swear I try to sleep. I forced my eyes closed, my bed is warm and cozy … I even got up around 2:00 a.m. for a drink of chamomile tea that I sucked down as quickly as I could so I didn’t have to have my eyes open for too long. All the effort to sleep doesn’t work; sleep evades me.
The alarm clock reads nearly 4:00 a.m. as I sit in my bed, reading through a folder of evidence. If I can’t sleep, I can at least work.