I wasn’t right for a while. Days, maybe a week or two. I heard what people said to me but it took a moment too long to process, because all I could hear were the cries of a child wanting the bad man to go away. I understood how I felt, but the way my body responded and the way my thoughts weren’t keeping up, I just wasn’t right. My mind was stuck on the sound of a small boy crying out in time with the crunch of the woman’s skull hitting the concrete pavement.
I can take a lot. I like to believe I’m a strong woman, but I’m slipping just like I did then, only now it’s so much worse and seemingly slower. I’m slowly falling into a place I don’t want to be and I don’t know how to stop it. There’s no side of a well to cling to… I’m simply falling into an abyss.
My phone pings again; it’s my sister guilting me into taking time off since I hardly ever come home anymore.
I wish that I could. I wish I could just pause all of this shit like I did that video in the back office when I first started crying. Freeze it in time and let it turn stale while I go back home as if nothing’s wrong. As if there isn’t a security detail on my ass and a serial killer telling me he’ll protect me. Calling me his. His Delilah.
A shiver snakes its way down my back, leaving a chill in its wake that even the hot coffee can’t undo. Maybe I could leave and all of this would simply pause. Maybe Cody could come with me up to my sister’s. He should be back now any minute. He could stay by my side and protect me from all the warring thoughts in my head. Maybe he’d even call me his. Now I know I’m dreaming.
With a roll of my tired eyes, I shake it all off. The self-pity and delusions combined.
I type back a message and then delete it: I wish I could.
I will talk to my boss and find a way. That’s the response I settle on. Cadence thanks me, says she loves me. All the while I know I’m a liar. I could confess it all and tell her there’s no way I’d risk bringing the mess I’m in to her doorstep, adding to her madness, or I can stay the workaholic sister who’s trying but failing, and never comes home. I choose the latter.
The thud of my phone hitting the counter comes just before a creak of a wooden floorboard. It’s a sound that freezes everything inside of me. With my body still, my eyes locked on the doorway it came from, I can barely breathe.
Someone’s in the house. I can just barely make out their shadow.
The shadow shifts along the stark white wall in the hallway and before I can move, I hear his voice. The voice that haunted me last night says, “I already took your gun.”
My back heel had pivoted, the desperate need for a defense already decided, but with a harsh swallow, I stand firm where I am, attempting to calm myself.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” I manage to speak, my voice tighter than I’d like, but it comes out loud enough.
My gaze flickers to the butcher block. I could at the very least, arm myself with a steak knife. He called me his, he left me flowers, but this man is deranged.
“Never.” His answer is spoken with conviction and I’m once again pulled to the shadow that’s stopped in the hallway just beyond the kitchen. The bright daylight has dimmed, but there’s plenty shining through the window, enough to see the outline of a tall man with broad shoulders.
I remember the security guard, his sheer size and the balls he had to have to walk beside me.
Swallowing thickly, I question him, “Then why take my gun?” I even shrug, as if I wouldn’t use it. As if I believe him for one second when he says he won’t hurt me.
His chuckle is unexpected because it comes out so easily. A second passes and my heart hammers wildly, not at all enjoying his amusement. “You know why, Delilah. Let’s not play games; our time is limited.”
“What do you want?”
Tick, tock, thump, thump; my heartbeat races as I wait for the man to do something or say something. Time goes by far