But before I can finish saying the words, Luke groans exasperatedly, dropping his head. “Fuck, Ethan,” he snaps, the irritation in his voice sharper than I was expecting. “Stop being so ridiculous foroncein your life. I don’t want you to do that.”
“What about what I want?” I bark back, my frustration getting the better of me.
I can feel rage running through me, my whole body buzzing with the energy. I’m aware we’re right in the middle of the shop, within earshot of every bigot and asshole who probably has some idea of what’s happening between us by now. They’d be stupid not to. At this point, I don’t care if they do.
“God fucking damn it, Ethan!” Luke admonishes with a raised voice. “When are you going to get it that I don’t want your fucking help? I’ve never needed your help. You can’t fix it every time something bad happens.”
That shuts me up like a slap to the face. I clench my jaw and look away, a pang of hurt moving through my chest. I can tell Luke immediately regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, and his expression softens slightly. Whether it’s for the sentiment, or the harshness in which he spoke, I can’t say, but he looks like he wants to reach out and say something else.
We don’t have the chance before Mike gets pushy, demanding that Luke hurry up. Then he’s escorted from the premises, and I’m left standing in the aisleway, feeling a wave of unease wash over me. My soul is desperate for me to go with him—to stand for what’s right and leave this place for good. My feet disobey the command, firmly planted on the ground like roots so entrenched in the soil that I’ll never be free.
Luke gives me one last long look as he makes it to the front doors, and I can feel my chest constricting with the wrongness of this whole situation.Go with him,my heart screams.Don’t let him leave without you.And yet Luke’s last words ring through my ears.I don’t want your help.Roughly translated:I don’t want you.
Then he’s gone, and it’s too late for me to go after him.
There’s a paralyzing moment of anxious dread when I think about how I’m supposed to just turn around and go back to work as if nothing happened. How could anyone be expected to do that?
While I’m frozen, staring at the last spot where I saw Luke before he disappeared, I notice someone else quietly leaving the building. At first, I don’t realize who it is until he stops at the door and turns to stare at me with intention from across the shop. That’s when I see that it’s Frank.
Our eyes meet briefly, and his lips twist into a terrifyingly wicked grin—almost like he’s gloating—before he slips through the door, unnoticed by the rest of the shop. Instantly, my heart drops into my stomach.
I don’t stop to think as I break out into a sprint toward the door after Frank. Everyone’s eyes are on me, and Mike even calls after me as I go outside, but I ignore him, focusing only on finding Frank. Only, he’s nowhere to be seen. Neither he nor Luke is anywhere in the parking lot. Both of their cars are gone.
My heart races in my chest, my imagination running wild with all the things that could be happening. I pull out my phone and try calling Luke, hoping to catch him in time—to warn him of what’s coming—but the call goes straight to voicemail. He must not have turned off his do-not-disturb before he left.
“Fuck!” I shout angrily, a sense of powerlessness washing over me.
I try to calm myself down, rationalizing that I’m jumping to conclusions. Maybe Frank left work for reasons unrelated to Luke, and it’s only a coincidence that he left immediately after him. Maybe there’s nothing nefarious going on, and there’s no need to worry. My mind races back to all of the bruises and injuries that have marked Luke’s skin over the last few weeks, and I know without doubt that Frank’s involved. Now that they’re god knows where and alone together, there’s no way this won’t end badly.
Mike eventually follows me outside like a self-important little weasel, demanding to know what I’m doing. I don’t dignify him with a response. Instead, I turn to glare at him, the fullforce of my rage tied to the motion. He must be able to see the murderous intent in my eyes because he recoils, putting his hands up as he backs away, mumbling something about ‘take your time’ before slipping back through the door like he was never here.
I stare at the entrance to the shop after him, feeling nothing but trepidation when I think about going back inside. It’s like staring at the walls of a prison after I’ve been given the taste of freedom. The only thing waiting for me beyond that door is monotony and the same old rut I’ve dug for myself after fifteen years of moving on autopilot. There’s been nothing but toxic masculinity, locker room talk, debasing innuendo, and bigotry within these walls for as long as I’ve worked here. I don’t know how I survived as long as I did having to listen to it. Why did Istay?
But I know why… I was afraid that if I didn’t, I’d lose everyone I ever loved. Being here with my friends every day gave me a way to see them and ensure that our relationships didn’t fizzle out, fading into the background like I never existed. I stayed because I couldn’t see myself leaving.
Why the fuck are youstillhere?
With the internal rebuke, I suddenly find myself on the edge of a precipice, the wind pushing on my back, calling me to take the last step forward into the abyss with promises of better things beyond. When I look down into that unknown, I don’t feel fear about what’s waiting for me. Taking a hard look at the course of my life up until now, I don’t know why I was so afraid of taking the leap before.
Now, as I turn and look out at the parking lot and the sprawling, barren landscape beyond, I take a deep breath, the crisp November air filling my lungs. It feels like the first time I’ve breathed without constriction—unencumbered.
So, without further ado, I take the step off the cliff into the unknown, and my heart soars.
I don’t bother going back in to collect my things—nothing I left there is irreplaceable, and the sooner I can leave this hell hole in the dust, the better. I hop into my truck and drive toward home, leaving the old parts of me behind that aren’t serving me anymore.
Luke doesn’t return any of my calls or texts for the rest of the day.
My imagination runs through all the horrible scenarios that could explain why not: Frank definitely killed him. He’s dead in a ditch somewhere on the side of the road, or his body is hidden on a plot of farmland where no one would find him until the next harvest. Perhaps he got into a terrible accident on the drive home and is lying in a morgue, and no one can identify him. I may have even called the local hospitals to check if they had any John Does matching his description, but to no avail.
Then my brain takes the inevitable turn to the oblique, and rational thought gives way to the ridiculous. Are we fighting? Is that why he’s ignoring me? He’s still mad at me from earlier… Maybe he’s finally decided he’s well and truly done with my bullshit and drove straight back to New York in a fugue state. Is he breaking up with me? Does he hate me?
The longer I go without a response, the more my imagination runs wild, and I’m trapped under its incessant prodding with every new horrible scenario it conjures up. No matter how far-fetched or outlandish.
Misty must be able to tell I’m stressed because she follows me as I pace throughout the house, keeping a firm eye on me but never getting close enough to let me pet her. It’s like she’s stilluncertain about my trustworthiness but can’t bring herself to act aloof around me, either. There’s something oddly nurturing in how she hovers, meowing at me like she’s telling me to chill out.
When I eventually lay down on the bed upstairs and get on the internet, scouring through Luke’s Instagram—for comfort and distraction—Misty gives me company. She curls her legs underneath her body and begins to purr, and the rhythmic vibration is hypnotic. She stares at me for a long while, those uncanny blue eyes so reminiscent of her owners, quietly assessing me. At one point, she blinks slowly, then decides to get more comfortable, curling up into a tight roll next to my head before falling asleep.
And eventually, with my phone still in my hand, I drift off to sleep, too.
