Reese is the emotional ceiling of my life.
It’s not romantic. It’s not poetic. It’s just fact. When someone kidnaps you, holds you captive, and then dies in front of you, it does something irreversible to your wiring. It fuses fear and intimacy into something undefinable. It rewrites your idea of connection.
This isn’t the first time I’ve tried dating. But everyone feels…dimmer. Quieter. Safer.
By minute thirty-four, Jenna excuses herself to the restroom, and I use the opportunity to pay the bill for the coffees and leave before she gets back. She won’t see the chivalry in it, but the truth is I’m saving her.
Outside, the air is cool. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and start walking home since the cafe we met at is just a few blocks away.
Three years.
It’s been three years since I’ve felt like I had purpose, since revenge didn’t taste as sweet as I’d hoped. The promise of vengeance was the last thing I had of him, and now I have nothing left.
My therapist tried to help, she really did. She was the only one I ever told about how attached I got to my abductor. But, apparently, sometimes Stockholm syndrome never goes away. Her idea of helping was to try to convince me that’sallit was.
It’s been seven years, and I still don’t believe that.
If only Icouldbelieve it, then maybe I would’ve moved on bynow. I don’t know why the fuck I can’t. He’s dead. I watched him die. His blood was on my hands.
By the time I get home, Felix is stationed at the door like a tiny, judgmental gargoyle. He weaves between my legs, meowing in protest at my early return.
“It’s not my fault,” I tell him, kicking off my shoes. “Apparently ‘existential dread’ isn’t a love language.”
He meows, unimpressed.
The apartment is cleaner now. Fewer wires, fewer empty mugs plotting insurrections. It smells faintly like laundry detergent and cat food.
I shrug out of my jacket and head to the kitchen to grab a soda before answering the text from my mom that’s been sitting unread for the past hour. She sent me pictures of her garden in North Carolina. There’s a caption about tomatoes. I text her back and tell her she better make some of her famous salsa with them and overnight it to me.
Normal.
Everything is aggressively, suspiciously normal.
I even have a 9 a.m. tomorrow fixing a server rack on the third floor of the Institute because someone spilled coffee on something worth more than my car.
I sit down at my desk, and Felix hops into my lap.
“I’m doing great,” I mutter, trying to convince myself as much as the cat. “Thriving, actually. Dating. Gainfully employed. Only mildly haunted.”
Felix stretches and digs his claws into my thigh.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re the only commitment I can handle.”
I don’t hear the footsteps until they’re already too close. I start to swivel the chair around, but there’s a sharp sting at my neck before I get far. I try to twist, to throw elbows, but my limbs go heavy almost instantly. Felix hisses and leaps off my lap. The room tilts, and my body slumps before falling out of the chair.Someone steadies me before I hit the floor.
Rude.
If you’re going to kidnap me, at least let me collapse with dignity.
The last thing I see before the world tilts sideways is Felix bolting under the couch.
And my last coherent thought is…
You have got to be kidding.
I wake up withtwo immediate realizations.
One, my mouth tastes like I licked the inside of a hospital drawer.
