The other text is from the neighbor. Juliet had given me his number in case I needed any help. Grady Steele. His name sounds like a cowboy from a John Wayne movie. She promised me he’s safe.
She doesn’t know that they all have someone who says they’re safe.
I’m glad she doesn’t know. I wish I didn’t have to know.
Last night, late, well after the house next door had gone dark, I sent two words.
Thank you.
My fingers shook as I did it. Like I was unchaining the locked door. Removing the first layer of security.
Except, I have to keep trust somewhere. If not, I’ll lose everything. It’s a hard place to be afraid of everyone while also being afraid of being alone.
It’s why it’s easy to believe the lies and lies and lies.
I’m sorry. I love you.
Grady:
You’re welcome. Let me know if you need more, happy to doorstep deliver.
Small towns are foreign. I’ve traveled the world, one big city to the next. New York, Paris, Milan, Tokyo. This is my first small town. The first time I’ve traveled to hide when I’m accustomed to being seen.
The new me.
Lou, who can’t walk on her own but runs as fast as her feet will take her.
I make a pot of coffee, smiling at the contraption that is surely older than I am. It sits on a pea-green vinyl countertop that matches the color of the appliances. Juliet called the house dated. It’s the good kind of dated. Lived in. Cared for. Loved.
Worn, not broken.
I watch every drip into the pot until it’s full. I’ve nothing better to do. The distraction of counting each drop is nice untilthe drops turn into a stream. When they slow to a drop again, I restart my count.
The mug I choose from the cupboard has a lamb on it. It wears a baby blue bow tied neatly around her neck. Why decorate your lamb?
I grab an Afghan blanket off the back of the floral sofa and slip my feet into the mule-style slippers that I left by the back door. They aren’t mine. I found them here, like I hope to find other things. Things more important than shoes. The sea breeze is chilly on the back deck, so I wrap the blanket tighter and hold my cute lamb mug between both hands.
The waves break like rolling thunder. They say water is healing. If I walked into the ocean, would it spit me back out clean or just swallow me whole?
Near death experiences make me quite morose.
Unbidden tears fall with every sip. Memories will fade with time, I suppose. Right now, they feel like his hands that were around my neck just days ago.
The first time we met, he made me feel like I was the only woman in the room. Like I wasn’t one of a hundred beautiful models. No, I was the fairest of them all. The most enticing. The most intriguing. The only one he had eyes for.
Lies and lies and lies.
A month later, he flew me to Mallorca. We spent the week naked and drunk. I loved every minute of it.
Six months later, it had started to change. He couldn’t hide his habits as well. His disdain for my flaws festered. My list of offenses was long, in his opinion. He wanted perfection. No, he demanded it. I could never live up. I did everything wrong.
The first sign should have been when I started to panic that he was home. His opening the front door was the sound of my prison cell shutting me in. If…whenI analyze it all, the first signs happened even before that. He hated the music I liked and would relentlessly make fun of it until I didn’t play it around him at all and then stopped listening to it altogether. He did the same with the food I liked, the movies I watched, the friends I hung out with most.
I was isolated despite spending my life swirling through crowds of people.
Now, I’m alone. Lone. Loner. Lonely?
Stunted.
