Needing a moment alone, I approach the cliffside and watch the waves crash. Even out here, I can’t seem to escape the overwhelming presence of Atticus. He’s everywhere: under my skin and in the air that surrounds me.
If tonight has taught me one thing, it’s that I need to lose hope. It doesn’t matter what he does for my psyche; Atticus is done with me. He thinks I’m pathetic.
He still believes we were a waste of time, and even if he didn’t, I would never be able to fit in here—with all the polished doorknobs and shiny shoes.
I’m not worth enough.
As these thoughts tear through me, the way the waves below assault the jagged rocks, I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Slowly, I turn, and in the window of a room on the second story, I see it.
The shadow of a man, watching me, assessing me. I can’t make out any features of the man, but it scares me all the same. Scares and intrigues.
And then the shadow retreats, and I head back inside, back to playing pretend and forcing a smile.
I’m thankful Hailey was our designated driver because I may have drunk a bit too much trying to play the part of the unbothered, happy-go-lucky friend.
She drops me off a little after midnight, and thankfully, Mom’s already asleep. I shower and head to bed, ready to put this entire day behind me.
Or, more specifically, the feeling of Atticus’s hands on me and his tongue massaging the inside of my mouth. Fuck, I’m horny.
As I lie in bed, the sheets scratch against my calves. They’re the Walmart brand, so I shouldn’t be shocked, but the heat must be making it worse.
I shift uncomfortably, sighing in annoyance. It shouldn’t be this hot, considering it’s just barely springtime in Port Orford, but the air in my bedroom feels stifling. As if I took all the humidity of summer by the port and shoved it into this small, confined space.
Ridiculous. I literally cannot catch a single break.
The sound of Mom’s loud snoring mixes with the sound of the crashing waves outside, and I try to use it to lull myself to sleep, but I just can’t seem to find a good rhythm.
It’s just too damn hot.
My heart is racing in my chest, pounding against my sternum as I lie on my stomach. I’m used to having unexplainable anxiety; with a mother like mine, being anxious is a birthright. But tonight it’s worse.
In fact,everythingis somehow worse tonight. The creaking of the floorboards, the shadows that fall across my bedroom—all of it feels different. Feels… wrong.
And combined with the refresher I got covering physical contact with one certain man, I think I’m going crazy.
Maybe I’m being sensitive. Maybe my desire to finally escape Port Orford, to get the nerve to weasel my way from under Mom’s thumb and do better than this shit little house and this shit little town is making me antsy and over-aware of everything around me.
But somehow, that doesn’t feel right either. Everything is just fucking wrong.
And it’sso damn hot.
The floorboards creak again, closer this time.
I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s one of those popcorn ceilings that slowly crumbles onto you as time passes and the house decays.
Somewhere in the distance, a boat horn sounds.
Sweat drips down the side of my face.
Images of Atticus flash through my mind.
With a huff, I sit up, deciding to check the thermostat even as I know it’s a guaranteed backhand from my mother in the morning.
Only as I sit up, the shadows of my room play tricks on my eyes.
In the far corner, tucked between one window and the hinges of my closed door, is a figure.
