Page 111 of Stalkers Anonymous

I don’t have a response. She’s right.

“Why?” she asks, softer now. “Why are you doing this?”

I pull Chewy closer, look at my ceiling, my window, my hands. Anywhere but at Rachel right now.

“Because he isn’t the same as Lars.” The words come out small. “Lars makes me feel like I’m being hunted. When Cole told me what he did, I was furious—I am so fucking furious. But I’m not scared of him. I don’t know how to explain that in a way that doesn’t make me sound insane.”

“You don’t sound insane. You sound like someone who’s developed an attachment and is going to have a very hard time thinking clearly for a while as a result.”

“Probably.”

“And that’s dangerous, Hailey. That’s the part I’m worried about. He has proven to you tonight that he is willing to cross lines for you. I’m not sure if he’s a hero or a problem.”

I nod. I can’t argue with her because I don’t disagree. All the things she’s saying are things I’ve already said to myself in the last hour.

They just aren’t strong enough to move me yet.

“I’m not going back to him tonight,” I say. “I’m not calling him. I told him I needed space, and I meant it. I’m just… I’m not ready to cast him as a villain yet. I need time.”

Rachel closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose the way she does at the end of a double.

“Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Space. I can live with space. As long as space means space, Hailey. That doesn’t mean a week from now you meet him for coffee to hear him out and end up back in his bed.”

“It means space.”

“Swear to me.”

“I swear.”

She nods. Slow and somewhat unconvinced, but willing to let it be. For now.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” she says.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“Thank you.”

She makes me tea, then she puts on a movie neither of us actually watches. Chewy stays curled on my chest the whole time, falling asleep with his tiny nose tucked under my collarbone.

At some point, Rachel reaches over and squeezes my hand. And she doesn’t let go.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Cole

It’s been two weeks since I ruined everything good I had going for me. I missed two more IBSG meetings, for a total of four. I didn’t see the point in going anymore.

I lost my job.

I lost my girl.

To be in recovery, don’t you have to have something to recover? I burned everything worth saving to the fucking ground.

A room this large shouldn’t feel so small. The walls close in on me as I sit in a metal folding chair, staring at my hands while the fluorescent lights buzz overhead with their familiar, oppressive hum. For the first time, I’m in the community center basement early, twenty minutes before the meeting starts.

Tyler arrived five minutes ago and has been watching me with a mixture of concern and wariness, like he’s not sure if I’m going to bolt or break down completely. Maybe both.

Probably both.