Page 16 of Nyx

I leave the store with that feeling of regret swimming around inside me.

I've tried going to places and asking outright where a women's shelter is, but there's a lot of anonymity surrounding those places. People are suspicious of people just walking in and asking. After working in the first shelter, I found it appalling to discover that men would manipulate women into going into those types of help centers in an attempt to find their escaped partners. They're cautious because they have to be.

I wait until I leave the parking lot and find a small park before using the number I've been given, all the while trying to convince myself that the employee didn't call this Victoria woman to give her a heads-up about a woman in need of help. People who abuse these types of situations are also frowned upon in the victim community.

With shaking hands because this never gets easier, I dial the number, making sure it matches exactly the number provided before hitting the button to connect the call.

"Victoria," the woman says after the third ring.

"Hi, Victoria. My name is Juliet Mercer. I'm new to town, and I was hoping you were hiring at one of the women's shelters in town."

Silence fills the line for a beat, and I’m tempted to end the call, but necessity keeps me on the line.

"Is this a cell phone?" she asks when she finally speaks.

"It is," I say.

"Do you have experience working in a women's shelter?"

"Over ten years," I say.

"Juliet, we have a low census right now, but as you know, that can change at any time. I'm going to text you a link to our online application."

"A link?" I ask before I can stop myself.

There's another pause before she speaks again.

"It's a secure link and a secure website," she says, a tone in her voice I recognize.

This woman has a lot of experience helping abuse victims, and it shows in her assurance just from reading the tone of my voice.

"Thank you so much, Victoria," I tell her.

"Talk soon, Juliet," she says before hanging up.

A second later, the link populates.

I've been directed to a website before, but it was to print an application to turn it in to the shelter, not one that had to be completed online.

Thankfully, all of my fake paperwork is digital and on my phone, so the application doesn't take me long to complete.

Next up is the grocery store.

I wish I had the luxury of taking my time, but the longer I'm out in public, the greater the risk is for me.

After shopping, I drive around a little, getting a better sense of what's in Farmington and the options I have for buying supplies, before heading back to my apartment.

I noted several fast-food places with hiring signs in their windows and on their signage, but a highly visible-to-the-public job is my very last choice.

I discovered that office buildings have a slightly tougher hiring standard and are more likely to check references. Factory work is also an option, but many of them hire felons, and despite certain people needing second chances, I just don't feel comfortable being around that all day.

I don't run into a soul in the parking lot or on the walk back to my apartment, and I hiss out a breath of relief as I lock myself inside.

I put away groceries and hang my curtains, knowing I can't go without them tonight, but making a mental note to add them to the laundry next time I wash my clothes.

I settle on the small sofa and turn on the tiny television I brought from my last location.

Thankfully, cable is provided at this apartment complex, and I flip through the channels before settling on some comedy, even though I know I don't have the bandwidth in my brain to pay attention.