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I quicken my pace. Fuck, I can’t even remember what I came here for. Food? I’m not even hungry. I feel like I won’t ever be able to eat again knowing that Cole is loose again.
Then I spot him.
It has to be him.
From behind, the man six feet in front of me looks exactly like Cole. Same broad, muscled shoulders, same vaguely tattooed left arm, same taper fade haircut. He’s even wearing the same color t-shirt I saw him in last. It’s like he never even went to prison.
I’m frozen in place, unable to run, unable to move as he turns his head. I’ve been caught.
My blood pressure spikes for a brief moment before I realize that it isn’t Cole. His face is totally different, sort of jumbled together like an afterthought instead of carefully chiseled out of stone like Cole’s was.
The damage is already done, though. I can feel my anxiety rolling into a boil in my veins, adrenaline mixed in like poison. I can move again, and sprint to the bathroom to vomit, just narrowly missing the toilet and making a huge mess across the floor into the other stalls.
Thankfully, I’m the only one here.
I scramble out of the stall, rinsing my mouth in the dirty sink and crying as silently as possible to myself. I’m in no position to be out in the world with so much hysterical energy in me.
A sense of helplessness and vulnerability takes over, and I fall against the sink, sobbing and biting the sleeve of my sweatshirt as my fear takes over. If it wasn’t for the cheap porcelain hanging from the wall, I would be on the floor by now.
I desperately wish Abram was here to comfort me.
Even though I wanted him dead only days ago.
