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So he couldn’t hurt me. Or the people I loved.
I ran over to the bed and dropped to my knees, lifting up the comforter and seeing there was just junk underneath, but that I could fit and the blanket would hang down the sides and keep me hidden.
I lay flat on my tummy. My breathing uneven and erratic as I clawed my way under the bed, working my way toward the middle and then grabbing whatever boxes and bags there were under there, and trying to shift them around me so if someone looked, they would just see a whole lot of junk.
I held my breath with each movement, things scraping and scratching on the wooden floor as I shifted them into place.
I tried not to think about why Hadley hadn’t come to find me yet. Or Kev. Or why I hadn’t heard the roar of motorcycles coming back to the clubhouse. Everything was dead quiet, and with every breath, I waited for footsteps, or for the door to open or for someone to grab my leg and drag me out from under the bed like in those horror movies that I fucking hated.
More tears streamed down my face.
I cried silently.
I wanted to be brave and climb out and find Hadley, make sure she was okay, scared that he’d hurt her and that those gunshots were his, not hers.
But I wasn’t brave.
I just wanted to feel safe. I wanted to make it through this, and I wanted to stay right here where I felt like no one could hurt me, and where I knew that when the club came, Ham would find me.
I just needed to keep calm.
Looking up, I spotted a pen which looked like it had fallen down the back of the bed. Instinctually I reached out for it, stretching my body, not caring how dirty or dusty it was under there. My fingers itched so badly, I wanted to draw, disappear into that world where I could create something else, be something else—a bird that could fly away, get help.
Suddenly, I remembered I had something, and reached into my back pocket, pulling out a napkin that I’d tucked in there while I was at the football game today.
I flattened it out on the floor.
And I drew.
I allowed myself to leave this world and move into another, focusing on the lines, the shades and the strokes that all came together to form the picture. I escaped, my tears drying up on my face, the fear melting away as I became the white dove on that dirty, bumpy, imperfect piece of paper. My wings were strong, they could fly me out of here. They could get me somewhere to find help.
The dove was beautiful, free, proud.
And even as the shadows fell around it, nighttime setting in, it still stood out in white against the darkness.
“Meyah!”
The pen fell from my hand, and I held my breath, reality coming back like a smack in the face.
“Meyah!”
I heard the bedroom door swing open, slamming back against the wall. My hand covered my mouth when a gasp built in my throat.
I knew it was him, but I couldn’t move.
“Baby girl,” he murmured, his footsteps coming to the side of the bed. He crouched down, his shadow falling in front of the small bit of light which was coming in. Just enough to allow me to draw. “I’m here. Nothing is gonna hurt you. You just gotta give me your hand, and I’ll pull you out.”
I’m here.
Nothing is gonna hurt you.
I slowly reached out, pushing a small box to the side, cringing as it scraped loudly against the floorboards even though I knew it didn’t matter anymore.
He was there.
He found me.
Like I knew he would.
