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“It was just the first thing I thought to do- to run,” she blurts out. “I do that a lot. I run when I get scared and then I couldn’t escape and I got more scared and-”
“Phoebe, take a breath before you start panicking again,” I plead. “Do you want coffee?” I need her to stay focused. I want Doc to help, but I don’t want him to see her in full panic mode and think she’d be better off somewhere else. I can’t let him take her from me.
I’d have to fight him. I don’t want to fight Doc. I’d probably kill him. He’s been getting older and rounder while I’ve been getting stronger. Phoebe is mine now, my guest. She’s my little blue-haired kitten. I rescued her. I’m not going to let anyone take her away.
“Uh, yeah. Yes, please,” she answers, and my brain kicks back on.
Oh fuck. The thoughts are back.I’m going to slide into a downward spiral if I’m not careful. I’m supposed to remember to stop the thoughts when they start circling like that. “Great.”Imagine a stop sign whenever the intrusive thoughts happen. Big red hexagon. Stop. Stop. Stop.
“I didn’t mean to make you have to tell people where you are,” Phoebe says from the couch as I pour the coffee and regulate my breathing again. “You kept this place a secret for a reason and now you’re telling-”
“Here.” I push the mug into her hands and stare down at her. “You’re not burdening me, Phoebe. I do what I want. The people I’m inviting here are people I trust. I wouldn’t have asked Doc to come if I thought it would put you or I in danger. You don’t know me well enough to know it, but I’m very paranoid. If I make a decision, you’re safe to assume I’ve considered every possible negative outcome.”
Phoebe takes a sip of her coffee and nods. “I also do that. I always think of the bad things that might happen. It’s like I’m constantly talking myself out of every decision I ever make. It’s why I run so much. I have to make a break for it before I get a chance to think about the bad.” She pauses and her eyes skim down my arms. “You didn’t put bandages on yourself.”
“Not necessary.”
She squints and raises her gaze back to my face. “Yours is just as bad as mine.”
“I’m okay,” I say, dropping back into my chair and putting my glasses back on. “I haven’t made anything for breakfast. I was waiting to see if you had any preferences.”
“I can make breakfast,” she says in an excited voice that makes me meet her wide eyes. “It would give me something to do, a way to do something foryou.”
Chapter Twelve
Phoebe
Nostrils flaring, Josiah blinks at me, and I’m internally cheering that I’ve got the beast feeling something. He may not know what to do with me, but I like knowing that I’m able to push his buttons. That may be just the thing I need to do to keep from going insane from boredom while I’m here.
I slept better after I got back to the couch last night. My thoughts only plagued me for a few minutes before the exhaustion from running took me under. I may be losing my mind, but I’m safe. Josiah and his safehouse won’t let anything bad happen to me. I couldn’t find a way out, so I doubt anyone else would find a way to get in. I don’t have time to worry about it though. I’m starving.
The kitchen is easy enough to figure out. It’s impeccably clean and uncluttered, so it only takes me a few seconds to find everything I need to put together a simple breakfast for the two of us. I ask a few questions about how he likes his eggs or his bacon and he just tells me, ‘I’ll eat whatever you make.’ I don’t think Josiah enjoys long conversations.
Cooking is a simple way to keep myself distracted and it gives me a way to pay him back- although only the slightest bit- for opening his home to me and offering me help. I’m still not entirely comfortable with everything he’s doing to help me, but I’ll have to be.
Last night is a blur in my memory. I barely remember running- just the feeling, the fear, the urge to escape. I know the weight of his big body on top of me, crushing me against the ground and making me yield isn’t something I’ll soon forget.
It was terrifying but, in retrospect, it shouldn’t have been. He saved me from myself and my own stupidity. I’m grateful. Since I came back to Albuquerque, I’ve been saved more than once by the men of Josiah’s motorcycle club. Rhett with the hotel and now Josiah with the… everything.
I wish I could text Rhett to thank him, but my phone doesn’t work. There’s not really anyone else I’d want to give my location to, but I do have friends that might raise the alarm that I’m not responding to them or showing up to hang out.
“It’s ready,” I call out after dishing up breakfast and double checking the burners are off. I get nervous when they stay on and always have, but most of the places I typically stay don’t have stoves so I don’t have to worry about it.
BIBO has been a huge help to keep me properly fed these last few months. Instead of eating all microwaveable meals and fast food, I’ve been able to get at least two fresh meals a day most days. I’ve always paid for the dinner I take with me back to the hotel, and Rhett takes care of our lunches. The city has been trying its best to welcome me back home.
I’ll miss everyone from BIBO when I leave. They’ve all grown on me. Even though the job itself can sometimes be annoying, I love the people. They’re like a real family. Maybe the club is why it feels that way.
Josiah scoots into the kitchen in his rolling chair, drawing giggles from my chest as he rolls right up to the table and watches me bring a plate to him. “Thank you. It looks good. Doc will be jealous.”
“Shit!” I hiss as I carry my own food to the table. “I forgot. Do you think he’ll want some? I can make more. I totally forgot he was coming.”
Josiah grins and it disarms me, even though he’s chuckling at my expense. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He won’t even notice. I’m teasing.”
“Oh. Does it taste okay?” I ask when he takes a bite.
Something beeps and he reaches down to his pockets. “It’s great,” he says absently as he reads something off his phone. “Doc’s pulling up. I’ll let him in. You can eat.” He stands from the table and goes outside, leaving me alone for at least thirty seconds to calm myself while he goes into and out of the doors with the freaky locking mechanisms.
I take a deep breath and push my plate towards the center of the table as the last vestiges of my already lacking appetite wane. I don’t really want to talk to a doctor. I’m not averse to medication to help calm me, but I hope that Josiah warned him not to ask me about what happened. I’m not ready to talk about everything, and I may never be again. I thought I was doing the right thing when I spoke up about it, and now I’m not so sure. I think I could have just as easily shut the fuck up and saved myself the trouble of moving cities every few months and changing my last name and avoiding situations.
