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“Snap out of it before you really screw something up.” Leah storms off and returns to pressing the garment she was working on.
If only she knew how badly I may fuck up tonight, and I’m not talking about work.
My eyes are glued to the clock on the wall near the register. Six pm, the final hour which has drug on for an eternity. Yes, I know, that’s a dramatic teenage response which shifts to rapid-fire what ifs. What if he doesn’t show up? What if it’s really not him? What if… Now I’ve stupidly psyched myself out which could take a positive twist if he doesn’t show. I’m an idiot, why do I keep doing this? I’m such a pathetic loser. My sad, meaningless existence has turned my dreams into a neurotic reality. Heavy medication and padded walls are surely in my future.
A pinch of pink touches the sky and I turn toward the front window to watch the oncoming sunset, seeking the comfort I feel when witnessing one. My legs are on the verge of giving out, and I take a seat beside the machine. Deep breaths, girl. Ya right, I might possibly have set myself up for a date with some deranged kidnapper. Shaking off those thoughts, I focus on the view as a miriad of colors flow past and the calm sweeps through me. There are wonderous things in life you’ll never get enough of and sunrises and sunsets are two of those for me.
Seven o’clock hits, and I find myself no calmer than I was an hour ago. After I clock out, I stumble through the walk of internal chastising toward my car, nervously scanning the parking lot and cursing myself the entire way. I’m not sure whether to breathe a sigh of relief or feel disappointed, having reached my car without seeing him. I rev up the engine and reach over to turn on the radio when someone knocks on the window and scares the shit out of me. I jump, my head darts in that direction only to find Leah and Cole standing there.
“Why are you sitting here? I thought you were hooking up with someone?” Leah barely gets the words out, laughing as hard as she is as I roll down the window.
Shakily, I reply, “We’re not meeting yet, so I was just going to hang out until then.”
“Do you want us to stay with you?” Cole asks, ever the protector. I love that side of him.
My head says yes, but my mouth overrides it, “No, I’ll be fine.” I think, well, more like hope.
They nod and start walking away though Cole glances back at me a couple of times. This is feeling more like the beginning of a B-rated slasher film and I’m starring as the dumbass female who always dies first.
After another ten minutes, I give up and turn on the headlights, ready to drive away. There he stands, in the bushes straight ahead. I don’t know if I should get out and greet him or to take off, and never pull this shit again. Option B would’ve been the right choice, but guess which one this dumbass goes with? What can I say, the suspense of meeting him is eating me alive. So, I turn off my car and sit there for a few moments, gathering the nerve to complete the mission even though my brain screams loud and clear, Abort!
I snag the can of mace from my purse, and slide it in my back pocket. Even though I get out of the car, I stand beside it with my keys between the fingers of one hand and the other on the handle. I’m not beneath poking another would-be attacker’s eyes out.
He holds his hands up. “Please don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you. I know you’re confused, but I swear I can explain,” he pleads.
My pulse races, my heart violently beats inside my chest on the brink of explosion. With each step as he nears, the pounding in my ears intensifies until he takes my hand his. His ice-cold touch sends shivers down my spine, which reminds me of how I felt in the dream.
Is this really the same man?
“Take a deep breath, Jess, it’s real,” he says, though I couldn’t breathe deeply if I had to. Hell, I couldn’t breathe at all.
A zillion questions flood my brain, but my mouth is too dry to engage. Every other thought is plagued with get in the car now, Jess, but I can’t move. Gently, he peels my fingers from the handle as it joins his and just like that—I’m out.
I gasp for breath and bolt upright far too quickly and nearly hurl. I shut my eyes and count to ten as I slowly draw in deep breaths and reopen them. The room is too dark to make anything out so I feel around and locate a lamp on what must be a bedside table. With a click, the room is illuminated. Where am I? Am I okay? I touch myself, all my clothes are still in tact and nothing hurts, though my mace is gone. What in the hell is wrong with me, why did I go looking for trouble? Now I’m trapped.
I stand up—still off balance and woozy—and as I reach for the bed a hand slides around my waist and I scream.
Another hand covers my mouth. “Ssssh, Jess, it’s okay, I’m right here.”
“Who the hell are you? Where am I?” That’s when the tears come. “Uh, uh are you going to k…k…kill me?” I stutter.
Much to my surprise, he laughs. “No, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, David.” When I look into the eyes of my killer, the familiarity in them hits me like a punch to the gut. David, my David, stares back at me, a whisp of hope and sadness in his eyes.
My legs buckle and he scoops me up before I can hit the floor and lays me back down on the bed. The sweet smile he gives me lights up my insides. Okay, now I feel weak in the knees for other reasons. Damn these teenage hormones.
I force my eyes away as my face heats and the overwhelming urge to get us out of our clothes strikes when I should be focused on looking for a way out. Thick, red velvet floor-to-ceiling curtains cover one entire wall. The four-poster king bed has the softest linens in a satin shade of black. Beside the bed there’s a nightstand and across from it a dresser and a desk with a chair. Everything in the room looks like it was purchased as a matching set straight off a showroom floor.
Nothing about this room is sick, twisted, or out of the ordinary. No freaky doctor tools lying on a cold steel tray nearby, no perverse abstract art, in fact, there isn’t anything on the walls at all.
He remains quiet while I survey the unfamiliar surroundings. “Where am I?”
“In my bedroom. You fainted so I brought you here,” he says.
“Where’s my car?” At that thought, my heart returns to racing. If my car isn’t here that would hamper any potential escape. On foot, I’d likely be caught again.
“In the driveway, you dropped the keys so I picked them up and drove us here. It’s right out there,” he gestures toward the curtained wall, “so you would have it when you were ready to leave.”
“I’m free to leave? Whenever I want?” I question.
