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It’s so silent in the house that every footstep seems to echo like a gunshot.
Someone’s going to wake up.
I know they are.
Whoever it is will stick their head around their door and scare the life out of me. They’ll immediately question why I’m carrying my suitcase, still dressed for sleep, and I’ll burst into tears. It’ll be a disaster.
Except, no one stirs. I’m halfway down the stairs before I allow myself to breathe and by the front door, before the first tear rolls down my cheek. My hand is on the doorknob when someone clears their throat in the darkness.
“Where are you going, Allie?” a deep voice asks.
The shock makes my heart squeeze out one huge beat, and I spin to find Russell sitting in the corner of the sectional, nursing a drink, dressed only in his underwear.
“I can’t,” I say, and storm through the door, rushing to get to my car. I throw open the passenger door and toss my suitcase inside. I struggle out of my work bag, dropping it into the footwell. By the time I’ve closed the door, Russell is next to me and I’m sobbing.
“Hey.” He grabs me into his arms, tugging me against his muscular chest that feels and smells like safety, but I struggle out. I can’t be drawn back into this situation again. There could be cameras on me right now and I don’t need any additional evidence to build an even more sordid story than the one that has already been written.
“I can’t,” I say again, running around to open the driver’s door. If I can just get inside and off this driveway…
“Allie,” Russell yells. “Allie. Don’t go like this.”
I slam the door and start the car, throwing it into drive as quickly as I can. I don’t wait to put on my belt, I just press my foot on the gas, and when I’m at the edge of the property, about to turn onto the road, I glance in my rearview mirror and find Russell watching me go, his hand gripping the top of his head in frustration.
It takes me an hour and a half to get back to my apartment and I sob most of the way. I use all the tissues I have, and my eyes are swollen and stinging.
I’ve only been away a few days, but already the door to my home seems unfamiliar. When I manage to fumble the key into the lock and turn it, the hallway feels like the home of a stranger. I imagined running to my place of sanctuary, but instead, this place is just a reminder of my life before I met the ten men I just left behind. This is a place where I was treading water rather than living.
I dump my luggage in the doorway to my bedroom, and head to the kitchen for some water. It chills me from the inside when it hits my stomach, and I sob again, feeling as hollow as an echo chamber.
My phone vibrates, but I don’t pick it up.
I don’t care who it is because no one can help me with my problems.
They’re insurmountable.
I’m going to fracture into pieces beneath the weight of them and there is no one who can hold me together.
37
RUSSELL
It doesn’t matter that it’s the middle of the night and the rest of the men in the house are sleeping. As Allie speeds out of the driveway, I bound up the stairs, thudding my fist against every door.
I’m greeted with disgruntled shouts, and then a few heads appear around doorways.
“What the fuck, Russell?”
“What’s wrong with you dude?”
“Seriously, man. It’s the middle of the fucking night.”
“Allie’s gone,” I say in response to the cacophony of grumbling, and that gets everyone's immediate attention. Angry faces turn serious in the space of one heartbeat. The men leave their rooms and gather around me in the hallway.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
“Where?”
“Why?”
