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Looking into his eyes, I search for any ulterior motive. There's only genuine concern.
“I assume you don’t want to go back to that apartment,” he continues, voice gentle.
My defenses waver. While I'm wary about accepting an offer involving being alone with a man, Evan has proven different. I certainly don’t want to risk a night out in the open.
“...Yeah,” I finally say, my voice strained. “Thank you, Evan.”
Chapter nine
Vulnerability and Trust
Hekeepsthewarmlights dim. In the achromatic kitchen, my palms fidget in my lap as my eyes remain fixed on the floor. His voice carries from the living room, engaged in a phone call, but I lack the concentration to discern the content of his conversation. Whatever he's doing, I wish he’d be done with it already. I need to shower off this cold, viscid vulnerability.Hissnarky, sharp tone is still in my ear, telling me I was used. Filthy.
It's so vivid and distracting that I don’t notice Evan standing in the doorway. He's holding a towel and a change of clothes, folded neatly in a pile.
“Here,” he places it on the table in front of me, “The bathroom is down the hall; it’s the last door.”
There's a brief silence, but it's long enough to bring back the cloud of shame that hung over me when I first met his eyes, tied to that bed. Snatching the towel and clothes swiftly, I make a hurried grab, avoiding any clumsy missteps. However, I don't make it far before he halts me.
“Is he why you didn’t want to do the interview?” he questions.
Please. He shouldn't be blaming himself for the actions of that monster, but I’m sure he already knows the answer.
“Yes,” I respond.
Seeing Evan Blackburn in such a state of tension is something I never anticipated. It isn’t the headstrong posture he usually stood in. It's almost guilty and unsure. His knuckles latch onto the side of the table, and his shoulders are shrugged up further than usual.
“Knowing this, I wouldn't have insisted on your going,” he states regretfully.
“Don’t worry about it. Not telling you wasmychoice.” I want to walk away; my energy isn’t high enough to participate in a conversation, and this one is ten times as draining. Still, I wait for some indication that it's okay for me to leave.
“And the moving—”
“Him too,” I finish. He nods, hiding his face from mine.
“It wasn’t any of my business, but I wished you would’ve told me it was this serious,” he articulates.
The realization that I could never occurred to me. Finding the right response to him eludes me.
“Now you know,” the second the words leave my mouth, panic flutters in my chest. I can’t tell whether it was rude, but he brushes my worries aside.
“You can stay here as long as you need until he's found.”
“That could be months,” I tell him. In my case, years.
“That's okay,” he turns towards me. Frizzy hair tattered and battered me. Now, it's clear to me. The guilt, pity, and anger, “If I can help it, I’d like to see him rot in jail.” Though he speaks low, his voice still has overwhelming power behind it, like a dormant volcano that could erupt at any moment.
Silent, stealthy tears roll down my cheeks, and a muted sob follows. I didn’t think I could feel more embarrassed today; that was a wrong assumption. My head droops and my hand covers my reddening face.
His shadow turns from mine. I appreciate the attempt at giving me some sort of privacy.
“Your room is right next to the bathroom, on the left. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.” Evan walks off, and I'm left in the kitchen, crying. Drying my tears as effectively as possible, I persist until my vision clears sufficiently to navigate through the vast home.
Forcing myself to shed my pants and shirt, I step under the ceiling showerhead, unheeded by the freezing water. It's a sensation I've grown accustomed to. It's better than letting the open air hit my crawling skin.
He got away, as usual. He's in New York. Minutes away, maybe seconds. He knows exactly where I am; he must. I'm not safe until he's locked up. Better yet, until he's dead, maybe he’ll try to take me to his delusional boat paradise again tonight. Definitely, tomorrow. That psychopath followed me from state to state for years, and he snatched up every opportunity to torture me if it was all clear for him to do so.
The water is steaming now, flowing over my body, cleansing it. It did the best it could, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough.
