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Having to lie to everyone I loved too, yeah, that had been a constant, nagging source of anxiety. Especially because, as time wore on, they got more and more vocal about wanting me to quit, that they didn’t like what it was doing to me. My father, in particular, had been getting more and more insistent, to the point where I was almost in tears sometimes when he caught me alone, knowing that if my mom was around, she would remind him to back off, to let me figure out my own life.
Being a source of clear disappointment for those who loved you most was a weighted reality, it dragged me down inch by inch every day that passed.
Even if I knew they didn’t know the whole truth, didn’t know why I was doing what I was doing, that when everything did come out, that they would likely be apologetic, proud of me.
It didn’t make the present easier to deal with.
I had started to feel, at times, like a ghost of myself.
And all that? Yeah, it was over.
What that meant for my future, well, I wasn’t quite sure about that.
A job hunt would be on as quickly as possible, of course. I had a decent savings, but not one I could live off of for any length of time. This time, though, I would get to pick a job that meant something to me, that actively worked toward fixing the crumbling world we are living in.
That was something to look forward to, to be happy about.
Why, then, was all I felt a muted sort of relief?
Not excitement, not joy.
Just a bit of calm.
That I could let the facade fall, that I could get back to how I truly was.
Maybe it would just take some time. Sometimes people had a hard time coming back from events. Hell, sometimes it took me a week to get back to level when exams were going on in college.
Stress did ugly things to the body.
Eventually, once I fell into this new rhythm–my old rhythm–I would be feel the excitement and happiness.
Until then, I owed it to the person I had repressed to become the woman I needed to be to work at Blairtown Chem to treat myself to some rest and relaxation.
I got dinner to-go, grabbed some shower steamers since my tub was unimpressive at best, bought myself some comfy new pajamas, and finally brought myself home for the first time in weeks.
My plants–my poor, beloved plants–were all on their last legs from lack of water. I put them all in the sinks to have a pool party while I showered, dressed in the silky sage green pajama pants and matching camisole, reheated my food, turned on some music, and sat down to eat.
Maybe it wasn’t what some might call a celebration. Hell, it wasn’t even one by my standards necessarily, but seeing as there was no one I had shared their journey with, there was no one to share the end of it with.
That was okay.
Things would be turning around.
I could let everyone in on it in no time.
Then all my family and friends would know why I had been living how I had, why I’d been so unlike myself. They would be happy for me. And the feeling would be contagious.
On that thought, I finished my food, going into my kitchen to clean up.
I would have missed it.
If I was just a couple seconds too early or too late.
If I wasn’t still a bit antsy about the whole situation.
If I hadn’t worked around men and women who had made it clear to me that–as a woman living alone, especially–you always needed to be aware of your surroundings. Even in your own home.
It didn’t even jump out at me right at first, just a flash in my periphery that made me do a double-take, knowing there wasn’t supposed to be anything on my balcony. At least nothing above waist-level since that was as tall as all my outdoor plants got.
This was decidedly above waist-level, though.
Which was likely because this dark figure actually had a waist. As well as a body above and below it.
A person.
There was a person on my balcony.
And seeing as said person was completely decked out in all black–including his face–I figured they weren’t just dropping in to ask to borrow a cup of sugar.
Hooded figures on your balcony pretty much always meant harm.
My body fell face-first into fear. Nerve endings fired off, making my skin cold and sensitive. My pulse sped into overdrive, pounding hard in my temples, throat, wrists, groin. My breathing immediately shallowed out, a fist of uncertainty curling around my throat.
I don’t know how long it took to respond.
Not long.
Seconds, maybe.
Though everything felt slower, like time itself was doused in molasses, fighting against the stickiness.
My foot sought freedom before my brain even seemed to be in on it, turning sending me in the direction from where I had just come.
