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“I have some of Victor’s sweatpants. You can wear those. You can chase after whoever in those and you know it.”
“Victorio didn’t tell me you were so bossy,” he says as he follows me down the hall.
I open the small hall closet and take out a spare pillow, a fresh pillowcase, and a pale beige velour blanket. The pillowcase has little pink flowers interconnected by vines in the design. Zane isn’t exactly a pink flowers kind of guy, but he’s out of luck. All my sheets are kind of dainty and pretty. It’s something that Victor balked about and made me laugh. I didn’t realize men could have such an overdose of testosterone that they are offended by flowers.
“I’m not bossy,” I puff out as he takes the blanket and things from me. I follow him back into the living area. He puts everything in a chair and then picks up the blanket and spreads it out on the couch. I watch him and then walk into my bedroom. I open the top dresser drawer and find some of Victor’s things. I grab a pair of gray sweats and head back to my guest.
I gave Victor a drawer to keep him from searching forever out of his overnight bag. If I was honest, I did it because I liked the way it felt to have his clothes next to mine. Of course, that was before he told me that we weren’t friends. It bothers me, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. Emilia didn’t want me to overreact. She said men are stupid sometimes and I needed to talk to him about everything. I plan on it, but I know the real problem is that no matter what Victor says, he will never care about me like I do him. I mean, I’ve always realized that, but the distance betweenus now is just physical proof. Deanna’s words come back to haunt me. Victor is safe. I’m comfortable—happy even.
I need to push myself.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he replies to my earlier statement, obviously not agreeing. I force my mind to go back to our conversation and put thoughts of Victor away for a bit.
I throw the sweats at him. He catches them grinning at me. “Go change. I’m going to bed. If you’re nice, I’ll cook you breakfast before I go to the shelter in the morning.”
“Victorio mentioned that you worked in town at the Hope Shelter for Women.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’ve worked there since I moved here. I’m the office manager. I’ve been sitting in on some of the counseling sessions and helping the staff where I can. I’m thinking of going back to school for a degree in social work. I mean, I’d be doing more to help the women and kids there. Plus, I’d make more money. Right now, it doesn’t pay a lot, but I keep the lights on,” I joke.
“It’s an admirable job and I think you’d be a great social worker. What made you want to work there?”
“I like making a difference. My therapist pulled some strings and helped get me the position.” I turn away, needing to stop talking about myself. It makes me uncomfortable. “Now, if you want breakfast, go change. I know it’s only nine, but I’m tired and I really need to go to bed.”
I start walking to the bedroom and he follows, but he stops by the bathroom door and calls my name. “Angel?”
I turn so I can see him. “Yeah?”
“What are you fixing for breakfast?”
I laugh, shaking my head, a smile still on my face as I look at him. “What’s your favorite thing to eat?”
“I don’t really do breakfast.”
“Then, what’s your favorite food in general?”
“Lemon méringue pie,” he says with a devilish smile.
“Then, lemon pancakes it is.”
“Lemon pancakes?” he asks, sounding intrigued. “Is that a thing?”
“It is now. I figure I owe you for the bullshit that Victor pulled. Talk to you in the morning, Zane.”
“Sweet dreams, Angel.”
I sigh and don’t respond. I can’t ever remember having sweet dreams.Ever.I doubt tonight will be any different. Deanna’s words come back at me. I need to change things. I do want a normal life one day. I do.I’m just not sure it’s possible.
angelina
. . .
I could feel the knife pressing against my throat. There must be a rag or blindfold over my eyes. I can’t see anything. No, that’s not right. My head is pushed into the mattress. There’s pressure on the back of my head. I try to fight it and lift up, but I can’t. I feel fingers pressing into my skin. Bile rises up in my throat. I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening again. It can’t. I won’t survive a second time. I’m not strong enough.
I just can’t do it.
I start sobbing uncontrollably. My cries are so harsh that they rock my body. I can’t stop trembling. I’m going into shock.How did he get in?I feel his hand wrap around my hair as he pulls my head back, pain erupts in my scalp. I scream out, the sound loud now that he’s forced my face away from the mattress.
“Angel! Angel!” I hear someone yelling. It’s not Victor, though. I try to figure out who it is, but I can feel the knife cutting into my cheek, reopening an old wound that will never fade.Will never go away.
