Zelda
My heart races, pounding furiously against my ribs, and for a long few heartbeats, I think I’m going to be sick on the grass. Out of relief, out of shame—all of it.
The night breeze curls in tendrils between my legs. The sound of someone sobbing is loud in my ears but it takes several moments for me to realize that it’s me, that the sound is coming from my own body and not anyone else.
Sawyer is standing frozen in the driveway in front of me, feet away from his car, staring after the tail lights of the car that his boss got into with—with what, his replacement?
A man who had been his counterpart? I have no idea.
I don’t care. I want to get out of here, go home, and never come out again.
The lights from the police car—no sirens—illuminate the houses in flashes, competing with the street lights.
Blue and red, blue and red. Blood rushes to my face.
When they get here, what the hell am I going to say?
That I didn’t know the two men who broke into my apartment?
That I have no idea who Sawyer is, even though I’m standing in his aunt’s driveway with him, wearing his shirt?
What am I going to say about standing outside half naked in the middle of the night?
Jesus Christ, what am I going to tell my parents? Am I about to be arrested?
My body turns to the right, then back to the left, but all I can think is run but all my legs can do is nothing. Nothing at all. I’m stuck here, waiting to see what happens next.
Sawyer doesn’t turn to look at me. He watches the approaching lights, getting closer to us block by block, until they’re at the corner by my parents’ house. His hand drops slowly away from his face.
I gasp in a deep breath that comes out as more sobs.
When are they going to get here? How long can they possibly drag this out?
The lights stop coming forward.
They make a turn, trundling down the street.
A moment later, the lights go off, and the engine of the car revs.
I don’t know whether to feel relieved or ashamed, and everything is a nightmare vortex in my core.
Sawyer’s face, in the dim light coming from the lamp near the curb, is a mask of confusion, cheek already swelling, his eyebrows drawn together, frowning.
He stands, solid and still, for another moment, two, then three.
Then the muscles in his back relax, his shoulders come down, and he turns to face me.
The concentration on his face slips, and he claps a hand over his mouth. “Zelda—”
“Stop.” I’m a blubbering mess—I can’t get a hold of myself, can’t stop the panic from rising again and again, even though it seems like this might be over—and I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
The sound of my name lands like a jackhammer in the center of my mind, and a new hot flush of shame cascades down my back.
He comes toward me, arms open, but I jerk away.
I can’t help myself. Pain tears through Sawyer’s eyes and he drops his hands to his side.
“Listen—I didn’t know that he would do that.
I was going to go finish things off in the city, but then it seemed more important to be here.
Zelda, please. Please, take a deep breath. ”
My gut goes cold, but my body’s reaction can’t be stopped, won’t be stopped, until I’m somewhere I can close a door behind me and really lose it.
“Don’t say another word.” The voice that comes out of my mouth barely seems like mine.
“What?”
“I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth.” I’m being cruel and I know it, but I’m so angry—I’m so afraid and so angry at him, because how could he be blameless? He must have known—he must have known—
“Let me take you home.”
“Are you kidding me?” I’m trying not to be shrill. It’s not working. “How am I supposed to go back there? They kicked in my door. I can’t even lock the door. How am I supposed to keep anyone out when they kicked in the door?”
“Shhh,” he says, and it’s meant to be soothing but it sparks a deep rage somewhere low in my stomach, and I whip my head away, eyes to the side, so I don’t have to look at him.
“I’m leaving.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.” I raise one hand in the air. “If you come another step toward me, I’ll—I’ll—”
The pain in his eyes gets deeper, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, swallowing hard. “Zelda—”
“I mean it.” I sidestep around him, giving him plenty of space while I make my way to the sidewalk. He doesn’t move. He stands rooted in place. “Don’t follow me.”
“I want to—”
“I said, don’t follow me.” My voice is unrecognizable. “Don’t follow me. Don’t call me. Don’t ever talk to me again.”
Once I’m on the sidewalk, I put one foot in front of the other, my body feeling like lead. Behind me, there’s a crack as the door to Sawyer’s aunt’s house opens. Her voice floats out over the lawn.
“Sawyer? What are you doing out here?” There’s a pause. “Where’s your shirt?”
I pick up speed, going back toward my parents’ house on instinct, even though there’s no door to lock behind me. I should wake them up. I should tell them what happened.
I don’t dare look back. I can feel Sawyer’s eyes boring into me even as I move into the shadows between the streetlights, and my heart tears in two. I want to go back and throw myself into his arms. I want to keep running, back to safety.
In the end, safety wins out—even if I know it’s an illusion. Those thugs could come back at any time. Any time. I’m a sitting duck.
I don’t care. I can’t care. I’m all out of it.
By the time I hit my parents’ driveway, I’m running, and I run straight around to the back entrance, fly in through the door, and slam it closed behind me, flipping the lock out of habit.
It doesn’t engage. It doesn’t do anything because a chunk of the door is broken, splintered.
A new burst of energy seizes me, and I leap into the living room, grabbing hard to the arm of my couch.
I drag it across the room and shove it up against the door.
It’s not much, but it will do.
Breathing hard, I look at my handiwork, and at the sight of the couch firmly pressed against the door, something breaks loose in me. I can’t stop the tears. There’s no way.
So instead, I make my way to my bedroom, pull the covers up over my head, and let the tears flow.