4. Anna
ANNA
I’m not sure if I should be more thrilled or terrified about getting my discharge papers, because the reality of my situation sets in when I return to my apartment.
I immediately jump in the shower, and every minute I spend washing and re-washing my hair and body leaves my mind reeling with more and more questions and fears.
The last thing I want to do is get involved with the police investigation.
Not because I don’t want to help. I just don’t know who I’ll be dealing with.
I asked Detective Nash to keep my identity out of the press release, but that only covers my ass right now.
What happens if they catch these guys? What happens when I’m forced to testify at the trial?
Will my picture be splashed all across the news and social media? Anyone could see me, including him .
After everything I did, after all that money was spent, it would be for nothing. I’ll have a target on my back again, and I won’t have the resources to disappear for a second time.
And even if I wanted to help the police, I can’t think of any details that could pinpoint the robbers. I hadn’t seen any skin, let alone any discernible marks like tattoos or scars. None of them had a blatant accent, a physical abnormality, or a unique identifier.
One of the guys had blue eyes. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.
I narrowed it down to one-fourth of the population.
Yeah, that’s some crack detective work there, MacGyver.
After washing the hospital grime off, all I want to do is take some Advil and collapse into bed, but I don’t have much of a choice.
I have to leave my apartment again.
Since I had parked down on Main Street, leaving the car to sit there for two days, someone reported it and had it towed.
My roommate, Darcy, was nice enough to pick me up from the hospital and drop me off at the tow yard, so I’m not about to inconvenience her again by making her take me to the DMV at a later date.
And I sure as hell am not getting in a car with a stranger.
Because that is what I would need to do if I didn’t do this today.
When moving to a new state, you usually only get thirty to sixty days before you have to renew your driver’s license, and today is my last day.
I know I shouldn’t care that much about my vanity, but I can’t help doing my hair and makeup.
Most of my time is spent concealing the bruise on the side of my head, and though the worst of it is still visible, I might be able to hide it from view if I lay my hair just right when they take the picture.
This time, I don’t have the luxury of stressing out about leaving my place. The DMV closes at 5:30, and if I want to make it, I can’t spend the next hour psyching myself up at the front door. Dragging in a less-than-steady breath, I twist the knob and force my feet forward.
I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s just a visit to the DMV, after all, but the trip is shockingly uneventful.
I spend most of my time sitting between a guy wearing a trucker hat who keeps nodding off and an older woman who offers me some hard candy.
I politely decline, unable to keep myself from looking at the guy the next aisle over.
He’s around my age, wearing work boots, worn jeans, and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt.
All the while, he bounces a toddler on his leg as she squeals and giggles.
Nana didn’t want me to turn out like my mother, living a “small life.” She was convinced that’s what killed her.
Meanwhile, I had fallen for the townie who never dreamed of leaving Meadow Bridge.
He dressed like Mr. Skynyrd across from me and came from the quote-unquote “wrong side of the tracks.” Seventeen-year-old me was head over heels, but Nana was downright horrified.
She was convinced he’d either wind up in prison like my father or living off the state like his.
I originally planned on going to a community college because I didn’t want to do the long-distance thing with Ryan, but Nana wouldn’t hear of it.
After she got sick, she made me promise I would do something more than stay in my small town, that I would be with a man who could actually take care of me.
I loved Ryan but also wanted to do right by her, so I broke things off with him.
Nana called near the end of freshman year to tell me he had “knocked up some waitress,” and while it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my chest, she couldn’t have sounded more relieved. In her mind, I had dodged a bullet.
The joke ’ s on you, Nana. And me.
Because I would give anything to be that waitress now.
Ryan’s social media profile shows the two of them at a backyard barbecue, playing with their beautiful little girl, and they’re both wearing wedding rings.
She still works at the restaurant while he has a job as a mechanic down at Thornton’s.
They have a small home, make a modest living, and have lives so blissfully uncomplicated.
Nana talked about such an existence as if it were a nightmare, and for that short time, she had convinced me she was right.
When I met Sebastian after transferring schools, I thought I finally found what she was talking about.
Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.
Ryan and his wife are spending the evening at a drive-in with their daughter while I’m dying a natural death at the DMV with no one to so much as text.
I wasn’t ready to settle down or get married or have a family, and I’m still not ready now.
In hindsight, I know that Ryan wasn’t the right person for me, but it all would be better than living… whatever this is.
So, who’s winning the game of life right now, Nana? Because it sure as heck doesn’t feel like me.
When I finally make it out of the hellscape that is the Department of Motor Vehicles, I make an executive decision to go to the grocery store.
I don’t know how Darcy affords it, but most of the food she eats is takeout, and our fridge right now only houses condiments.
And since I’ve been too scared of leaving my place, everything I’ve eaten for the past month has been delivered from the nearby market.
That makes going to the grocery store a whole new experience for me.
I’m still on edge, but no more than usual.
At least during my trip through the deli.
The further I go into the store, the more this strange warmth blossoms out from my chest, spreading into the rest of my body.
It feels like there’s a spotlight on me even though no one’s looking.
Well, except for the frat bro I suspect is checking out my ass when I go to grab some crackers, but I’ll take his attention over the buzzing from my purse any day.
Whenever Sebastian or one of his goons was watching from afar, some inherent part of me could sense it. The feeling had been different, like cold fingers skimming down my spine, but anytime the sensation hit, a text message always followed within minutes to confirm that, no, I wasn’t paranoid.
Of course, the numbers all came from apps or burner phones, so none could be traced. And even if they could, none of the messages said anything threatening. Just a simple:
Hello.
But it was enough to let me know that Sebastian always had eyes on me. There was no hiding from him.
I haven’t gotten a text message from anyone this past month apart from my roommate, and only the hospital, the police, and businesses I’ve sent my resume to should know my number, but that never stopped my ex before.
Why would it now? It didn’t matter how many times I changed my number. The messages just kept coming.
And the timing, the fact that it coincides with this one visit I’ve made out in public, is too much.
The dread of seeing those five letters appear on screen is enough to make me want to throw up…
But as it turns out, I am being paranoid.
Because it’s from Detective Nash, who simply wants to know when we can schedule an appointment to talk.
I practically chuck the phone back into my handbag, both relieved and irritated.
It does nothing to settle my nerves, though, because this still means I have to speak with the police, and seeing how that went last time, I would sooner want to jump into the sewers.
It also doesn’t help that I can’t shake off the feeling I’m still being watched, even as I make it to the far back of the store.
Only two people are nearby, and neither strikes me as a stalker.
The gentleman in front of me is using one of the store’s motorized scooters and looks to be about eighty, while the younger guy behind me is the very definition of self-absorbed.
His head is down, consumed by his phone, and I can see bright red buds sticking out from the dark hair curling around his ears.
He’s so distracted that he almost hits the end-of-aisle display as he turns the corner.
Yep, definitely not a mastermind. And I’m pretty sure he’s the same guy who I caught looking at my ass earlier out of my periphery.
Usually, seeing someone lurking by me wearing a black hoodie would be cause for alarm, but it’s also accompanied by gym shorts, running shoes, and a cart full of beer, chips, dip, and pretty much anything else you’d expect to find in a frat boy’s fridge.
I roll my eyes, assuring myself I’m just paranoid, but what if someone’s looking at me through the store’s camera feed? Someone other than the security staff?
It sounds ridiculous even in my own head, but why else can’t I shake this feeling? Have I really just gotten that irrational?