Chapter 3
Three
Tabitha
My heart sinks as I look at the phone.
It’s just a text from the senior surgical resident who’s working with Professor Landers, reminding participants to be on time tomorrow.
I sigh and put the phone back down, feeling like I’ve been kicked in the gut.
“Stop it!”
I’ve got to stop talking to myself like this, but it seems to be the only way I can get out of this funk.
I inhale deeply, gather myself, and try to put the text from not-Henry behind me.
I force my mind to focus on the words before me, on the stark black of the text against the sterile white of the paper.
I allow the scientific jargon to wash over me like a soothing balm, covering the raw wound of my heart.
I force myself to read and reread pages, to understand every word, every diagram, every case study. But the letters blur into each other and form a frenzied jumble in my mind.
Which, of course, morphs into Henry Simpson.
I should eat something. I haven’t eaten since breakfast at the Simpson ranch house.
Angie and Jason were already gone, of course, and Henry was nowhere to be found.
I sat with Marjorie, resisting the urge to ask where her son was. Sage was still in bed, and Bryce had gone over to see his best friend, Angie’s uncle Joe.
Marjorie was wonderful, of course, and asked if I truly had to leave so soon.
I told her about the seminar, and she was ecstatic for me and made me promise to let her and Bryce know how everything went.
Funny.
She had no idea what her son and I had been up to all weekend.
Just as well.
I won’t be joining Angie’s family anytime soon.
Probably never.
The pang of loss hits me again. It’s a blinding stab that leaves me breathless.
I push back from my desk and walk into the kitchen, opening cupboards in search of something to eat. I settle for a can of soup and some stale crackers. It’s not much, but it’s something. After two days of rich and decadent food, it works.
Soup and crackers. The ultimate comfort food.
Except it doesn’t comfort me.
As I eat, my mind churns, and I’m unable to escape the endless loop of what-ifs and might-have-beens.
Henry.
Why can’t I get him out of my head?
I try to focus on the positive, remind myself of the good things.
The seminar.
The opportunity.
But everything is tinged with an undercurrent of bitterness. Every achievement feels hollow.
Which is, of course, ridiculous.
I resist the urge to berate myself out loud once more.
After the light dinner, I try to return to my studies, but I can’t concentrate. I can’t focus.
Henry.
Henry.
Henry.
Always there, damn him.
I give up on studying and decide to take a warm shower. The water cascades down my body, but all I can think about are his hands on me, the way he caressed and explored every inch of me. The water’s touch is nothing compared to his.
I hurriedly step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my body. The mirror is steamed up, hiding my reflection. I wipe it away.
The girl staring back at me is a stranger. Eyes that once held joy and excitement are now dull and lifeless.
Is this what heartbreak looks like?
I dress in a pair of old leggings and an oversized shirt, pulling my damp hair into a messy bun. It’s a far cry from the periwinkle number I wore yesterday. I look at myself again in the mirror and shake my head.
I need to snap out of this.
I return to the living room, ready to tackle the books again, but my head isn’t in it.
I glance at the clock. It’s late. Maybe sleep will offer some respite, some escape from the tormenting thoughts of Henry.
But even as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep eludes me. The silence of the apartment feels overwhelming, and the shadows cast by the moonlight feel eerie.
Images of Henry flash through my mind like a slideshow.
His smile.
His beautiful, muscular body.
His silky blond hair.
The way his blue eyes seem to see right into my heart.
Why can’t I erase him from my mind? Pretend I never knew him?
But I know the answer to those questions.
I can’t erase him because another part of me yearns to cling to those memories, even though they torment me.
I look toward the window. A few stars dot the sky, though they’re nothing compared to the vast stars I saw at the ranch.
Still, it’s a peaceful setting. Maybe a walk would help me clear my head. Getting out of this suffocating apartment might offer some relief. It’s dark, but Boulder is safe. Women walk up and down the Pearl Street Mall at all hours.
I quickly pull on a pair of sneakers, grab my keys, and leave the apartment. The cool night air hits my flesh, and I begin to walk, letting the rhythm of my steps clear my mind. I end up on Pearl Street.
The stores are all closed, but the restaurants are still open. Pearl Street Pub and Cellar is bustling. I peek inside and spy a group of med students, a couple of whom I know.
I could go in, join them.
But they’re laughing and smiling. I’d be a dud.
So I pass and continue walking.
Being outside under the moonlight helps. I need to process. To somehow glue together the pieces of my shattered heart so I can begin the rest of my life tomorrow.
I breathe in. Out. In again.
The lights from Pearl Street have dimmed. My footsteps echo against the sidewalk. Too loud in the silence. Hesitation spikes through me, but Boulder is safe. People say that all the time.
But the air feels different. Heavier.
Time to turn back.
And that’s when I hear it.
Footsteps. Louder, heavier than mine.
And they’re behind me.
A chill skates over my neck.
No. I won’t panic.
Someone else is just heading home, that’s all.
I quicken my pace.
The footsteps quicken too.
The chill on my neck ripples down my spine.
I grip my phone in my pocket, but I don’t pull it out.
Not yet.
I don’t want to make it obvious that I’m scared.
“Hey.”
The voice stops me cold. A man’s voice. It’s low and rough and close enough that it scrapes along my nerves.
I keep walking.
“Hey, don’t ignore me.”
The footsteps close in, faster now.
My heart slams against my sternum. I pick up speed, nearly jogging, but before I know it, he’s in front of me.
He’s tall with broad shoulders, a shadow that fills the sidewalk. He blocks my way, hands loose at his sides, but his eyes glint under the streetlight.
“Pretty risky,” he says. “Walking out here alone.”
I freeze. Every instinct screams at me to move, but my body won’t listen.
He steps closer, tilting his head like he’s curious. “Where you headed?”
My mouth goes dry.
The night is now too quiet. No cars. No people.
Just him and me.
And the dark fear gripping my body.