2. Payton
TWO
PAYTON
Home should be a sweet slice of heaven, except the cabin my parents bought right before retirement doesn’t feel like it.
Everything about this place, this town—a village, really—feels so different, despite it being the place I was born and raised. Before eight years ago, every memory I have is within these streets. Perhaps it’s because that girl—the one who moved away at eighteen, hooked back up with her unsteady high school boyfriend like an idiot seeking a happily-ever-after with the constant in her life (despite the few breakups), then had life bitch-slap her in the face—is not the woman who’s returned.
Maybe it’s because, as a kid, I never had to experience the assholes running this place and how they only take one another’s side.
The door slams behind me, rattling this old house that, for some grand reason, my parents decided to buy after I left. Then, only two years later, they decided they hated living by the woods—despite it being what they initially wanted for retirement—and relocated all the way to Prince Edward Island to “get away from everything.” Whatever that means.
I’m actually lucky they didn’t sell because it became my saving grace when I couldn’t afford the rent on my Toronto apartment and coming home became my best option. Having credit card debt taller than the trees outside means needing to save every dollar possible to restart, and the prices of Toronto weren’t making it feasible. Here, I get the chance to begin again and claim the life I should have had, rather than the fuckery it became.
Or, hoped to, anyway. Instead, I cross the room and slam three notes onto the coffee table with as much impact as paper is able to make. The messy handwriting taunts me. The newest note, found this morning before leaving for my shift at Fawn’s Diner, is on top.
You’ve always wanted to be chased. Why isn’t this enough?
It’s unsigned, but it’s from Aaron. After eight years together, his writing is as familiar as my own, as is the disdain his pen pressed into each word. It’s become the third in two weeks—a fact only I find remotely concerning, apparently.
Should have figured that’s how it’d go when I took them all to the local police station, only to have them dismissed because Aaron’s fucking uncle is the chief. Coupled with his father being the mayor, Aaron can do no wrong in any of these people’s eyes.
I spread the three notes apart.
The second, received last week:
Come back to me or pay the price.
The first, received four days after arriving:
You’ve run right into my trap.
Not the most creative guy. Still, my stomach twists, and I shove the papers away before fear can take hold. Aaron’s harmless, but taunting, almost-threats are new for him, so nothing’s certain.
With a weary sigh and throbbing feet from a long day at the diner, I kick off my shoes, already anticipating a hot bath to ease the swelling. In there, I’ll pretend to not be tempted to drown myself.
I’m not suicidal, but fuck if everything happening won’t soon drive me to it. Unfortunately, his half-assed threats aren’t even the beginning; they’re the cherry on top of a fucked-up situation.
Having next to no options meant moving home was my best one. Aaron made sure of that, and some-fucking-how—because the world is that cruel—he also came back two days after me, into a house on the opposite end of town, bought and paid for by his rich parents. He was the popular one in school, and maybe he’s chasing that high again. Or he’s followed me…a possibility by the notes he’s been leaving.
“Maybe he’ll get so stoned one day, he’ll fall off a mountain,” I grumble, forcing myself to my feet and wearily making my way to the kitchen.
Supper. Bath. Bed.
Then tomorrow: repeat everything I did today.
Day after: everything again.
And so on until I make enough to pay everything off and decide what’s next.
After two bites into a sandwich I quickly threw together, my phone rings. There’s only four people who’d be calling. By process of elimination, it shouldn’t be my boss, considering she’d be thick in the supper rush by now, and it won’t be my parents due to time zone differences, which leaves Gwen.
“Hey,” I mumble around a bite of food after tapping the button to answer the call. “What’s up?”
“You working this weekend?”
“Friday, yeah. Not Saturday through to Monday. Diner’s closed, sadly.” Normally, businesses would be closed for Good Friday and open Saturday, which is no actual holiday, but Fawn and Jim have their grandkids visiting, so they’ve opted to swap the days around to maximize the time they’ll spend with them.
“Sadly.” She snorts. “P, you’re probably the only person who’s upset about being off for the holiday.”
Yeah, well, try working through a mountain of debt where every dollar earned counts.
I grunt. “Eh. Why do you ask?”
“Because we can hang out for the holiday. Maybe on Sunday?”
“I don’t celebrate Easter.”
“Neither do I, but there’s a first time for everything.”
I groan at the idea. Considering Gwen’s the only person around my age to embrace my return, and we haven’t hung out much outside of the diner, I’d be a bitch to turn her down. She’s my only friend, because my old ones either moved away or took Aaron’s side because he got to spread his version of the story first: poor girl cheated on the golden boy. It was a fable he wrote to push me out of existence. It should hurt, but I expected nothing less from Aaron. By the time I arrived, even though I made it to town before him, I’d already been branded a few different colourful titles—bitch, whore, and frigid being some of the nicer ones. As though any of them had stakes in our drama. Small towns suck that way.
But Gwen isn’t from here. Pretty sure she’s certifiably insane, because she’s one of those people who chose to live here, relocating here a few years ago while chasing a small-town vibe that reminded her of the show Gilmore Girls.
“Fine,” I agree, trying to tamper down on the unwillingness. “Nothing major, though.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll figure something out.” Through the phone, I can almost hear the way her mind starts racing at highway speeds. She’s about to make hanging out a big thing.
“Good day at work?”
“Kids will be kids.” Gwen’s a private nanny to a family with three children under five. “You?”
“Slow. Thankfully, no drop-ins from the dick.” I eye the notes again, wondering if I should mention them. I didn’t bother with the first two, because I assumed they were Aaron being an ass, but three might be saying something else. Which is why courage took hold long enough this morning for me to seek help—even if that ended before it began.
“You can’t let him bother you, P. He’s doing that shit on purpose.” Her advice is nothing I’m not already aware of, but it’s impossible to ignore Aaron’s constant presence and written taunts. “You know what? We need to find you a man.”
“Uh, no.” I lower my plate into the sink, deciding to make washing it tomorrow’s problem, and leave the kitchen. “A man is what started this mess. I need to stay away from them.”
“They’re not all bad. Besides, it’s only sex. Hook up, forget about the loser, and go from there.”
“In this town?” After a final check of my front door to ensure it’s locked, I tread down the hallway toward my bedroom, stopping by the bathroom first to begin running my bath water. “Have you seen the people who live here? The only guys our age are Aaron’s friends, and they’re a definite no.” More like a fuck no .
“You’re hooking up, not marrying the guy. Maybe fucking one of his friends is what’s needed. Create some drama in his life.” Gwen’s tone does nothing to mask her dislike of Aaron. “There’s seriously not one guy you’d fuck?”
There was one. Maybe. One I never crossed the line with because we were never that close. I stupidly continued running back to Aaron like a dog with a bone; he was popular and good looking, and my seventeen-year-old hormonal brain believed he was right for us. In hindsight, the best may have actually been the non-friend (because we were kidding ourselves about claiming to only be classmates) I had. Last I saw online, he, too, moved away a few years ago. Although I’ve looked since being home, he hasn’t been around town. And I’m not brave enough to ask anyone about him.
“Not anymore,” I finally reply.
“We’ll find someone,” she says with certainty, like it’s that easy. “Even if we have to keep driving ‘til we do.”
“You’re oddly invested in my sex life.” I laugh, entering my bedroom. “Like, weirdly so, but I’m gonna let you go now since my bath is nearly filling.”
“Alright, enjoy. If you have a waterproof vibrator, bring that with you.”
“Hanging up now.”
Still laughing, I toss my cell onto the bed and undress, ignoring the fact I do have a waterproof vibrator hidden in my bedside table. It’s been there since I unpacked but has never touched, because work keeps me too tired. Most nights, I pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I head for the bathroom, eager to slide into the hot water and let it wipe everything else away. It prickles at my sore feet as I step in, and relaxes my back when I fully sink below the surface. Leaning over, I grab the horror novel read only during bath time, then settle back for a bone-chilling story about a serial killer targeting blonde women.
An hour or so later, when my feet are no longer sore, my body is pruning, and the water is cooling, I drain the tub and wrap myself in a clean, fluffy towel from a shelf by the tub before heading to my room.
As I pass the window in my room, a strange sensation settles over me—one that slows my steps when they should be quickening, simultaneously churning my stomach and warming me. It’s an urge to carefully scan my surroundings, as if I’m being watched, except I’m safe in my own home.
Aren’t I?
While I should be bolting to dress in something less revealing than a towel in case I’m not alone, I instead lean closer to the window, scanning the dark outdoors. There are no streetlights behind the house, so everything is black. No matter how much I scan, the only shapes visible, with help from the moonlight, are the distinct trees of the endless forest that stretches so far, it eventually reaches the next town’s boundaries.
Maybe it’s in my head. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve felt like this. I push off the window with a shake of my head, hoping water merely slipped through my ears and into my brain, making me senseless. Still, I slide the curtains shut, just in case, and get dressed before slipping into bed.
Even as I settle, my attention remains on the window. Few people know where I’m staying. Considering Aaron’s been leaving notes, he knows, but sulking around at nighttime? That’d involve getting off his ass past five p.m., which would be a first.
Still, I tug the blanket high over my shoulders to hide.