CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Brett
Present
“I told you about how I tried to kill him, right?” I glance up from my cuticle, already starting to bleed from the assault by my burgundy fingernail.
“Your boyfriend?” Judy replies with a smile that says she already knows, “Yes, you did.”
“After what he did to me…” I still don’t like thinking about it. The dark room, the gun, his eyes, and the way his voice didn’t even sound like his own… “I wanted to kill that part of him—just the part that’s broken and filled with blind hatred. I know he wasn’t himself that night.”
“You can blame him for a lot of things that you didn’t deserve to be a part of,” Judy points out.
“But I have to accept it, right? I have to accept every part of him, even the parts that scared me, the parts he can’t control, and all the broken pieces that cut everyone they touch. I mean…” I pinch my eyebrows together, “who puts up with that?”
“Someone who’s invested,” Judy emphasizes the last word, “I know both of you have been doing the work. You see beyond your own wants, you see a future, and you make a decision. It’s not logical, it just is .”
See beyond our own wants…
My own selfish wants nearly got me killed and, oddly, his depraved wants are what ultimately kept me safe.
“What was your turning point?” Judy wonders, “You could’ve walked away. There were opportunities. What made you decide to stay? ”
Could I have walked away? I did decide to stay. But there was more to it…
“It was when he told me,” I remember it vividly, “this is the part of our story where you trust me, I take care of you, and you accept it.”
“You decided to trust him then,” she tilts her head with curiosity, “do you still trust him now?”
“I’ve always trusted him,” my muscles relax and a crooked smile seeps across my face, “even when I haven’t.”
●●●
I stand in front of my sliding glass door for a good five minutes, just staring across the grass toward the tree line. Scanning, searching…
He was here, I know it. I saw him right in front of me. I felt his body heat through the glass, against my own skin. He could’ve come right through the door if he wanted to. Why didn’t he? Not that I’m complaining…He’s gone now, but not really gone. I just don’t see him.
But did I really see him?
It’s happening again, and I have to use every shred of mental fortitude to keep it in check. If this is my reality, I have to keep my wits and keep a lid on it, at least for now. I’ll freak out later. Right now, I can’t afford to.
I haven’t checked my email since the guys left on their quads, loaded down with rifles, scopes, cameras, blinds, and enough camo to disguise a tank. Sometimes it feels like I’m in some redneck version of Moby Dick.
The legendary whitetail. The king of the forest. The ghost in the pines….
But we all know they didn’t leave to find the buck wreaking havoc on my garden. They have their sights set on something bigger.
It’s probably a good thing that I’m maintaining my self-imposed media blackout. I know I have emails and DMs—lots of them. But after the restraining order was leaked, the podcast went live, Sydney’s bombshell exposé dropped, and Hailey Hawks started spilling the tea, in very short order, I decide I need to step back and not worry about them right now.
I also didn’t plan on waking up and seeing what I saw. I don’t need to be distracted. I have to be alert and vigilant. I hope the guys come back soon, I want this to be over, and I don’t even have a dog here with me to hear what I can’t hear and feel what I can’t feel. In many ways, I’m blind without him, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now.
I haven’t told anyone about this morning. Maybe I should, but there’s really no point. While I’m thinking about it, my phone vibrates with a text.
VALERIE (9:49AM): My cousin’s getting rid of some baby clothes, could you use them?? If so, I can drop them off later this afternoon .
The truth is that I can. I love being frugal, and the idea of paying $10 for a single onesie that’ll be destroyed before my baby grows out of it is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m also interested in learning more about Valerie. I feel like she and I hit it off and, in many ways, that fact alone is both fascinating and unsettling.
It’s about six when I hear the grinding of Valerie’s tires on the gravel outside. When I open the front door to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, I realize this is the first time I’ve opened the door since yesterday. Fortunately, I’m greeted by Valerie’s wide smile covered in shiny pink lip gloss and her bright caramel eyes instead of something much more terrifying.
“They’re mostly unisex,” she holds up a large, plastic shopping bag, “I hope that’s OK.”
“It’s perfect!” I take the bag from her and head for the kitchen, peeking inside it as I go, “Make yourself at home,” I call, setting the bag down on the island, “want anything to drink?”
“No, thanks!” Valerie calls back as my phone vibrates in my back pocket.
I chuckle to myself as soon as I see the text.
LARA CROFT (5:53PM): What the fuck is she doing there?
ME (5:53PM): Plot twist…
I fire off my response, but pause at the threshold of the living room to send another.
ME (5:54 PM): Did you see him here this morning?
I’m unsure whether it’s better if she tells me I’m hallucinating or confirms that I woke up to my nightmare standing outside my window.
LARA CROFT (5:54PM): I saw him. And if I did, then I guarantee my brother had a scope on the back of his head.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket, opposite of the holster affixed above my right hip. When I return to the living room, Valerie’s standing at the built-in bookcases, craning her neck as she examines all the framed photos, books, and mementos adorning each shelf.
She lingers on a black enamel Gothic-style frame directly at eye-level. It’s an 8x10 photo of he and I on our back deck. It was taken by his sister right after I moved here, when this house was still so new to me. Neither of us are even looking at the camera; we’re both straddling the railing and he’s sitting behind me, his arms locked around my torso and his chin resting against my temple as I lean back against him. I’m gazing off into the trees, the twilight sun making my eyes look almost as fluorescent as his.
I remember exactly what I was thinking. It was the first time I felt like I had a home again. And after everything, it seemed so surreal that it was with him.
Finally, as though breaking from a trance, Valerie moves away from the photo and continues over the rest of the shelves, scanning the row of books below it.
“You know,” she glances over her shoulder at me, “I realized after all the car trouble that I never got a chance to talk to you about your book!”
I make my way to the sofa and collapse into my usual spot behind the tufted cream-colored ottoman, “Funny, isn’t it?”
She turns to join me, “I don’t know how people sit down and write whole books,” she says with a shake of her head. “How’d you even come up with the story? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Well,” I let out a snort, “first you have to have an idea. It’s a lot easier to write about things you’ve experienced. Remember that story I told you at lunch?”
She nods as she takes a seat close to the corner of the sectional.
“It’s all true,” I tuck my leg up under me, “the names are different, but the story is the same.”
“What do you mean? Like…” her eyes dart around the room as she recalls the story, “all of it?”
Her smile begins to fade, almost like she’s silently running through each chapter in her head.
“My therapist told me I shouldn’t stop writing, especially since it was at the heart of what happened,” I glance at the dark hallway, toward the bedroom where the flash drive is still plugged into my USB port. “It’s kind of ironic, though. She said women need books like this to help them realize what they’re experiencing. Because when you’ve been so brainwashed, no one can tell you anything …” I turn to meet the unsettled expression Valerie is trying so hard to hide, “not even your best friend.”