Chapter 4 | Kate
FOUR | KATE
It’s been three days since I sat there listening to a haunting story that I shouldn't believe. Exhaustion is rotting me from the inside out. No matter how many cups of coffee I consume, it won't dissolve the dark circles under my eyes or the constant yawning that is starting to become a nuisance.
Doesn’t stop me from guzzling the drink as if it will randomly decide to start boosting my system as it should. At this point, my caffeine intake should give me an overdose.
I lift the paper coffee cup to my lips from Bloom & Baked, a local coffee shop on the other side of the boardwalk from Lachlan Park that sits on the bay.
I take another drink of my vanilla oat milk latte, as the soft ocean breeze floats off the water and brushes through my hair that has far too many tangles for this time of day.
There was only a sliver of a second when I thought about getting ready, then changed my mind.
After all, it’s my day off, and enjoying my coffee with my journal by the water sounds like a peaceful way to spend my late morning.
Besides the slight waves to my hair from my shift yesterday, there isn’t an ounce of makeup on my face.
Not that I wear much anyway, but it's nice not to have a care in the world when you’re trying to remain a ghost in it anyway.
The chatter of birds blends with the soft waves caressing the marina's dock.
The occasional horn from a boat cuts through the vibrant blue sky, dusted with those light wispy clouds that remind me of the cotton candy machines at the park when they heat up just enough to melt and spin the sugar as it wraps around the wand. Light. Fluffy. And in a way, magical.
Boats sail across the expanse of deep blue, with those subtle and gentle waves that only this time of morning can accomplish. It’s the calm before the afternoon wind picks up, creating white-capped waves that fold repeatedly, stirring up the surface.
The warm light bathes my skin, making my lips tilt upward to greet the sun that energizes me more than the caffeine that runs through my veins.
My feet pad across the dock, gently swaying with the water.
I’m not quite sure what convinced me to decide on the marina today.
Still, as I walk farther out into the water with boats on either side of me, the end of the dock provides a perfect display of a sailboat against the backdrop of water against the horizon.
I’m drawn to it, and there just so happens to be two beige lounging chairs propped at the end with a small matching coffee table positioned between.
The only thing keeping me from them is the fence I come toe-to-toe with, separating one part of the dock from the other.
The massive red-and-white restricted sign should deter me, make me turn around, and find a different spot.
But I want that one at the edge of the dock with a chair that my ass is aching for.
Okay, my ass is fine, I’m just trying to justify all the reasons I should cross this barrier.
Plus, there are only three massive fishing boats, one on each side. They aren’t the expensive yachts and sailboats like the other ones I passed to get to this point.
And there’s nobody even using those chairs.
They are alone, longing for someone to appreciate them. I want to give them the attention they deserve.
My eyes fall to the keyless combination lock.
If they were genuinely trying to keep people from this section of the dock, they would make it harder to access.
But since the fence only spans from one side of the dock to the other, there is a straightforward way of getting around.
I move to the part of the gate that juts out a foot over the water.
I crouch down, maneuvering my hand through the vertical bars to place my coffee safely on the other side.
I reposition my cross-body bag to ensure it’s secure around me before I grasp the bars and step vertically across until I’m hanging over the water.
Swinging a leg around the last bar at the edge of the fence, I work my way around to the other side and shuffle my feet across the horizontal bar at the bottom with cautious steps.
It’s not long before I hop back onto the dock on the private side.
Crouch down, I pick up my coffee and take a sip, satisfied with my ninja-like abilities to defy security.
When I first started walking across the dock, the air was greeted by the sound of lapping water.
Now, as I approach the very end of the marina that stretches out into the harbor, aggravated voices carry with the soft hum of the ocean.
The first fishing boat I pass has two men on deck, one middle-aged with a graying beard and old tattoos spreading across his leathery, sun-damaged skin.
He’s wearing grimy black overalls over an army green t-shirt.
The other man with him could not be more opposite.
He's young, with jet-black hair that’s effortlessly tousled, and built like one of those nude statues people ogle in Italy.
Not that I’ve ever been to Europe or can see what those expensive slacks and his gray button-down are hiding, but I’ve got a pretty good idea by how the shirt stretches across those muscular arms. He irritably motions to the man, giving me a flash of his inked hands.
Their heated voices carry, making it obvious they’re arguing—and equally obvious that I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be. Head lowered, I quicken my pace, but not before overhearing a part of their conversation.
“I don’t know what to fucking tell you,” the older man snarls. “We had to dodge the storm. That’s why we lost connection and why we’re late. I don’t appreciate you making accusations that could have me hung up by my fucking balls.”
The younger man responds, his voice husky and laced with disdain. “Doesn’t matter. Boss needs to validate your story. It’s protocol, and you know that. I suggest you tell him what he wants to know. You know what will happen if you don’t.”
The older man curses, spitting something in a language I don’t understand.
My head shoots upward to glance at the two of them in surprise, before the younger one interrupts.
“Now leave me,” he growls. The side of the boat obscures my view as he adjusts the strap of whatever he's carrying on his shoulder. “I don’t need him hanging both of us by our balls for wasting even more damn time.”
Lowering my gaze, I hustle past the other two fishing boats to the end of the dock. It’s not long before I plop down onto the chair and close my eyes to feel the salt air kiss my face.
After a few minutes, I peek my head around the chair to scan behind me, watching as the handsome man who was on the boat struts back down the dock toward the parking lot with a large duffel bag.
God, that ass in those slacks. He’s not the first man I’ve admired that way.
For some reason, the gene pool is strong in Lachlan Harbor, as the men here are built much like the security guards at the park.
Turning back around, thankful he didn’t see me when getting off the boat, I blow out a breath of relief.
Usually, I’d walk the beach and settle on a boulder that’s secluded, giving me the moment of peace I need to forget about the brutality of the world for just a little while.
A few heartbeats of stillness to provide me with the reset I need when I feel helpless and tired.
God, I am so tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of living but not thriving.
Tired of feeling weak and helpless.
Inhaling and exhaling long, steady breaths, I allow my body to sink and relax into the chair.
I remove my crossbody and reach in to take out my journal and pen, ready to clear my mind onto paper.
The first three quarters of the book are scrawled with entries from over the last year.
My week in Idaho, my few weeks in Montana, moving my way across the states in my Subaru Crosstrek until I landed in Wyoming, thinking it might be remote and far enough to settle down for a little while.
It wasn’t.
I was there for two months working as a waitress at a diner before I got a knock at my motel door.
I thought I was being safe, traveling and staying in places that would accept cash, since I had closed my bank accounts and canceled all the cards in my name.
I destroyed my phone. I thought I was untraceable.
But I didn’t realize just how far Xander’s obsession could go.
I thought indulging in his fascination with role play was just a kink—a way to elevate our sex life. I was too late when his true psychotic nature started to show, and I realized he viewed everything as a game.
To this day, I still don't know how he found me. I assume it was the laptop I had thought was perfectly safe to bring along. And at three in the morning, I squeezed out the bathroom window and left everything behind, except my wallet.
And I mean everything.
My keys. My car. My faith that maybe his fixation would end if he took what he wanted one last time. But what he wanted left the hotel sheets drenched in crimson.
It should’ve ended with his blood seeping through the threads instead. Not mine.
I reach up to the spot below my ear, lightly dragging my fingers down over the impostor that decorates my skin. Just like always, it awakens the ones on my stomach, like the blade released a web that threaded through my body and connected all my scars.
A raspy throat clears behind me, solidifying my body. “Everyone always thinks rats are such intelligent creatures. I think they’re cunning little pests that always find themselves in places they shouldn’t.”