14. Chapter 14
LONDYN
THE CAB REEKS FROM A 'fresh linen' air freshener and someone's lingering BO. The combination turns my stomach, but it's still better than being back there with…
I press my hands on my thighs, fingers splayed wide, trying to ground myself as the taxi makes the short drive to my apartment building. Shops and people scroll past outside the window, their lights smearing together like someone dragged their fingers across wet paint.
The male cab driver keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I touch my cheek and find plenty of black mascara streaking down my face.
God, what an evening. I'm shaking like a leaf in a violent wind. My lungs feel too small, struggling to pull in oxygen. Sweat beads along my hairline; there's a chill deep in my bones. My heartbeat is a terrified rabbit, caught in a snare of my own memories. I'm seeing ghosts. I'm breaking apart.
The cab stops at a red light. Three more blocks. Two hundred and forty-seven seconds if there are no unexpected traffic delays. I count each tick of the clock in my head.
One… two… three…
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Four… five… six…
Even though I know Mike is following in the cab behind this one, my fingers hover over the panic button app on my phone. Sean showed me how to use it. Sean. Not The Director. Sean .
His name sticks in my mind, but his face—god, his face when he appeared in that hallway—it morphed and shifted until all I could see was The Director standing there.
But it was actually Sean. Saving me. Doing what I hired him to do. Doing the right thing.
How could I freak out on him like that?
The cab starts moving again, and I lose count of the seconds. My building finally comes into view, its familiar brick facade reaching out to wrap me in a blanket of comfort.
The cab stops outside my building. I pay the driver, adding a generous tip because my hands are shaking too badly to count properly.
I step out onto the sidewalk. The night air hits my skin, cool against the fever that's burning through me.
My legs feel disconnected from my body as they move on pure instinct toward the building's entrance.
The halls are empty. Thank God. No one to see the mascara and the frightened, frail woman rushing to the stairs.
As I walk up three flights alone, I let the jagged pieces I've been holding finally slip.
My legs wobble and I lean heavily against the railing. Sobs tear through me with such force my ribs ache. The tears come hot and fast, blurring my vision.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I whisper to myself.
How could this night have gone so wrong? It was supposed to be simple: dinner with Marcus, a first step back into a normal life, then back home. Simple. With Sean and Mike watching over me, I thought I could handle wearing a sexy dress and being close to a man. Wrong.
When I reach the third floor, I straighten and wipe furiously at my cheeks. After dragging myself to my apartment and going through the process of unlocking everything, I dart inside.
The apartment is quiet and dimly lit by the lamp I left on, and I'm hit by the blended, sweet scent from my garden of open candles on the coffee table.
Everything is familiar. Secure. This is Londyn the Bookkeeper's home.
My breath comes easier as I kick off my heels and feel the cool touch of the worn floorboards beneath my feet. I walk to my bedroom.
I should call Raven and let her know I'm okay. She could talk me down from this ledge of panic I'm teetering on.
But I need some time to just sit by myself and work through what happened.
The date had started perfectly fine. Boring, actually.
Marcus was, well, different in person. Online and through text, he was thoughtful, asked questions, and seemed genuinely interested in me.
In person, his cologne was overpowering, his smile was too forced, and he talked about himself almost exclusively.
I learned all about his job in finance, his CrossFit addiction, and his recent trip to Bali.
I barely registered half of it because I kept finding myself distracted by Sean.
He was sitting at the bar, pretending he wasn't watching us.
I kept tracing the defined V of his torso in that simple black shirt he was wearing.
I could even see the very slight outline of his gun holster.
And I liked the casual way his boots rested on the stool's metal bar.
He was effortlessly in control of everything around him.
When he occasionally lifted a hand to push it through his hair… Hottie , I kept thinking.
The booth was also on my mind. Everyone else I've known in my life, except Raven, has been great at dismissing me. Man, woman, it doesn't matter. I say I don't like something—a concert, an uncomfortable chair, a job—and the response is a list of reasons why my thoughts and feelings are wrong.
"You don't like this band? You just have to get into it. Have a few drinks and loosen up!"
"What's wrong with that chair? It's a nice chair. Don't be silly."
"Just be lucky you have a job. If you're unhappy and miserable, well, find a hobby."
But I tell Sean I have anxiety because the table I want is taken—which I know, rationally, isn't a major deal—and he doesn't question me or pass judgment. Just fixes it. He launched into action like my weird, anxious request was perfectly reasonable and worthy of immediate attention.
The warmth that had spread through me when I realized what he'd done was unexpected. It's the kindest thing a man has ever done for me.
It was easier to think about Sean all evening than engage with Marcus. Easier to wonder if Sean was enjoying his meal, if he was comfortable at the bar, if he was bored. I caught myself smiling at thoughts of him instead of whatever Marcus was saying about his investment portfolio.
When dessert finally came, I was counting the minutes until I could go home and read for book club.
The entire experience felt exhausting, like being on an audition that wasn't going well yet you still have to finish the scene.
Marcus was handsy. A touch to my arm here, a brush against my leg there.
Nothing super inappropriate, just… constant. He kept testing the boundaries.
When we left the restaurant, he was so insistent about walking me home. I agreed to let him only so I might get rid of him faster. On the way, he kept inching closer and closer. I kept shifting away, creating distance that he immediately tried to close again.
Leading him to the wrong building was improvisation. It was a split-second decision that came from not wanting to be rude yet desperate to end the evening. Actresses learn to think on their feet.
Then we were in the building. Near the stairs. His arm trapped me against the wall.
"Had a great time tonight," he'd said, voice dropping an octave, eyes fixed on my mouth. "I think we have real chemistry."
We didn't. We absolutely didn't. But before I could say anything, his hand was on my waist, pulling me toward him. His cologne suffocated me as he leaned in. I pushed against his chest and I explicitly said "no!" but he didn't stop.
And then, a blur of motion and a storm of memories. The Director was suddenly there, his face twisted in anger. The Director grabbed Marcus, slamming him against the wall, hurting him. The Director turned to me next.
Except it wasn't The Director. It was Sean.
Sean, who got me the booth, who has been working hard to make me feel comfortable, and who saved me from a scary situation that was spiraling out of control.
Sean, whose face my broken brain keeps superimposing with The Director's.
Why can't I see Sean and not a ghost?
A sharp melody pulls me from the memory. My phone. I fish it out of my purse to find a message from Mike.
Mike: You okay? You inside?
Me: Yes, I'm home.
Mike: Across the hall if you need me.
I let his words sink into my nerve endings as I try to recover from the entire, triggering evening.
Knowing he's there helps a lot. After what Sean did, I know Marcus won't even try to text, which is fantastic because I never want to speak to that asshole again.
But my heightened brain keeps trying to play out scenarios where he figures out where I live, breaks in, and does things The Director did.
But that won't happen. Not with Mike watching everything and keeping me safe.
Sean will be watching too, if he doesn't hate me now.
I drag myself toward the bathroom. I need hot water lapping around me, and I need to rinse away this evening and the memories of Marcus's hands invading my space.
The bath fills slowly, steam rising in lazy curls that remind me of the fog that used to roll in over the California coastline. Another life. Another Londyn, one known as 'Elle.'
I undress and then sink into the hot water, letting it slosh against my collarbone as I lean back against the cool porcelain. The warmth seeps into my muscles, helping me slowly melt like chocolate into warm milk.
My mind clears a little more. And as I come down from the panic onto solid ground, I ease into a feeling of gratitude, tangled with shame.
Sean saved me. He appeared exactly when I needed him, dealt with Marcus quickly, and I… I treated him like he was the bad guy. He looked so hurt and confused.
He didn't deserve my reaction. Not when all he did was protect me.
I close my eyes, trying once again to separate the image of Sean from The Director because they're nothing alike. The Director's violence was casual and possessive; he was a man used to taking what he wanted. Sean's was protective and controlled; it was a shield, not a weapon.
If Sean hadn't been there… if I'd gone on that date alone…
A shiver runs through me despite the hot water. Marcus wasn't violent, but he ignored my signals and pushed past my boundaries. How far would he have gone if Sean hadn't intervened?