Not again.
“Here you go, ma’am,” the gentleman interrupts.
I swiftly turn around, plastering on a fake smile through the transaction. My fingers tremble when I run my credit card through the machine. The bell at the entrance rings from behind me. I hold my breath, clench my teeth as I slide my card and prescriptions into my purse. Pulling the collar of my jacket up higher, I duck my head and spin toward the exit right into a solid chest.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, miss,” a tall stranger says.
Not him.I immediately release the air trapped in my lungs.
“No, my fault. Excuse me.”
The kind man steps aside so I can pass. I discreetly scan the rest of the small shop and find it empty. Goosebumps still prickle my skin—I know what I saw.
Crisp fall air chills my cheeks when I step outside. Dusk has settled over the city, pumpkins and bales of hay adorning the pharmacy entrance in preparation for Halloween next week. Across the street, a small flower shop sells varying shades of mums on the sidewalk.
And there—it’s him.Daniel.With a young blonde.
I stiffen. Something foreign curdles the blood in my veins. Not fear. Not panic.
Anger.
Frozen to the concrete, I stare across the two lanes of traffic as he tucks a hand under her elbow and points to a bouquet. His phantom touch creeps over my arm, and I squeeze the keys in my fist. She smiles at him and he swipes the bundle of flowers off the table. My ears must be on fire—I’m fuming.
When things getdark, talk to somebody.
I close myself inside my car without being spotted. My hands clutch the steering wheel as I take in one deep breath, then another. I retrieve my phone from my coat pocket.
Me
You good to sit with Mom for a bit longer? There’s something I need to do.
Kristen
Sure. No changes here, but I’ll text if anything does. Take all the time you need.
A lifetime spentin one town and I’ve never been here. The building is bland. Unremarkable with a generic glassed double-door entrance. Half a dozen patrol cars litter the parking lot.
I’m paralyzed in my driver’s seat, turning my phone between my hands. I think about the blonde and whether or not she’s safe. If she’s seen the version of Daniel I saw.
Before long, I’m crossing the lot.Don’t stop fighting.
Stepping up a curb, onto the walkway.Admitting it happened doesn’t make you weak.
My nerves are as unsure as my feet, but I keep moving forward.Telling your story doesn’t make you weak.
I pull the door open, enter the small waiting area. Beige walls. A row of cheap, low-profile arm chairs on one side.
“Good evening, ma’am. What can I do for you?” The calm female voice draws me in from where I’d been scanning the cream linoleum tiled floor.
Razors twist in my throat as I approach the reception desk. My hands form fists in my coat pockets, eyes drifting over the handful of officers hunched over their work stations behind her. “Um…I need to…uh”—I force a swallow to steady my voice—“I need to report a sexual assault.”
My feet dragacross the threshold into Mom’s house. I’ve been gone for two hours. One hundred and twenty minutes of reliving that dark parking lot on an endless carousel. Answering the officer’s questions and then thesamequestions again, just asked in a different way.
Kristen looks up from the chair at Mom’s bedside.
I try to mirror her easygoing expression, but I know it’s weak. “Hey! She woken up at all?”
“No, sorry,” she replies, on her feet now. “Richard’s not back yet either.”