I’ve never been so sad to see a virtual stranger leave before.
She walks to the end of the bed and stops. “I got Efia to give me your number. Is it okay to text?”
“Anytime.”
She studies me, and a flicker of a smile turns her plump lips up in the corner. “All right. I’ll be in touch.”
There’s a bond that comes with surviving the robbery I can’t explain. I know our lives will always be connected. My desire to know more about her outshines the physical attraction. I have no clue what the future holds for me. My perspective has changed, and things inside of me are shifting even as I watch her leave and the nurse hands me a Dixie cup with two white pills. I take the pills, wash them down with a cool sip of water, and lean back against the pillows as a wave of exhaustion hits. Eager to escape all the questions I don’t have an answer to, I embrace the oblivion of sleep.
Chapter Two
Quinn
“We don’t have anything else to give,” Ollie says coolly. My throat is as dry as a desert, and my chest is rattling under the onslaught of my palpitating heart.
“But you do.” He’s evil incarnate with thick, bushy eyebrows that accentuate his dark, malice-filled eyes. His thin, chapped, pale pink lips sit below a hawk shaped nose, and his narrow chin has a spattering of dark hair. He raises his gun and pulls the trigger. Oliver hits the ground. I peer down and find a circle in the center of his forehead and unseeing eyes. A scream tears its way from my throat. I jerk into consciousness.
My breath is coming in short bursts, and I’m covered in sweat. The cotton nightgown sticks to my skin. I focus on calming my quick breathing as I peer around the dimly lit room, reassuring myself I’m actually home and not in some flop house. Placing a hand over my heart, I inhale through my mouth and out my nose as I try to come down from the high. I roll onto my side and glance at the clock. The digital numbers are unforgiving. Three a.m. Disgusted, I roll onto my back. It’s like they’re winning. They’ve gone on with their lives, moved to the next crime, and I’m still struggling to limp my way forward, and regain a sense of security.
Getting new locks, cards, and identification did nothing to start replacing what they’d stolen from me. I’ve been violated. I glance at my window. They had my wallet. Even now, they could be out there watching me. Slipping from my bed, I crawl on hands and knees to peer out of my blinds. The street is swathed in darkness broken by street lights. The cars are familiar ones. My anxiety eases, and I rest my head against the cool wall. What if they’re there and I can’t see them? Sweat makes my palms clammy and dots my brow. My heart goes wild in my chest, and I struggle to take in enough air.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes tight, willing the storm inside of me to ease as I ride it out. Exhausted, I slide to the ground, fighting tears. Every noise makes me jump. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, and I don’t trust people the way I once did. I knew the world wasn’t all sunshine, rainbows, and lollipops. But staring evil in the face shook me to the core.
If Ollie hadn’t stood up for me, they would’ve taken me and raped
me. Admitting it makes me ill. Gagging, I swallow down the bile threatening to shoot up my throat like a sickeningly sweet rocket set to embarrass and mortify me. I choke it back down and slowly the feeling of the room closing in on me dissipates.
This is the third nightmare in a row. I haven’t told anyone about this side effect. I can’t stand the way everyone looks at me. The sorrow they bring with their pity filled eyes is a smothering weight that sits on my chest like an overweight cat trying to steal my breath. They’re all watching me, waiting for signs of cracking. My mouth is dry, and all I want is to feel safe and not alone. My mind returns to Ollie.
He’ll understand. The man is healing. I should let him rest. Maybe he’s suffering from nightmares, too. Regardless of the little voice battling inside of my head, I find myself going for my cell phone and looking up Ollie.
I hit send against my better judgment.
“Hello?” a husky, sleep heavy voice says.
“Hey, Ollie. It’s Quinn.”
“Quinn? Everything okay?”
“Umm. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“Don’t worry about that. What’s going on?”
“Have you had trouble sleeping ... since?”
“You having dreams, too?” he asks solemnly.
The words break the dam inside me. My emotions rush forward, turning a trickle into a flood.
“Almost every night this week.”
“Same. I don’t sleep much between the pain and the nightmares. You’re the first person I’ve admitted that to.”
“I’m sorry. Don’t you have meds?”
“I do, but this is more than not getting comfortable enough to sleep deeply. I could take more pills, but I don’t like the total disorientation that comes with too much medication. I want to be alert.”
My heart goes to him. “I get it.”