The Real

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll get you another drink.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, wiping the droplets of olive-flavored alcohol off my skirt with my scarf. “I’m going to go look for my friend.”

Annoyed with Kat’s absence, I ditched my drink to find her in the bathroom. She was going through her purse.

“Hey, woman, did you forget about me?”

She smiled at my reflection as she pulled out her lipstick.

“Just got off the phone with my husband. I think I’ll head home soon.”

“That’s good news, right?”

Through our four martinis, Kat had revealed little to nothing about that morning’s blow up. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected she only invited me to save face. She’d spoken about her career as a gymnast and a few people at the firm but little else. I studied her as she primped in the mirror. The woman was such a mixed bag, and I was exhausted trying to balance on her unsteady beam. But it was the subtle sag in her demeanor, the hint of sadness in her eyes that kept me trying.

“Maybe things are looking up?”

“We’ll see,” she muttered absently, lining her lips while she gave me a withering stare.

“Sorry, you don’t have to tell me. I’m known for being a buttinski. My brother nicknamed me Miss Fix-It.”

She turned to me and nodded. “Sorry to make you wait.”

Kat seemed relaxed, but I was still crawling out of my skin. I had made so many strides for the better since Luke, but at that moment, I wanted nothing to do with being sociable. In the first few months after our breakup, I’d only felt safe around Bree or my mother, who was still in the dark about what happened.

“No problem. I think I’ll head home too. I’m going to grab a taxi. Thanks for the drinks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure you’re headed home?” She gave me a conspiratorial wink.

She assumed I was off to see Cameron, so I took the easy route. “You busted me.”

“Have fun. Before you know it, you’ll be married and fighting about who’s the worst driver.”

At home that night, after a quick promise to Mrs. Zingaro that I would be by the following morning to check on her washer, I undressed and started a hot shower. Swallowing two sleeping pills before I stepped in, I let the water run over my back and shoulders in an attempt to relax. No matter how hard I tried, I would never forget the look on Luke’s face when he came at me seconds before Michael’s fist connected with his nose. Luke had the audacity to look shocked as he spat the blood pouring from his mouth at my feet, purposely spraying me with it, and inching closer as he threatened all of us.

Before he left, he looked at me one last time and smiled with blood-laced teeth, a haunting look in his eyes. “It’s funny you think this is over.” Michael had managed to scare him off and Mrs. Zingaro had already called the police, who had shown up seconds after Luke had fled. I filed a restraining order the next morning.

Shivering in my recliner, I clutched my phone while Bree talked me down. I never heard from Luke again, but the damage was done.

“I was on edge tonight just having drinks and I hated it. When in the hell is this going to go away?”

“I don’t know. Your ex-boyfriend was a freak show, even I didn’t see it. But you have got to stop watching shows and reading books about crazy people.”

“I’m just trying to understand.”

“First of all, Luke wasn’t a serial killer. He was a borderline sociopath. And he lives in Washington now. He’s moved on to manipulate someone else. You’re safe.”

After our breakup, Bree had monitored Luke’s social media accounts. Less than a month after we’d broken up, he’d changed his status to in a relationship and latched onto someone else, claiming he was in love. I knew better. So did Bree.

“It just freaks me out. I let him into my life. I don’t understand how I will be able to do that with another man.”

“But you are dating again. It was a close call, and, yeah, it took some time, but you’re dating. And that just proves how strong you are. Cameron seems nice. You just have to learn how to trust your gut.”

“I hate this,” I whispered.

“I know. Listen, I hate to cut this short, but I have to go check on my patients.”

“Okay, thanks for calling me, again.” I was sure she could hear the guilt in my voice and answered back in true Bree fashion.