by Kate Dunbar
“No worries,” he hollers back over his shoulder when he hits the bottom of the steps and strides to the back of his truck. “We’ll get this figured out. You stay safe, you hear?”
I stand there and watch him move things around the bed of his truck. He latches items down more securely before hopping in the driver’s side and pulling away from the curb. I notice an ax next to a rake and hoe fastened to the side. In a daze, I stare at the outline of the words once more before stepping into my apartment and locking myself in.
I wake with a start. The red glow from the clock next to my bed shines through the room, causing weird shadows to lurk in the corners and creep on the walls. 10:30 pm flashes at me when the numbers change.
I crawled into bed early, around eight forty-five, so I could try to shake off all the events of today and the impending doom I felt lingering over everything. And sleep finally took over, but whether from the exhaustion of the day or of the past few weeks, I honestly can’t be sure.
Unfortunately, this night is turning out to be one of the longest of my life, which is saying something given everything. I’m trying to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Lucas’s face with an evil smile. Or him looking at me with an ax in his hand.
My phone vibrates against the nightstand with an incoming message. I slide my eyes over to it and see Trevor’s name pop up. The space between the nightstand and where I’m lying in bed feels like a mile when I reach over to grab my phone. Trevor’s text came in two minutes ago according to the timestamp, which means this is what must have woken me from the horrendous nightmare I was currently having on repeat.
TREVOR: Hey, you still up?
SABRA: Barely. I decided to call it an early night. What are you up to?
TREVOR: Wanted to check on you before I do the same. How was your day?
SABRA: You know, about the same as every other day. I can’t complain.
TREVOR: That’s good. For Saturday, make sure you wear comfortable clothes and bring a sweater or lightweight jacket.
SABRA: Okay. And you’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?
TREVOR: Nope. You’ll have to trust me.
SABRA: I do.
TREVOR: Good. Rest well, Sabra. See you soon.
SABRA: Good night, Trevor.
I give up on sleep after tossing and turning for thirty more minutes and throw the covers off me. There’s no use lying here waiting for something that’s obviously not going to happen.
My assignment from psychology and another monologue from my acting coach is practically laughing at me. I swear I can hear it snorting from the living room. If I’m going to go with Trevor all day Saturday on our mysterious date, I should pull my ass out of bed and get it all done while I can. At least this way, I’m ahead of the schedule I’d planned earlier in the day.
Going back to sleep promises more of the same anyway. Lucas taking over everything. I hate the way he infiltrates every aspect of my life these days, even my dreams. It was easier with him in prison.
I pad into the living room and yank my laptop out. Setting it on top of the arm of the couch while the screen fires to life, I take my time to wander into the kitchen, make a mug of tea with the perfect amount of sugar, and grab a bag of Chex Mix to munch on while I work. I have three articles to read and take notes on for Dr. Bell’s class and a monologue to write. We had to pick a specific time in the theater’s history to focus on and I chose the Greek tragedies. Might as well stick with the theme of my life.
Settling in to start the final bits of research needed, I see a notification pop up on my screen announcing an incoming email. I’d normally ignore it, but I’m hoping to hear something back from Eleanor. I’ve been checking my email like a crazy person. I click over to my email and throw my head back onto the cushion of the couch with a groan.
My mother has stopped calling me every day. She’s apparently gotten the message that I’m not going to answer the phone when she calls. Calling me three times a day with no answer helps to get the point across, I guess. I have no desire to discuss anything with her, but now she’s taken to emailing me every three or four days. This one is a little early since I heard from her yesterday. The Valentine family is living out our own tragedy.
I pick my head up, move the mouse to open the email, and prepare myself to read all about her latest book club shenanigans or Junior League luncheon. Her letters rarely have anything I care about in them. But I stop short when I see the subject line of this one.
Lucas.
The arrow hovers over that one word as I stare at it in shock. She thinks I want to know. That I care about anything when it comes to my brother. I’ve avoided everything she’s mentioned in all her previous emails, including family dinners, the latest from his parole meetings, and the huge deal my father landed for his company. I’ve only replied to one of her messages in the past five weeks, and that was to tell her I would be going to Thanksgiving with Micah.
It was a lie. I spent Thanksgiving by myself eating Chinese food and watching old musicals. It was the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years. And I’d do it again.
Every time I allow something to do with Lucas to enter my world, I end up crying and scared, sitting on my couch for two days straight. Determination heats the back of my neck, and I click on the subject line and drag the email to the trash folder. Going one step further, I press DELETE ALL TRASH and watch the number next to the folder disappear. There’s no regret or panic filling my chest or making my shoulders tight. This was the right decision for me. The only decision.
I feel lighter.
Freer.
Cutting all things out concerning Lucas and going on with my life as if he doesn’t exist is exactly what I need to be doing. He’s stolen enough from me already.
I move back to the World Wide Web and throw myself into my research until I have everything I need. Then I move on to the articles for Dr. Evans.
I’m halfway through the second article on people suffering from delusion when my head gets heavy and my eyelids drift closed. This time, when I close my eyes, Lucas is still there, but he’s standing on the edges watching while Trevor and I sit on a bench holding hands. The last thing I remember are Trevor’s lips touching my own before falling into a deep sleep.
THIRTEEN and SIXTEEN
“What did you say to me?” Lucas stands across the laundry room from me with his hands fisted at his sides. I can feel each loud breath he takes, his chest pumping, deep in my gut. The look of hatred shining in his eyes causes a wave of fear and nausea to roll through me as I pin my back tightly against the door to the garage and grab the handle.
“You heard me.” I stand my ground and square my shoulders, but I don’t let go of the door. I’ve already unlocked it and made sure the garage door is up so I can get out.
He takes a step closer crossing his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. “Say it to me again, Sabra.” Two more steps. “I dare you.”
I twist the door handle and yank it open. Feeling the cool air of the night wash over my neck and back and drying the beads of sweat dripping down. “You are not welcome in my room ever again,” I whisper, taking one step out into the garage, eyes never leaving his face. You don’t turn your back on Lucas. “Don’t come in it again, Lucas. I mean it.”
He tracks my movement and matches each step I take. Mirrors me before a nasty smile crosses his features.
“And what are you going to do if I don’t listen to you, Sabra? Who is going to keep me away? You?” The click of the door to the laundry room echoes through the garage as it closes behind him.
I move to the center of the garage floor. It’s empty right now. Mom and Dad have gone out to dinner with the next-door neighbors for a date night, leaving Lucas in charge. They know not what they do.
“Dad will.” I lift my chin at him and shift one more time toward the garage door.
Lucas stands beside the tools on the far wall. He slides his hand across the handles of the rake, h
oe, shovel, and more.
“I’ll tell him. Everything.”
His head snaps up at me. His hatred is scary, but his fury is petrifying. He grabs the handle of the ax lying on the workbench tightly in his hand and lifts it, measuring the weight of it and running his thumb across the blade. All the air in my body flies out of me. He lifts his eyes back to mine, and I know I’ve pushed him too far, but I can’t move. I need to move.
With deadly calm, Lucas says, “I’m going to count to five to give you a head start.”
My eyes widen and blink in rapid succession.
“Run, Songbird.”
“What?”
He swings the ax in a circle in front of him with each number.
“One. Two. Three.” He pauses and slides in my direction. “You aren’t running. Maybe you like getting caught by me, after all.” He chuckles. “But you won’t like it when I get ahold of you tonight. Four.” The ax circles the air between us again. “I’m going to teach you the lesson you deserve.” He grins at me again. One final swing of the ax circles between us. “RUN!”
I don’t know where I’m going, but my feet start to move. I turn and flee out the garage door and into the open field between our house and our neighbors at the same time as I hear the word five come out of his mouth.
“You think you can outrun me?” Lucas yells behind me, feet shuffling through the grass. Measured steps with long strides coming closer and closer. “You are mine, you little bitch.” He’s not running. Just a determined march with long legs while I run with all my might.
I pray Kyla is home when I see the light on in our sixteen-year-old neighbor’s kitchen, and that I can get in before Lucas catches me. I pound on the back door, hearing the guttural cries and moans escape me, and scream, “Kyla, let me in! Open the door!”
“I’ll kill you, Sabra. I’ll cut you into tiny pieces and hide them in the woods before you can tell a single soul.” His words carry across the field on the wind.
“No, Lucas! Stop!”
“I’ll never stop, Sabra. You. Are. MINE.” He picks up his pace and starts running toward me with the ax raised. He’s a few steps away. One leap with a swing of the blade and he’ll have me.
I shut my eyes and wait for him to do the one thing I’ve been waiting for all these years. He’s going to kill me. He stops in front of me, his breath whooshing into the eerie quiet of the night. I hear him take one more step.
The door snaps open, and a hand yanks me roughly inside. I stare at Kyla’s horror-filled face as she slams the door and latches it. There’s a phone in her hand raised so it’s seen through the glass.
Lucas shakes his head, laughing, and moves back into the dark while I collapse, slide down the wall, and curl up with tears streaming down my cheeks.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A pounding on my door makes me sit straight up with a gasp. I look around and see papers strewn around me on the floor by my couch, left over from my cram sessions the past two nights. I must have fallen asleep while working again. My heart leaps into my throat when I glance at my phone screen and the knocking starts back up. The numbers flash 5:15 a.m. at me.
“Sabra,” Micah’s voice says through the door. “Open up.”
I open the door after a quick look through the peephole and watch her barrel through with a bag hanging off each arm. “What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?”
“Of course, I know what time it is. But judging from the way you’re looking at me, you forgot what day it is.” She gives me a once-over from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
“What in the world are you talking about, Micah?” I move back to the couch to curl up again. “I’m too tired for riddles right now. I worked until twelve thirty on this project last night, after working a full day at the bar, so I could go on my date with Trevor and not feel guilty about it.” I stop mid-sit and snap my head around to stare at her. “Oh lord, my date with Trevor is today.”
“I’m glad you could catch up with me,” she tosses over her shoulder and walks down the hallway toward my bedroom. “Aren’t you happy you have me as a best friend? Who else would get up now to make sure you’re pretty for your important day?” She sticks her head around the corner to stare at me pointedly. “Are you coming in here or not?”
“That depends. What are you planning on doing to me?”
Micah rolls her eyes, laughing, and moves in the direction of my bathroom. “Operation Glam Casual, of course.”
I walk into the bathroom to find Micah pulling out curling rods and bottles of different kinds of spray from one bag and a huge makeup kit from the other. “And what exactly is Operation Glam Casual?”
Micah plugs in something that looks more like a torture device than anything else. “You know, we have to make you look amazing but like you aren’t trying all at the same time. It’s important you’re ready for anything. And as your best friend, it’s my job to make sure you do this right.”
“Micah,” I hedge.
She leans and lifts the fabric on the leg of my yoga pants.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if you need to shave. Do you need to shave? Did you take care of all the bits and places?”
“Oh, my gosh, Micah. I’m going on a date, not having sex with Trevor today.”
She quirks an eyebrow and abandons everything she brought with her to face me head-on. “That you know of.”
“I think I’d know if I was planning to have sex today.”
“You can never be too safe or prepared. Besides, it’s Trevor.” She walks farther into my bathroom and turns on the water. “This day has been a long time coming.”
“I showered last night,” I call after her. “Before I started working on my projects and fell asleep. I don’t need to shower.”
“Did you shave all the bits?” she asks again as she comes back to the vanity area.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. All the important places are hairless.” I huff and throw myself on the bench in front of my vanity. “What’s next on your list?”
“Hair and makeup,” she singsongs before she runs back to the shower and turns the water off. “Now, you sit there and let me work my magic. Trevor won’t know what hit him.”
“Micah?”
“Yes? Close your eyes, I need to put this primer on you.”
I do as she says and wait while she dabs stuff all over my face.
“What were you asking me?”
“Remember that time you helped me get ready for the spring formal last year?”
“Yep. You looked gorgeous if I do say so myself.” She works on my eyes.
“Yes, but do you think we could not do my makeup like that? Maybe take it a little easier and go more natural this time?” I shouldn’t poke the bear while her claws are so close to my eyeballs, but I can’t risk having cat eyes and blood red lips like last time.
Micah pauses what she’s doing. “You didn’t like what I did last time?”
Taking a gamble, I peek out at her and mutter, “My date mentioned that it was nice of me to go with the Las Vegas theme of the dance. He said I looked like one of those showgirls.”
“What?” Micah throws the brush on the counter and pops her hands on her hips. “That boy was such a douche canoe.”
“Yes, I’m sure it had nothing to do with how dark my makeup was and everything to do with how stupid he is, but you know, to be safe.” I shrug. “How about we go the lighter route this time.”
“Fine.” Micah sighs. “Girl next door and beach waves it is. Happy?”
“Very.” I smile at her and close my eyes again. “Now, do your damage.”
“Trust me. Trevor’s going to need to take safety precautions just looking at you when I’m done.” She laughs and lines my eyes. “Oh, and I almost forgot. I took care of making sure you’re protected too.”
Small foil wrapped squares fall in my lap. “Are you kidding me, Micah?” I can’t stop the laughter bubbling
in my chest.
“No glove, no love, baby.”
“Santa Monica?” I sip the final bit of my Earl Grey tea and stare wide-eyed out the window. Trevor is not a stupid man, so a steaming Styrofoam cup sat next to my seat when I slid into his truck before the sun came up. We’ve been driving west for a couple of hours now. I realized there was a chance we were headed to the beach about thirty minutes ago as I followed the signs on the highway.
“Have you ever been before?” He holds my left hand on his thigh and picks it up to kiss my knuckles before putting it back down.
“Not since I was a little girl. Maybe eight or nine? My dad took me for a special Daddy-Daughter day. We started the day at the Venice Beach Boardwalk and ended it on the Santa Monica Pier. I don’t remember much about it except it was a perfect day.”
Trevor pulls into a parking spot in one of the park-and-go lots near the beach—not far from Third Street—and turns to look me in the eyes. “What made it perfect?”
I shrug, feeling a tad bit vulnerable, and drop my eyes. “It was just me and my dad. I had his undivided attention. I didn’t have many of those moments growing up since he worked so much.” I peek at him through my eyelashes and see a small smile twitch his lips as his eyes never stray from mine.
“It sounds like I have a lot to live up to today.” He drops my hand and lifts my face so I can’t do anything but look into his eyes. “Would you rather go somewhere else, or are you okay making some new memories here with me?”
“Trevor.” I laugh at him. “I’ve been waiting for this day all week. You don’t get to back out of your plans now. Let’s go do all the things you want to do.”
He quirks one eyebrow and leans into me until his lips are almost touching mine. “All the things?”
His breath skims across my lips. It takes everything in me not to lean in and take a quick taste of him. I reach up, brush my thumb across his lower lip, and nod, falling deeper into his gaze.