Travis as Cooper spoke,
watching carefully as his eyes changed—cool replacing the heat.
“What a douchebag! Our little Quinn needs the
security more than we do.” Cooper jostled my shoulder and I tore my
eyes away and mustered a smile for Cooper. He leaned into my ear
and whispered, “You still smell like strawberries.” Then he winked
at me before Mac pulled him away.
In that moment—watching everyone chatter loudly
and laugh around me—I struggled not to feel alone. I’d been that
way for so long it had overtaken my life, yet remembering those
eerie shivers down my spine, like I was being watched, made it more
prominent. Something fierce was bearing down, leaving me more
uneasy than I’d felt in years.
***
Sunday lunchtime rolled
around entirely too quickly. My appearance was required at the
Valentine family barbecue. I would be seeing Travis there. In a
social capacity. Nothing work related. Alcohol could possibly be
involved. The very idea was making me late because everything in my
wardrobe was utter rubbish—nothing that said “outfit to meet and
socialise with the parents of the man you slept with once in a
drunken moment of folly” jumped out at me. I shouldn’t have cared
so much. I didn’t want to want Travis. I just did.
Juggling my handbag, keys, and the container of
peanut butter and white chocolate chip biscuits I was up early
baking, I locked the door of the townhouse. It was windy outside
and strands of hair were ripped from their bobby pins, instantly
ruining the hairstyle I’d taken great pains to put together. They
whipped into my eyes, and growling irritably, I flicked my head to
dislodge them. No doubt my neighbours, not including Lucy because
she wasn’t home, would think I was having a wild stroke.
Flicking my head a second time, my eye caught a
man striding towards me. Panic seized my body and the keys slipped
from my hand and fell to the ground.
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I chanted
silently as I dropped to the ground, grabbing them with trembling
hands. I stood up and jammed them back in the door to unlock the
townhouse.
“Quinn!” David yelled.
I glanced his way to see he’d picked up his pace
to a jog.
Six months. I was supposed to have six more
months! Why hadn’t someone done their job and notified me of his
release?
“Dammit,” I muttered when the door stuck. I
shoved at it, kicking the bottom corner hard with my foot. It flew
open and I whirled around and slammed it shut behind me, the
deadbolt sliding into place with a satisfying thunk. Heart in my
throat, I scrambled for my phone and punched buttons frantically.
When it started dialling I realised that panic had made me stupid
because I’d rung Lucy.
“Shit.”
I quickly ended the call before she could answer
and dialled emergency.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered, impatient for
someone to answer.
“Quinn!” David yelled and oh God, the sound was
right at my door. Loud banging accompanied the noise. “I know
you’re in there. I saw you. Open the fucking door!”
The phone was answered and the operator told me
to state my emergency. I explained in short, stuttered sentences,
fumbling my words as she tried to make sense of their jumble.
“Police are on their way, David!” I shouted as I
slid down the wall of the living room into a huddle. Rufus
scratched at the back door wanting in, but I couldn’t bear him
getting hurt if David managed to get inside. He whined at me,
sensing something was wrong.
“You owe me over three years of my life in that
shithole,” was his response.
For fifteen minutes the operator stayed on the
line while David shouted, banged the door, and rattled windows.
“I’m here to collect,” he yelled. “And I’m going
to enjoy every minute of it. When I’m done breaking you, you’re
going to hand over the money you owe me.”
Money? What the hell was he talking
about?
My body stopped rocking when the realisation
that over five minutes of silence had slipped
watching carefully as his eyes changed—cool replacing the heat.
“What a douchebag! Our little Quinn needs the
security more than we do.” Cooper jostled my shoulder and I tore my
eyes away and mustered a smile for Cooper. He leaned into my ear
and whispered, “You still smell like strawberries.” Then he winked
at me before Mac pulled him away.
In that moment—watching everyone chatter loudly
and laugh around me—I struggled not to feel alone. I’d been that
way for so long it had overtaken my life, yet remembering those
eerie shivers down my spine, like I was being watched, made it more
prominent. Something fierce was bearing down, leaving me more
uneasy than I’d felt in years.
***
Sunday lunchtime rolled
around entirely too quickly. My appearance was required at the
Valentine family barbecue. I would be seeing Travis there. In a
social capacity. Nothing work related. Alcohol could possibly be
involved. The very idea was making me late because everything in my
wardrobe was utter rubbish—nothing that said “outfit to meet and
socialise with the parents of the man you slept with once in a
drunken moment of folly” jumped out at me. I shouldn’t have cared
so much. I didn’t want to want Travis. I just did.
Juggling my handbag, keys, and the container of
peanut butter and white chocolate chip biscuits I was up early
baking, I locked the door of the townhouse. It was windy outside
and strands of hair were ripped from their bobby pins, instantly
ruining the hairstyle I’d taken great pains to put together. They
whipped into my eyes, and growling irritably, I flicked my head to
dislodge them. No doubt my neighbours, not including Lucy because
she wasn’t home, would think I was having a wild stroke.
Flicking my head a second time, my eye caught a
man striding towards me. Panic seized my body and the keys slipped
from my hand and fell to the ground.
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I chanted
silently as I dropped to the ground, grabbing them with trembling
hands. I stood up and jammed them back in the door to unlock the
townhouse.
“Quinn!” David yelled.
I glanced his way to see he’d picked up his pace
to a jog.
Six months. I was supposed to have six more
months! Why hadn’t someone done their job and notified me of his
release?
“Dammit,” I muttered when the door stuck. I
shoved at it, kicking the bottom corner hard with my foot. It flew
open and I whirled around and slammed it shut behind me, the
deadbolt sliding into place with a satisfying thunk. Heart in my
throat, I scrambled for my phone and punched buttons frantically.
When it started dialling I realised that panic had made me stupid
because I’d rung Lucy.
“Shit.”
I quickly ended the call before she could answer
and dialled emergency.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered, impatient for
someone to answer.
“Quinn!” David yelled and oh God, the sound was
right at my door. Loud banging accompanied the noise. “I know
you’re in there. I saw you. Open the fucking door!”
The phone was answered and the operator told me
to state my emergency. I explained in short, stuttered sentences,
fumbling my words as she tried to make sense of their jumble.
“Police are on their way, David!” I shouted as I
slid down the wall of the living room into a huddle. Rufus
scratched at the back door wanting in, but I couldn’t bear him
getting hurt if David managed to get inside. He whined at me,
sensing something was wrong.
“You owe me over three years of my life in that
shithole,” was his response.
For fifteen minutes the operator stayed on the
line while David shouted, banged the door, and rattled windows.
“I’m here to collect,” he yelled. “And I’m going
to enjoy every minute of it. When I’m done breaking you, you’re
going to hand over the money you owe me.”
Money? What the hell was he talking
about?
My body stopped rocking when the realisation
that over five minutes of silence had slipped
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