Page 10 of Under His Protection

The morning sun streams through the gauzy curtains, painting my tiny apartment in a soft, golden light. It’s a deceptive kind of light, though. A light that can’t penetrate the shadows that’s settled over me.

I pull on a simple black maxi dress; the cotton fabric feels soft against my skin. My reflection shows a woman with dark circles under her eyes and a haunted expression. The faint scent of Alexander’s cologne still lingers on me like a phantom touch.

I am considering calling Sarah, and perhaps I can meet her on my way to Harvey. My fingers hover over her number. On one hand, I want to get her perspective, to share the fear that has begun to gnaw at me. But I also hesitate. I don’t want to drag her into this mess. She’s a ray of sunshine in my life, my only ray of pure, innocent sunshine, and I want to protect her.

Today, the city streets feel more chaotic, the air buzzing with tension and cars relentlessly honking. It's like a swarm of bees, each one a tiny, insistent buzzing.

My fingers trace the edge of the screen where Sarah’s smiling face is displayed, a giant, melting ice cream cone held awkwardly in her hand. A sudden flash of memory jolts me: Sarah, her eyes wide, her fingers fumbling with the lock of my apartment door, her voice haunted, “Ava! Where are you?” The image of a broken windowpane, shards of glass glittering on the floor, the sound of Sarah’s boots on the hardwood floor tearing my place apart with Tyler trying to find me. And I observed it all in Dexter’s captivity on a small screen.

Still, I decide to press the green button however selfish that might be. I need my best friend.

It rings only once, “Ava, hun.”

“Hi Sarah, can you meet me at the cafe down the street from your work? I’m on my way to Harvey, and I’d love to meet,” I say.

“Oh, sure,” she says, “It’s not like work at a multimillion-dollar tech company, so I have lots of spare time.”

I can almost imagine her wink with a mascara-lashed eye at me.

“It’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Be there in ten. I’m on my way to work anyways, and coffee is a universal right.”

I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, my lips drawn tight. I don’t look like myself. I should probably put on some blush.

The cafe is bustling with the usual morning crowd: business people in suits, students hunched over laptops, couples sharing pastries and stolen kisses. I inhale the aroma of brewed coffee and pastries, a familiar scent that brings a pang of nostalgia. It’s a chaotic, vibrant scene, and I feel as misplaced as ever.

She’s already at the cafe when I get there, sipping a cappuccino and browsing her phone. My eyes are drawn to her bright red lipstick, a bold splash of color against her freckled face, and her seafoam green top, the fabric clinging to her toned arms. She’s hung her navy blue jacket on the back of the chair. She’s a whirlwind of movement, bouncing her knee in the chair. I wish I had some of that energy.

“Hey, you!” Sarah says, her eyes twinkling with a grin. “You look like you just fought a dragon. Need a pick-me-up?”

I slump into the chair across from her, trying to ignore how she stares at me, a mixture of amusement and concern in her eyes. “Maybe a dragon. Maybe a zombie apocalypse. Who knows. The city feels different today like something's about to break.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it, Ava?” she says, chuckling. “My boyfriend thinks you’re a bit dramatic, too.”

I nod. “I’m sure I am. He’s right.” I take a sip of the lukewarm coffee Sarah must have ordered for me, trying to ignore my trembling hand. “Was that just your way of saying you’re still dating Gilbert?”

“Yup! He’s a good guy, though,” Sarah says, her voice softer now. “He has a good heart, Ava. And he’s funny.”

For some reason, I have a hard time seeing Gilbert from accounting as the hilarious boyfriend. But hey, who am I to judge? Dating a guy involved with the mafia has a way of making you re-evaluate your standards.

“I’m sure he is,” I say, my gaze fixed on the bustling cafe, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling that someone is watching me. “So, what’s with Gilbert?” I ask, trying to distract myself. “Is he—- is he aware of everything? Of everything that went on in the past?”

He knows on a need-to-know-basis," Sarah says, her spark dimming slightly. Her hand closes around mine, a warm touch that seeps into my bones, grounding me. "What did you drag me down here to talk about?"

I hesitate; maybe I shouldn’t involve her. She’s happy with Gilbert. It’s not her troubles. It’s mine.

“I—I just missed my best friend,” I stammer.

“Don’t lie to me.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause.

“It’s funny. I got a letter,” Sarah says, breaking the silence, her voice a little lower than usual.

“A letter?” I say, tilting my head. “What is this, the 90s?”

She laughs, but it stiffens quickly. “It was from Freddy. You know, Fancy Freddy? He died a few months ago. He overdosed.”

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