Page 7 of A Little More Hope

Sunlight, warm on my face, drifted me into wakefulness. The usual comfy soft mattress and luxury cotton sheets were oddly solid as a rock beneath my body. Reluctantly opening my eyes, I squinted at the brightness, instantly shifting my head to move out of the burning light coming in through a gap in the drapes. Reality seeped through the fog of my mind as my surroundings gradually came into focus, the room at right angles. I lifted my head, taking stock of where I was laid out on the floor in the living area, and not in the bedroom. The hard wood surface underneath me was the reason for the stiffness in my muscles.

Why was I on the floor? And why were the drapes closed? My brow furrowed as I tried to make sense of what had happened. I hadn’t closed them once since being here, preferring the inky blue-blackness of the night, rather than the stark monochrome interior. There’d been no need with the seclusion Gabe’s house offered and with the beach house next door, my only neighbor, standing empty.

Until last night.

The memories flooded through me in a rush, hurtling into my awareness with enough speed to make me woozy. Me outside, the man on the steps startling me, the panic attack at seeing someone in the dark it subsequently triggered. Me, inside, on my knees, trembling, struggling for air as my world disappeared into nothingness.

“Shit.” I sat up, moving my head from side to side to work out the kinks in my neck, then rolled carefully to my hands and knees, gingerly getting to my feet. Mindful not to move too fast in case I got lightheaded and blacked out again.

I was a fucking mess.

Moving over to the drapes, I created a bigger opening between them, then peered through, not expecting to find anyone, but searching anyway for any signs the guy I’d seen last night lurked outside. Seeing no one, I pulled the thick material all the way apart, letting the daylight flood in and fill the dark corners of the room with its comforting brightness.

I wanted to open the doors and let the morning in, allow the refreshing sea breeze to wash away the remainder of my episode. Reaching for the french doors, my fingers shook when I took hold of the keys, and they jangled loudly in the airy space. Numerous attempts to get the metal to turn in the lock were futile, so eventually I gave up trying.

Forcing myself back into my strict routine, I showered, and dressed in a light cotton navy shirt and chinos instead of my usual shorts. Now I had neighbors, there’d be the distinct possibility of being seen, and although faded, I was well aware of the pale-yellow bruises still covering my body. Luckily, the ones on my face were almost gone, unless one looked closely, but I wasn’t up to being stared at this morning.

After making my usual Saturday breakfast of natural yogurt and fresh fruit and setting up the coffee machine, I sat on the high stool at the kitchen counter, eating the first mouthful, when there was a light knock on the window.

My eyes flicked warily to the glass doors. They locked once more with the guy I’d seen last night, instantly making me tense. Indecision as to what I should do churning in my gut, glued me to my seat.

“Hi,” he greeted cheerily through the glass and motioned to the door. “Can I come in?” I continued to stare, my heart beginning to pick up speed. Why was he here, and what did he want?

Younger than me, likely early to midtwenties, he had short, messy, dark brown hair. Strong jawline, visible cheekbones and a button nose that made him look more friendly than dangerous, the wide grin on his face only reinforcing my assumption.

His skin was tanned, and his body rangy, likely from outdoor exercise rather than from a gym like me. He appeared dressed more for surfing than running, with colorful boardshorts and a bright yellow T-shirt.

Perhaps my reasoning was due to his open nature or the fact he looked younger and, from this distance, smaller, but despite my trepidation, he didn’t make me feel scared. Apprehensive, yes, but not afraid of him. This discovery shocked the hell out of me as apart from my friends everybody else pretty much scared the crap out of me these days.

Placing the cereal bowl on the marble countertop, I cautiously made my way over to the door leading to the deck. I forced my fingers to grip the key, and the guy retreated a couple steps in readiness for me to turn it and open the door.

Up close, I was able to determine I was an inch or so taller than him, and strangely, the slight difference in height helped relax me somewhat. I mean, logically I acknowledged people shorter than me can carry guns too; they’re not exempt or restricted, but my reaction took me by surprise anyway.

I’d used Gabe’s home gym quite a bit since coming here, trying to bulk up and gain strength, ensuring I’d be able to fight back if I was ever attacked again. Plus, on Gabe’s recommendation, and after some heavy vetting, I’d reluctantly had a crash course in self-defense from a local martial arts coach to ensure I was always ready to fight, always prepared, so if this guy tried to attack or overpower me, I’d knock him on his ass.

Hmm, and exactly how did that work out for you last night? the voice in my head derided me.

I ignored the annoying reminder of my weakness and concentrated on the guy instead, studying his body language, another topic I’d watched endless videos on while hiding away. He remained calm, his eyes friendly and his relaxed demeanor nonthreatening.

So far anyway.

Returning my gaze to his face, I noted the golden tan of his skin made the whites of his eyes bright, highlighting the vivid moss-green color of his irises and instantly reminding me of the forest skirting the town.

My brows snapped together. Since when did I notice what a guy’s eyes looked like?

Lindsay’s eyes were green too, and we were together for six years, but I don’t ever remember comparing hers to my surroundings or any variation of a color. Green was green, right? So why keep noticing this guy’s eyes and the dark brown flecks dotting the edges of his pupils?

My hand hovered over the key in the lock. I wanted to twist it, open the latch, but no matter how hard I tried, my brain refused to follow through. The guy’s sunny disposition from moments ago turned to confusion as he waited. He must be wondering what was going on and why I didn’t open the damn door and let him in.

But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

He must have read the anguish on my face, the paralysis, the wanting to unlock and open the door, to let him in, but not being able to. He cocked his head to the side, assessing, a frown marring his smooth forehead, and for a second I panicked, thinking he’d get annoyed and leave.

Why didn’t I want him to go?

He turned and my insides dropped, panic increasing. I almost shouted at him not to go, but the words died in my throat when he walked over to the outside chairs, picked one up and positioned it in front of the doors, where he sat down, making himself comfortable.

He grinned. “Hi, I’m Ashton Michaels.” His rich voice skimmed over my skin. Low, soothing, and relaxing, making me feel immediately better. Relief washed over me that he hadn’t left me alone, and I was profoundly touched at his kindness and understanding of my situation.

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