Page 2 of Shadows in Bloom

I nearly sob as my fingers grasp the doorknob, but the deafening thud of his footsteps aren’t far behind. Refusing to look back, even as every cell in my brain screams for me to, I yank the door open and stumble when it slams into his hard body. He flails from the impact, and I use the single second I have to slip through the gap.

My feet hammer down the short hallway and on the stairs as I fly down them, using my grip on the rail to jump over steps.

When the cool, night air slips over my skin, I shiver, teeth clacking and rattling my skull. I run toward my car with tunnel vision, clutching my keys like the lifeline they are.

My body yearns for relief when I yank the door open, when I slide the key in the ignition with a trembling hand, when I shift into reverse and slam on the gas. When my apartment disappears behind me.

When I make it two minutes, five minutes, fifteen, without any headlights behind me.

But even then, I keep each breath short, my grip tight, eyes strained as they continuously flick between the road before me and the road behind me. For minutes that bleed into hours.

I drive, passing cars on a blackened road, nearly vomiting all over myself when one draws up behind me. I take turn after turn, eyes peeled on the rear-view to make sure they don’t follow—every single time.

I have no idea where I end up, but the shadows of trees morph into buildings as I drive into a city, eyes unfocused on signs and traffic lights and everything but the cars around me.

With the traffic surrounding me, I loop around, dizzying myself with my constant turning and back-tracking, but by the time the last dredges of my adrenaline fade, I’m pulling into a parking garage, surrounded by endless concrete walls.

I’m dazed and numb as I park, skin tingling as I stare out of my windshield.

He didn’t follow me. I lost him. I’m alone. I got away.

The voice inside my head repeats those four sentences over and over, but I can’t feel a thing. Not relief, not fear. Only agonizing numbness and the slow, pathetic thump of my heart beneath bone.

Shock, my brain so helpfully supplies. This is shock. You’ve experienced it before—when August went missing. You know what to do.

“Take a breath. Take a step. Move forward.” I pull in air through my nostrils, hold it for ten seconds, then exhale loudly through my mouth. I turn the key in the ignition, pull it out, and fist it in my palm, the teeth finding the etch of a cut they made on my skin hours earlier.

The sting of their touch grounds me as I push the door open and force my legs to comply. I flex my toes inside my dirty shoes as they land on the concrete below. It’s even colder out here, but I relish in the bitterness.

My eyes won’t—can’t—stop scanning the cold garage as I lock my doors and walk toward the stairs that take me down to the ground level. I feel eyes on me from every direction, but every time I turn, there’s nothing but cars and echoes.

The bile resting at the base of my throat is a constant companion as I take the stairs and push open the door. The hotel is directly across the street—but it feels miles away with the space spread between where I stand and their front, revolving doors.

It’s expensive—too much for me to afford for long—but… I need the safety it promises. I need a bed and a shower and to not be completely alone.

A sob breaks through my lips, and I gasp as I slam them together, holding it back. Keeping it in. Refusing to fucking break because of him—of this.

The city is a blur as I run as fast as I can, pushing my legs to their max as I dart across the street, not bothering to look for cars as I do.

Let them hit me—it’d be a relief. But I make it across and through the doors without dying.

I don’t remember speaking to anyone, but the next time I blink, I’m stepping off an elevator and walking toward a door with numbers I don’t remember seeing before. The key unlocks it, and then, I’m inside, sliding every lock into place. Taking a chair and wedging it under the door. Pushing the small side table against it, too—and the other one.

I stare through the peephole for a long time—so long my eyes burn and water, droplets streaming down my face. And I think maybe they’re tears, but they don’t hurt like tears do.

They’re just… there.

And I’m just here.

1

JAMIE

Bodies bump against me on all sides, hands thrown in the air, phones dangling from sweaty fingers in an attempt to catch the chorus as the singer leans down to scream into the mic. A smile slides across my face as I press my hand to my chest, feeling the tumultuous bass vibrating my bones. My eyes flutter closed of their own volition as I sway to the music, reveling in the feeling of being alive.

I’m not thinking about the cases piled on my desk, all the missing kids I can’t fucking help, the fact I’ll go home to an empty apartment after this.

No. Right now, there’s just this. Music with my best fucking friend.

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