Page 25 of No Sweet Goodbyes

Because I’m an idiot.

That, and the cemetery has something nowhere else does. It’s completely silent there. Not to mention the fact that I won’t have to face my empty house or the equally empty one across the street.

An empty cemetery, where zombies can pop up from the graves that surround me at any minute? Yeah, I’m okay with that.

When I pull into the parking lot, I think for sure I’m going to have to run in the opposite direction because I have an unhealthy obsession with horror movies and the messed-up things that happen in them. So yes, I’m convinced either a murderer or some sort of fictional monster will appear out of nowhere.

The reason I’m okay with that, and my reason is even more ridiculous than my belief in monsters, is the fact that allowing a fictional boogeyman space in my head means that there isn’t any room for the rejection I faced at Dom’s hands.

Nor is there any type of space for the very real monsters that exist in the world that I have no power to stop.

So I’m the weirdo sitting there, in the parking lot, trying to convince myself to leave. To go home because it’s weird that I want to find comfort with a bunch of dead people, but I can’t leave.

Not yet.

I get out of my car and walk straight to the bench that sits at the entrance to the cemetery. When I’m sure that I’m alone, I lower myself onto it and pull my legs up under me, relishing the silence offered by the dead. An almost imperceptible whistle fills the air as wind pushes the branches of the trees in the distance, and for the first time in days, I feel peace drift over my body.

This is my secret place. Alone, without anyone here or any distractions, I can feel the blood flowing through my veins.

When headlights turn into the parking lot, I want to run screaming in the opposite direction like a little kid from a make-believe monster. Honestly, that wouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me. I may talk a big talk, but I don’t like being surprised when I’m by myself. Without backup. Without even a stick to hit someone with.

I’m about a second away from running through the cemetery into the surrounding woods, but I recognize the white truck as it parks. And I wouldn’t be able to mistake the man behind the wheel if he were standing in a crowd of lookalikes.

Dom doesn’t shut off his truck or get out. Instead, he rolls down the window and stares at me like I’ve grown another head or twelve. “Why are you sitting in a cemetery in the middle of the night?”

“Why are you sitting in a cemetery in the middle of the night?” I mock him and try not to roll my eyes. When he doesn’t say anything or get out of the vehicle, I say, “What are you doing here, Dom?”

“You’re here,” is his only explanation.

“I’m fine.” I stare at him openly. “You should go.”

“You should get in your car,” he challenges.

God, I just want to slap the smirk off his face. Who does he think he is with this shit? I can’t even handle his gruff responses through the week with work without wanting to throw myself at him. How the hell am I supposed to deal with him when he drops the act and shows me a hint of who he is for real?

Dom, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil, just goes on like I’m not about to implode. “We can continue this conversation at your house or mine.”

I’ve literally spent almost every hour of my day the last week with Dom, and that is the most he’s said to me that doesn’t directly have to do with our job during the entire week. That realization has the anger bubbling over, reminding me of his constant rejection, and that’s when I have enough.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I practically shout in defiance. “I like the cemetery at night, Dom. It soothes the crazy and the outrageous in my head. You haven’t gotten out of your truck. Just go home. I’ll see you at work tomorrow and you can berate me on your dollar. But you’re not going to do it here.”

“I’m not going to berate you,” he grinds out. “Why would you even think that?” When I don’t give him an answer, he taps the wheel. “Just get in a vehicle, please. It doesn’t have to be mine. Just… please.”

I stare at him, at the sweat dotting his brow. “Are you afraid of cemeteries?” When he doesn’t answer my very pointed question, I look over my shoulder at the darkness behind me, wondering if there is something there that I can’t see.

“No.” Dom sighs. “I’m not afraid of cemeteries. But you’re crazy if you trust a cemetery at night. That’s when the zombies come out. I like my brains exactly where they are, thank you very much.”

Of all the things that Dom can possibly say in that moment, admitting that he is afraid of zombies isn’t something I think will come out.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Emma…” He trails off. “Ayudame. Please. Help me out here. I’m trying. Just get in your car and follow me to my house. Please.”

Twice, in one sentence, he’s asked me to do it. Not only that, he used the word please and if I’m being honest with myself, it looks like he’s about to come out of his skin while he’s waiting for me to make up my mind.

If I was smart, I would get in my car and drive home. I would do the right thing and not tempt fate by spending any more time around Dom. But I’m not smart. And I’m not about to play a game that I know I won’t win. There’s nothing down either path that will help me any more than having time to think will.

Instead of getting in either car, I walk into the cemetery and don’t look back.

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