Page 39 of Saved By My Buyers

The police are on route, without sirens and only lights to ensure that they get there quickly.

“I don’t want that,” Marie sobs, gasping. “I’m so tired of the voices telling me I should die.”

I write a note quietly to my supervisor as I continue to speak to Marie and she informs the dispatcher that Marie may be having hallucinations along with her depression. I’m able to get her to step back over the railing before the police pull in silently, and take her in for a psych evaluation.

She’ll be able to get the chance to call her Aunt Sarah, who I found out is still alive while chatting with Marie.

Sitting back as I disconnect the call, I take a deep breath.

“Great job, Bowen,” Taylor says, sighing. “Take a break or a walk. I know I’d need to walk it off after a call like that.”

My hands are trembling slightly as I nod. Maybe I need something sweet.

“Okay,” I murmur, making sure to remove myself as someone taking open calls before I stand to go to the lounge. “Thank you.”

Standing, Taylor nods as she watches me carefully. “I don’t know what it is, but you tend to get the harder calls. I know it’s because they need you in whatever awful situation they're going through, and while that’s a good thing, I don’t want you to get burnt out. Do a little decompression before you come back.”

Grabbing my cellphone to call Jack, I agree as I stick it in my back pocket. It’s so cold today, I went with black leather pants, Doc Martens, and a long-sleeved lilac-purple sweater. My curly hair is contained in a fishtail braid over my shoulder, mostly so I won’t fidget with it.

It doesn’t hurt that I look put together right now, when I feel like I’m cracking a little on the inside. It’s always a line I feel that I struggle with daily.

Leaving my long coat behind, I walk toward the lounge, and call Jack. He had texted earlier, but I didn’t notice. It’s now after five, and I should probably just heat up my dinner.

“Hey,” Jack says, with a smile in his voice. He sounds as if he’s walking.

“Hi, I saw you texted just now,” I reply, stepping around someone and into the lounge.

“I just wanted to say hi. Why do you sound weird?” he asks suddenly.

I swear, live with someone for enough years, and you can’t hide a damn thing. Not that I want to hide anything from Jack, anyway.

“Rough call,” I explain. “It ended okay, though. I think my sugar dropped a little. I’m heating up my dinner.”

I made a lemon chicken risotto for the both of us, knowing I wouldn’t be home. We tend to split meal prep duties, but damn I was really craving this.

“You’re sure you’re good, though?” he asks, checking in as I open the fridge to grab my container from my lunch box.

“Yeah, I am. It was like an adrenaline rush and a sugar crash had a baby,” I say, giggling.

“Okay, that’s adorable, and probably exactly what happened,” Jack says. “You’re done with your shift at eight, right?”

I came in at noon, which means he’s correct.

“Mmhm,” I murmur, opening the container slightly to vent before I put it in the microwave and set the timer. “I’m parked in the garage on Ninth street. Traffic was kind of crazy today.”

Jack and I both work downtown, and the school isn’t far, which is one of the reasons he bought the high rise apartment. I know he didn’t feel right staying in the house he bought when he initially moved here.

“Okay, I’ll be home by nine or so,” he says. “I have drinks with a client who wants to schmooze while he discusses what he wants for his company.”

Jack hates these kinds of meetings. He doesn’t mind going out for a drink with friends, but this is the side of the company he dislikes. He still travels as the face of the company and the closer, however, I’m finding it’s not as often as he’s been building a decent clientele here in Michigan.

While I don’t mind being alone, the nights are the hardest for me, because that’s when my nightmares come to visit. I dream Gareth walked into my room instead and hurt me in ways that shattered me.

My psyche is an asshole.

“Bronwyn?” Jack asks, and I realize I’ve been lost in my head.

“I’m here, I promise,” I say when the microwave beeps, saying my food is ready.