Page 112 of Fractured Fear

Again, they better not be fucking dead.

The sweet aroma of pancakes is a big reason why I finally decide rolling out of bed is a good idea. Throwing on my usual relaxation garb, I meander out to the kitchen where Iris is cooking up a storm. I don’t know where she got all thisfood. Usually, I’m lucky if the milk in my fridge isn’t expired. Somehow, she has come up with a full spread: fruit, pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, and hash browns.

“Hayes went to the market early this morning,” she says, noticing me eyeing the food.

“Oh. Where is he now?”

“He stepped out to hang a sign that the studio is closed for the next couple days.”

What would I do without Hayes?

You’ll find out soon enough.

Unsure of what else to say, I shift on my feet. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Absolutely not,” she points at me with her spatula. “Make yourself a coffee and have a seat.”

I walk over to her and grab her hand. “Hey. I wasn’t the only one there yesterday. You were too. You also need to take some time to breathe, girl.”

She refuses to look me in the eye. “Cooking is how I cope. Let me do this.”

Scanning her face, I concede. As much as I want her to take it easy and relax, I know better than anyone that we have to do what helps us get through the next twenty-four hours. Whether that be a run, hiding in the bathroom, blasting music, or cooking like you’re feeding an army.

I nod. “Okay, but promise me if things become too much you’ll tell me or Hayes?”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Like you promised to turn to Bad Boy Rio, Daddy Zane, and Viking Hottie Asher?”

“Don’t eavesdrop,” I playfully swat at her shoulder. “And I only promised Rio.”

She turns back to the stove. “Uh huh. But if I were you I’d run to all three of those men,” she peaks over her shoulder at me and lowers her tone. “If you know what I mean.” She gives me anover emphasized wink before turning her head back toward the pancakes.

Laughing, I fire up the espresso machine and I shake my head at her. “You’re incorrigible.”

Iris makes no effort to reply. We fall into companionable silence and eat together when Hayes returns. After stuffing ourselves full, we all venture to the couch and pull up Netflix. The buzz of the TV falls into the background as I stare at my phone, willing it to ding with a notification.

Still nothing.

Deciding I’m going to bethatperson, I start a group chat with all four of us. If they don’t like it, tough. They should have replied instead of making me worry sick.

I know this is the opportune time to leave and make my way to California, but I can’t leave without knowing they’re okay first.

Me: Where are you guys?

Me: I’m just going to keep texting until one of you fucking replies.

Me: Y’all better not be hurt.

Me: Please don’t be hurt.

Letting out a sigh, I throw my phone down on the cushion next to me. If I don’t hear back from them soon, I’ll go by their house to check on them. I just need to see that they’re okay then I can make my way to Port Authority for the long bus ride ahead of me.

Hayes pauses the show and leans forward on his elbows. “I think you need to talk to somebody.”

Umm. That came out of left field.

“Okay?” I don’t know why it comes out as a question. I know I need to talk to a professional. Especially after Anthony. I probably should have gone to someone years ago. But as they say, hindsight is 20/20. Now I’m here after surviving a drive by shooting that I know was ordered by my ex-fiancé.

Yeah, I think I need to talk to somebody.

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