Page 31 of Guarded from Danger

Am I still embarrassed and a little shaky? Yes. But I’m clean and the little sticks are out of my hair and the scratches on my face are barely noticeable. My stomach is only slightly unsettled instead of cramping from nerves and anxiety. And my ever present fear has subsided to a quiet whisper instead of a panicked shout.

While I showered, I lost myself in the soothing routine of it—lathering my hair, deep conditioning it, shaving, exfoliating, even a revitalizing face mask—and managed to forget about what happened for a little while.

Rather than dissecting the whopper of a flashback I just had, I could keep my mind busy with meaningless decisions—which lotion to use, whether to blow dry my hair or let it dry naturally, and if I should use the face cream with shimmer or the one without.

As I brush my hair in front of the mirror, smoothing it into a gleaming curtain of chestnut, it’s a comforting sort of déjà vu. Like the thousands of times I did this in the past, before my world was tipped on its axis. I can just be normal Lucy, gettingready for work, or maybe waiting for Xavier to pick me up for a date.

Back in Xavier’s apartment, with him steps away in the living room, it’s easier to feel like that person again. The one who was cheerful more often than not, who smiled at strangers, and could fall into imaginary stories that always had happy endings.

Except.

I’m not that person anymore. And as time goes on, I’m less sure I ever will be. I’m not sure I’ll be able to look at a stranger without feeling scared or threatened. My imagination has taken off for parts unknown. And the only time I feel truly safe is when Xavier is right beside me.

He says he doesn’t mind, that he wants to be with me, and I believe him. I just wish I could be more like pre-abduction Lucy than I am now. Happy. Optimistic. Independent. I want to be the supportive girlfriend instead of the one always relying on him.

As I stare at myself in the mirror, I’m struck with an odd sense of duality.

Aside from the scratches, I look the same as I always have. Bright blue eyes, heart-shaped face, a small nose my dad used to affectionately refer to as a button, and my cheeks pink from the heat of the shower and dusted with freckles.

But at the same time, I look like a stranger. Like I’ve changed on the inside, and the outside hasn’t caught up yet.

Baring my teeth at the mirror, I make a face at it.

Am I going to stay in the bathroom, wallowing in my insecurities and anxieties, making myself feel worse?

Or am I going to go into the living room and talk with Xavier, like he promised we would? Once we got back to the apartment, he hugged me for a few minutes before saying gently, “If you’re feeling up to it, a shower might help. If you want, I can go in with you. And after, we can come up with a plan to help deal with these flashbacks. Okay?”

As tempted as I was to take him up on the shared shower option, I knew I needed some time to collect myself. To prove I could do something—even as small as a shower—on my own.

It might not be much, but I did it. And it’s like what my mom said after my fiftieth manuscript rejection—One step at a time, Lucy Loo. You wrote a book. That’s an amazing accomplishment already. Just keep trying. You’ll get there.

She was right. I went the self-publishing route and after four years I hit the top one hundred list in romance on Amazon. Four years after that, I made the top ten. So if I could do that, I can make slow but steady progress towards getting back to normal again.

Lifting my chin and setting my shoulders, I take one last look in the mirror.

If I made it through those days at the cabin, I can do this. Maybe I couldn’t handle the apartment alone this time, but that doesn’t mean I stop trying. Take things one step at a time.

With renewed determination, I open the bathroom door and head into the bedroom, where I change into the shirt I got at the aquarium—a white V-neck with a shark on it—and a pair of my more snug-fitting jeans. The reminder of our date makes me smile and a spurt of optimism hits me.

Maybe after our conversation, Xavier and I could do something fun. Another picnic, or we could try to make dinner for everyone. Or we could watch one of those terrible action movies he likes so much, where the main characters escape certain death at least fifty times.

We used to take turns picking movies—romance or comedy for me, action for him—but I know Xavier’s been avoiding watching anything violent because of me. I can handle it, though. Or if nothing else, I can cover my eyes. I’d just like to do something that feels more like our old relationship instead of this careful new one.

Positive mindset in place, I’m smiling as I walk into the living room, but two voices coming from the hallway stop me in my place. The door is open a few inches, so I can hear the voices clearly—Xavier, of course, and Rhiannon.

“How is she holding up?” Rhiannon asks. Concern laces her tone. “After a flashback, especially one like that… She must be feeling shaken.”

“I don’t know,” Xavier replies. He sighs heavily. “I mean, by the time we got back here, she was much calmer. Embarrassed, though she shouldn’t be. It’s not like we don’t understand PTSD. But I think she’s worried about making a bad impression on you guys.”

As I stand in the middle of the living room, I’m torn. On one hand, I feel like I shouldn’t be listening to their private conversation. But on the other… they’re talking about me. And if I asked Xavier, he’d tell me what they talked about, anyway. At least, I’m pretty sure he would.

“Impossible.” Rhiannon makes a dismissive sound before teasing, “I might like Lucy more than you, Xav. She’s certainly more pleasant.”

“She is,” he agrees. “But I think that’s one of the reasons this is so hard for her. Lucy’s always been so cheery—not that she doesn’t have her down moments—but feeling scared and anxious all the time…”

“Has she talked to a counselor?”

“Not yet.” Xavier pauses. “I know. I’ve suggested it. But I don’t want to push her.”

---