Page 43 of Protector

Three men. Dead.

I smiled. “I’ve got everything I need right here with the girls. I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Molly snorted. “You just confused your fourteen-year-old for an intruder, but other than that, things couldn’t be better, right?”

I blinked slowly as the room came back into focus and the feelings of imminent danger dissipated. This one had lasted longer than usual. “Did you leave Little Ricky alone?”

Her eyebrows drew together, and she cocked her head to the side. “Remember? I told you he was staying with his abuelita, god help us all. The woman cannot say no to him.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“C’mon.” She took my hand and led me into the living room. “Sit. I wanna know how you are… really.”

“I told you, I’m fine—”

She mashed her lips together and shook her head. “I wouldn’t be. I’d either never get out of bed or spend all my time contemplating how to kill them. I just want you to know that it’s okay to not be okay.”

“It’s getting late.” I pushed her hand off my knee and stood up. “Dakota will be up at the crack of dawn.”

“I was thinking…” Molly gnawed at the corner of her lip. “It might be nice to have a sleepover… like old times. What do you think?”

A sleepover meant I wasn’t alone.

It also meant that I wouldn’t be able to stay up and check the locks on the windows and doors every hour without looking like a crazy person.

Wolverine may have had the bathroom window replaced and a high-tech security system installed, but I trusted my method.

Being alone in the house at night still made my skin crawl, but it was where the girls were most comfortable. So, I set aside my feelings and distracted myself with late-night talk shows and reruns.

“You don’t have to stay—”

“Please.” Molly’s eyes widened. “I miss my best friend. Even when I had to leave town, I always thought that I’d come back and we’d pick up where we left off, but you’re not the same girl you were before.”

I studied the clock on the mantel, letting myself get lost in the monotonous ticking. “And you think you’re the same girl you were in high school? The rebel? It’s easy to get hung up on how I’ve changed, but maybe look in the mirror.”

“We just want to help you, Celia. You say the word, and I’m there.”

It must’ve run in the family. If it wasn’t Lucy pushing me to find a therapist, I had Molly guilting me for not smiling as much as I used to.

“For the last time, I am fine. Now, if it’s okay with you, I need to shower.” I left her sitting on the couch and forced one foot to move in front of the other until I was standing in the master bathroom.

Goosebumps broke out across my skin as I pulled the blinds closed, raising the hair on my arms. I kept my eyes on the inside of the clawfoot tub. Once, I’d made the mistake of looking and had been convinced that my reflection was someone else looking in.

I turned on the taps to the shower, comforted by the grumbling sounds from the pipes. Maybe it was just as well that the house didn’t sell. My sanity seemed to rely heavily on routine.

My jeans were the first to go, followed by the oversized sweatshirt that fell to my knees. It was always the same. I’d strip down and stand in front of the mirror while the water heated, searching for marks that had long since faded.

Physically, I was completely healed. It didn’t matter. I still felt their hands and teeth on my skin. So I stood, night after night, searching for wounds that were invisible to anyone but me.

My fingers traced the brand on my hip, the nails slipping over the raised scars left by Cobra’s ring.

“Cry,” I taunted, as the woman in the mirror studied me with narrowed eyes. “Cry and get it over with.”

Instead of the sadness I’d been seeking for four years, rage bubbled up to the surface. I stared until the vision blurred and the woman in front of me no longer looked afraid; she looked haunting.

She was a specter; a war goddess, ready to take down any man who dared stand in her way.

Then, and only then, did the tightness in my throat subside, allowing me to breathe.

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