Page 23 of Property of Chaos

“Fuck’s sake, you two. I’m fine.” I wave a hand between the two women to break them apart, knocking Theresa on the shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Well, it ain’t, babe,” Marianna offers. “You should sit down before you fall down.”

My shaking arm registers as I drop it to my side. I didn’t think I was that bad.

“You do look pale,” Theresa observes. “What’s happened?” She shoves a chair against my legs, controlling my collapse onto the wooden seat. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

I shift my gaze from Marianna, standing on my left, to Theresa on my right as she pulls up a chair to face mine.

I laugh.

“Jesus, Ness,” Marianna mutters, resuming her seat. “I need to call Doug after this and tell him I won’t be home for a few nights.”

“No.” I shake my head, closing my eyes briefly. “I don’t need babysitting. It’s okay.”

“It’s clearly not.” I flinch when Theresa sets her hand atop my knee and leans forward in her seat. “Start at the top and tell me what the fuck has been going on these past couple of days.”

“She got a letter last week,” Marianna states.

“In her own words,” Theresa warns, glaring at my friend.

For fuck’s sake.“I got a letter last week,” I deadpan, echoing my bestie’s words. “From a lawyer acting on behalf of my stepfather.”

“Oh.” Theresa leans back, arms folded to settle in for the story.

“It came with medical records for my mother. Cancer,” I relay. “Terminal. He sent a letter that said it was my fault and that I killed her.”

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” Theresa mutters, dragging a hand over her face. “This is the guy you’re hiding out from, right?”

I nod. I’ve given her snippets over the past month, but not much for her to know the extent of what or who exactly I avoid.

I refuse to say run from because I stopped running years ago.

And I refuse to say escape because I never truly did.

I just avoidhimand everything he encompasses.

“I’m so sorry for the loss, honey.” My boss offers her hand, and I take it, connecting us in this weird therapy triangle by reaching for Marianna’s, too.

I’m generally pretty shit with physical touch, but it’s yet another thing from my past I want to actively undo. So, as fucking awkward as it feels to hold their hand, I do it, grateful for having people who want to offer me their touch at all.

“I don’t know if she’s actually gone or if this is just his way of manipulating me into going back there.”

Again, I refuse to call it home. Home is where the heart is. That place is where mine broke. Home is also wherever you lay your head. And I haven’t set mine down on his fucking patch of dirt for a long, long time.

Nope. That hell isn’t home.

It’s just where I was formed.

“Where are these records he sent you?” Theresa asks, searching around me like I’d have them on my person at work.Well, I guess I did before.

“They’re at home.”

She sighs out her nose. “If you bring them in, I’m happy to phone the hospital and ask outright if she’s still receiving treatment there.”

“They’re a year old,” I tell her. “I doubt she’d still be there.”

“Maybe not, but her treatment records would be if she’s still attending appointments.”

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