Page 24 of Hunting Harbor

Even if it meant the death of me.

I had never been much of a risk taker, but if anything, these dreams show me that I should take a leap. Obviously something is missing in my life and it’s my duty to find out what the fuck that is.

The phone rings, and its vibrations rattle in my bones, my resolve starting to crumble as Lila’s name flashes on the screen.Shit. I never called her.I fling it onto the couch, facedown andsmothered by cushions. It stops. Silence hums, just long enough to believe I’m safe, before the rattling starts again. She knows me too well. Must sense that I’m about to make a horrible decision. One out of character and she wants to talk me out of it.

But really… what are the odds he’s a murderer? Pretty slim, right? So… I may as well listen to the little voice that says I should just dive in and do it. No regrets. Probably. My bag waits by the door. If it had arms, they’d be crossed and tapping impatiently.

I pace between the couch and the door, like one of those neurotic mall-goers who just window shop and never buy. I imagine Kairo standing in a bright aisle labeled Dangerous Decisions or Just Plain Stupid, waiting for me to figure myself out. But his face stays blurry in my mind, and I can’t quite hold the shape of him. I keep seeing the man in my book. The faceless guy who chases me. Who forces me to confront the fear, the unknown. He’s got a name now and I want to scream it.

The sound of my phone startles me. It shouldn’t, but it does. It pulls me out of my fantasy and that irritates me.

Let it go, I tell myself, let it ring.

The phone wins. I mash the answer button before my brain catches up with my fingers.

“Hi, Li.”

“Hi, Harbor. So you ARE there.”

There’s a pause. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” I play dumb. We’ve known each other for years. She knows when I’m being stupid.

“Girl, I just have this feeling you’re doing something dumb and I need to tell you to not do it. Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on so I can help you not make a decision you’ll regret?”

I sigh, the noise loud in the speaker. “I’m going to a cabin with a guy I met at the bar.”

“You barely know him,” she says. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe. But I feel like I have to do this.”

“Harbor, this is literally how women go missing. How they die! Please, at least share your location with me.”

Silence stretches as I contemplate. I pull the phone from my ear and stare at her number, and it glares back at me.

“Fine. I’ll turn on Find My Phone. But don’t be a snoop and come find me unless I never come home. Got it?” I click on the app. “Do you see me?”

“Yup. But let it reflect for the record that I think this is dumb, Harbor. you’re going to get hurt.”

“Whatever,” another sigh escapes me. “It’s just a weekend. I gotta go. He’s gonna be here soon.”

I tap the end button. I love her, I really do, but for once I just want to be reckless and let the chips fall where they may. My eyes fall on the offensive bag by the door, already packed, already sealed in its own certainty about what comes next. Why am I even considering going? A cabin, just the two of us, nothing but time and empty space to confront each other and all the ways he already seems to know me too well.

My pacing grows frantic, the loops tighter as I burn anxiety into the floorboards. I shove my hair back, untangle it, wrap it in a messy knot again. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t even want to.

The phone rings again, but I don’t make a move to answer it.

Kairo’s number lights up the screen next, and I’m ready to vomit. Lila is right. This is stupid.

I’ll be there in two.A text comes through and I nod.

Yup. I’m doing this.

Packing my phone in my pocket and shoving a romance novel down the side of my suitcase, I zip the front shut. The motion feels wrong. Like I should be doing the opposite. Unpacking, unzipping, unraveling all these urges and leaving them in neat piles on the floor. All these urges I never had before, urges that smell like cedar and dark woods and a man who—

I lose the thought, along with my resolve, telling myself again that it’s just a weekend. I need this.

I know where it’s coming from. It’s why I hid the photograph of my father and brother’s hands, why I never bothered to report it. Why waking up covered in come wasn’t as scary as it should be. Or why the idea of my manuscript being tainted by blotted ink and dried baby juice didn’t terrify me. I know these urges, this idea of going to a cabin with Kairo, isn’t sane, but it might be the only way to silence what’s haunting me.

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