Page 71 of Breaking Matt
"You need to go and pack," he instructed, dropping his hand from my arm. "Just the essentials. We can get everything else sent over later."
Inside my room I surveyed my closet for a few moments before I pulled a duffel bag out and put it down on my bed. I tried to keep my mind focused on what to take with me and what could be sent later on.
I reached for my red blouse. Staring at it as my fingers rubbed the satin fabric, I remembered wearing it on a date with Matthew. We'd had so much fun, and that night had ended with amazing sex. I could still smell him and I remembered how he tasted. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the memories that would only bring me more sadness.
I had to look on the bright side: at least he was okay. And I would be going back to my parents where I wouldn't put another person at risk again.
Somehow I managed to suppress other memories of Matthew while I put my clothes in the duffel bag. I put some toiletries into a small bag and dumped that in, too.
Resigned, I sat down on the bed. I didn't want to think of Matthew but every moment I wasn't busy with something I couldn't help but think about him. I wondered how he was doing. And there was a part of me that wondered if he would ever forgive me for leaving him when he was in the hospital.
Would he understand why I had done it? I reminded myself it didn't matter. I was making the sacrifice to save his life and it wasn't going to be easy. I had to remain strong.
My eyes went to my phone. I resisted the urge to pick it up and dial his number. It wasn't like I was going to talk to him, but I wanted to hear his voice loud and clear rather than as background noise over a phone call with my father.
But he would be angry.
The next morningI couldn't ignore the flutter of nerves as I made my first attempt to leave the apartment since Matthew had been shot.
I hadn't managed to sleep much. From three that morning I had been awake, staring at the ceiling and unable to find further solace in sleep. Instead, the threat of nightmares had kept me too afraid to fall back asleep. Even after being awake for hours, it was still hard to shake the dreams that had woken me up, shivering in fear and relieved that that's all they had been.
Mark had organized a diversion. Another guy was going to drive my car out first, hopefully catching the attention of anyone stationed outside who was possibly watching me. Another car with two other bodyguards were to follow us to give me extra protection in case the diversion failed.
Thinking of someone watching me like that did nothing to ease my growing nervousness. I clasped my hands as I waited patiently for the plan to be set in motion.
Mark gave the bodyguard who was to carry through with the diversion further instructions via the phone. When he ended the call he walked up to me where I sat on the sofa with my packed duffel bag with all my essential stuff by my feet.
The sight of him putting on a bulletproof vest brought the reality of the situation I was in home. Once he'd fitted the black vest over his shirt, he turned to me with another one. In that moment he looked every inch the trained bodyguard who was being paid to protect me. And unlike before, he was a little intimidating now.
"I need you to put this on," he said, holding the vest in one hand.
I frowned when I took the object he was holding out to me. I took it from him, trying not to shake and give away the fact that I was a frightened mess.
"Is this really necessary?"
"Again, it's just a precaution." He helped me to my feet and into the vest. He strapped it to my body. It wasn't very comfortable—but then dying wouldn't be nice either. He then helped me into my jacket.
"You ready?" he asked with a raised eyebrow as he shrugged on his leather jacket.
I wasn't, but I was out of time. I nodded. He reached for my bag. I followed him to the front entrance and hesitated momentarily before I forced myself through my fear to take my first step past the doorway and out of the apartment.
He was on guard. His eyes were looking for anything out of the ordinary. It wasn't like he was obvious about it, and to anyone looking it wouldn't be anything unusual. I noticed because I had spent so much time watching Matthew in action.
The thought of him immediately increased the aching pain in the middle of my chest. Forcing myself from my thoughts to the present situation, I followed Mark into the elevator.
Everyone else was waiting downstairs in the private parking lot located in the basement of the building. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand stopped them.
"Sorry," a guy apologized as he stepped inside. He was over six feet tall and built like a tank.
Feeling alarmed, I shifted closer to Mark, giving him a wide-eyed look. He shook his head briefly, as if reassuring me the guy wasn't a threat. But to me, every stranger had the potential to be an enemy.
Finally, when the doors opened, the stranger left before Mark walked out. My legs still felt a little shaky as I stumbled slightly. Mark put an arm around me as he hurried me to the nearby car. He opened the passenger door and I got in quickly. He closed the door and walked around the front of the car.
Once inside, he slammed the door shut and got his phone out. Fear pumped through my veins as we got closer to leaving. Mark was calm and in control. There was no outward sign he was affected at all. Maybe that was a requirement to be a good bodyguard, to be able to be cool under the most pressurized situation.
"Seatbelt," he reminded me.
My hands shook so badly I couldn't get it fastened. Mark took over and clipped it in for me.
