Page 23 of Fragmented Illusions
“Hey, sorry. I’ve got to use the bathroom quick. I’m done anyway, so whenever you guys want to leave, I’m ready.” I reach into my purse and pull out two twenties to cover my portion of the bill plus the tip. I set them down on the table in front of me and stand, pulling my purse over my shoulder.
No one says a word as I step away and make my way toward the bathrooms on the other side of the restaurant. I purposely walk a little slower than every muscle in my body is screaming at me to do because I refuse to let them witness the urgency oozing from my every pore.
I can feel four sets of eyes burning into my back, setting my skin ablaze with shame. And with my fair, freckled skin, they would all see how embarrassed I am easily enough.
I shuffle past people, twisting and turning each and every way until I make it to the restrooms, which are thankfully empty, I notice the moment I step inside. Each stall door is ajar, so I slip into the one second furthest from the door and plop down on the toilet with a sigh.
What in the actual hell is wrong with me? Forgetting to take my meds?
These masked men are really screwing with my head.
I grit my teeth as I open my purse and pull out my pill bottles. I pop open the cap on two of them and toss back the pills, swallowing them easily. I place the caps back on with a snap and drop them back in my purse.
I set my bag on the floor between my feet and rest my head on my knees. I cannot believe I forgot to take them. Too many things will go wrong if it continues to happen.
I’m losing it. I inhale deeply and hold it, letting the excess oxygen swirl around in my brain.
One.
It was one slip-up. I’ll be okay.
Two.
No, you won’t.
Three.
I lift my head at what sounds like the bang of the restroom door closing. Sighing, I stand, ready to go home and hopefully sleep the day away. Recharge. Reset. Get these faces out of my mind for good this time.
It’s already been a week since Halloween and I haven’t heard a peep from them, so everything must be settled now. Maybe because I didn’t see their faces, they are deciding to let me go?
I don’t know, but I hope so. That is what I’m going to force myself to believe, anyway. Otherwise I will lose my mind.
You already have.
Unlatching the stall door, I pull it open and begin washing my hands in the sink. The thud I heard moments ago sounds again, and I jerk my head up to glance in the mirror as I rinse the soap from my hands. But when I meet the reflection of the door in the mirror, there is no one there—entering or exiting.
Huh.
I shrug my shoulders, exhausted with being paranoid and force myself to let it go. I’m too tired to care about much of anything else right now. It could have been anything.
As I’m drying my hands in the hand dryer, I stare at my reflection once more. My makeup is a little too thick, but in the bad lighting of the restaurant, you can’t really tell, so that’s a plus. My clothes still look good—a simple pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater which contrasts well with my hair.
Running my now dry hands through my straightened hair, I fix the strands that got tangled and it takes me a few minutes to fix them. It’s times like this I wish I would carry my hairbrush in my purse, but no matter how annoyed I get with not having it, I know I won’t. For some reason I can’t explain, I hate hair on things. Loose strands of hair drive me crazy and it’s why I always run my fingers through my hair—to make sure they don’t get on my clothes. Maybe it is part of my obsession with being perfect.
Either way.
Satisfied my hair is fixed, I throw the hair that fell out in the trash can. A flash of white washes over my vision for a split second as I turn towards the door before disappearing on the other side of it. My feet root in their spot and my body locks up—just like it did that night.
A scream tears out of my throat, so ear-piercing, my throat instantly aches and burns. It echoes off of the pale yellow walls of the bathroom, shrouding me in my own fear.
My entire body trembles as I remain a statue, utterly useless, even though my brain is sending countless signals to my body to fucking move.
They are here—the masked men.
They found me.
Thump.
