Page 8 of Embracing My Nightmare
Chapter 3
The sound of bangingon my front door startled me awake as the cool air from the lake chilled my exposed skin. I sat up from the soft chair on my expansive patio and cautiously walked into my apartment, quickly finding my gun before I looked out the peephole. Seeing Chuck standing on the other side, I unlocked and opened the door.
“I’m sorry. I forgot to send a text when I got home,” I explained as he walked in and I locked the door behind him.
“Elise, are you okay? We’ve been trying to call for over an hour and I finally went to the bar. Hayden said you left before five,” he said as I sat the gun down next to my purse and motioned for him to come in.
He glanced over, seeing the opened wine bottle on the cabinet and the glass door open to the patio. Turning his head to me, he waited for an explanation. Sighing loudly, I grabbed him a beer from the fridge and tried to rationalize in my mind what excuse I would give him this time.
Taking a sip of my freshly filled glass, I motioned for him to sit down at the dining room table. Walking out to the patio, I grabbed the half-smoked joint and ashtray before walking back inside. I found Chuck drinking his beer, texting on his phone as I sat down next to him.
Looking up, he sat the phone down and explained, “I told Blaire you were okay, and I would grab a beer with you before I headed home.”
Nodding, I spun my wineglass in a small circle, watching the red wine swirl around the glass in a tornado. His hand landed on top of mine and I smiled, knowing he understood better than anyone that sometimes you don’t want to talk about what was bothering you. I had to give him something to help lessen his concern.
“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” I reasoned as I reached for the lighter.
Lighting the half-smoked joint, he sat back and watched as I blew the smoke toward the open door. He snapped his fingers at me softly and I handed the joint to him with a chuckle. Chuck wasn’t one to chastise me for getting high or having a drink, as long as I was safe about it. He took a long toke and passed it back to me, his soft brown eyes watching me carefully. Silently, we finished the premium weed and the calm fell on us like a comforting blanket.
I swallowed deeply, trying to get the words out of my mouth, wanting to explain why I was suddenly walking away from my extra job. Why I used the money I had inherited to pay off my student loans after vowing to never touch it. Why I was smoking weed after having quit for so long.
“A few weeks ago, I thought I saw someone who knewthemat the bar.” I needed to get this off my chest and I trusted Chuck more than anyone I ever met. Maybe if I told him just enough of the truth, he could give me some advice.
“What happened? Why didn’t you tell us?” Lifting the bottle of beer to his lips, he took a swallow and waited for my response. His understanding eyes tracked me as I pondered the answer.
I hesitated, not wanting to explain too much, yet a part of me felt like he was the only person in the world who would understand. Not that there was much to explain. I was saved by an unknown man who murdered my abusive adoptive parents and I lied about it.
“I didn’t want you to worry. I was wrong, but it just rattled me.” I shrugged, standing to get the bag of weed before I started rolling another joint. The last thing I wanted to be tonight was sober.
“I know there are things you don’t want to talk about wherethey’reconcerned. I also know there are things you refuse to talk about. Please, let me help you. Let me carry some of the burden.”
I swung my head toward him, my eyes growing as the fear crept in. I needed to tell someone, but I promised I would never mentionhim. How do I explain that a mystery man had murdered my adoptive parents, my abusers, just to save me?
He took the weed from me and expertly rolled a joint while I stared at his hands. Lighting the end, he took a deep draw, then handed it to me. I smoked, barely feeling the effects as the memories flooded me. Memories of the beatings, of the neglect, of the sheer amount of hatred they showed me. I had to unburden myself from the pain they caused, so I inhaled deeply and began.
“When they adopted me, I thought I won the lottery. Being shuffled from foster home to foster home, I never even had my ownroom. They tossed my clothes in large, black trash bags as another family threw me away. First, my ownfamily abandoned me, then I bounced around from one crappy foster home to another. I had a couple of decent homes, but they never wanted to keep me, so when I was adopted, I tried to be perfect for them.” I took a deep breath, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.
“I moved in a month or soafter my tenth birthday. The first few weeks, everything was good. They acted like they wanted me, like they were happy to have me around. They didn’t yell or ignore me like some fosters did, so I felt lucky.” The tears were building behind my eyes and I exhaled deeply. “About a month after I moved in with them, they decided they wanted to take me to the beach. I had never seen the ocean, and I was excited as we drove the hour to get there. When we arrived, they set up towels and a huge umbrella. I remember the coarse sand squishing through my toes as I walked to the water, the cold waves crashing over my feet. We ate a picnic lunch and played at the shore's edge, soaking up the sun. It was the best day of my life.”
