Page 3 of A Hint of Delirium

The fury in his face transformed to something I hated even more—pity.

“No, Violet,” my manager said with a sigh. “It’s not. Please go to the back and collect your things.”

* * *

This wasn’tthe first time I’d been fired. It was sort of how my resume looked at this point. Just one of a long string of jobs I’d been fired from because of my condition. But I’d worked at The Black Keys the longest out of any of them—eight months. I really thought it would stick this time. Now I was back to being unemployed. My chances of finding gainful employment diminished each time I got sacked.

I stepped out of the restaurant, splashing into a puddle of yesterday’s rain and quickly got lost in a sea of people coming and going to their destinations. Sirens split the air, cars honked obnoxiously, and I heard five conversations going on at once because New Yorkers could never be called the quiet type.

I headed for the subway station in Hell’s Kitchen to catch the C, transfer to the 7, and then get on the Q33 bus that would take me home to Jackson Heights, Queens where I lived in a small apartment with my mother. She wouldn’t be happy about what happened tonight. I’d have to admit that the pills weren’t working, which meant an adjustment to my meds and another visit to my shrink. I hated that.

I stepped off the Q33 and started walking home from the bus stop. At this time of night, most of the small businesses had already closed. I felt safe in the brightly lit streets filled with people, but when I turned onto a residential street, it got dark and the number of people in the area dropped drastically.

I tightened the hold on my purse and quickened my pace. Either I was being paranoid, or I really was crazy, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I didn’t want to turn around and see if someone was following me, because it was kind of absurd. People were always walking the streets. Someone was probably just outside taking out the trash. It didn’t mean I was being followed. Even so, my skin prickled and I felt someone getting closer and closer, so I peered over my shoulder.

Without streetlights, all I could see in the darkness was the outline of a tall man, but that shaggy hair was undeniable. It was the guy from the restaurant. Or was I really being paranoid?

I turned back around and walked faster. I reached my hand inside my purse and fumbled for my pepper spray, my heart rate spiking when my fingers found the familiar tube. I held it tightly and speed-walked home.

I heard his boots match my hurried steps. He was gaining on me, he was just behind me, he—

He reached out and lightly touched my shoulder.

I whirled around and sprayed him in the eyes, seeing those emerald green orbs go wide in shock. Frantic, I screamed for help.

He screamed along with me as he covered his eyes and let me go, stumbling backward. “Ah! What the hell?”

“Leave me alone, you psycho!” I shouted over my shoulder as I ran for home. I was only a couple blocks from my front door, but I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to regain his sight and follow me again.

Just then, I saw a gypsy cab heading down the street and flagged it down, hoping it was empty. When it stopped, I jumped in the back seat and locked the door. “32ndand 83rd!” I told the taxi driver, out of breath. Sensing my urgency, he sped away.

I looked through the back window to see the man stand up and rub his eyes, watching as the cab drove away.

2

VIOLET

Iwoke up with bleary eyes, feeling like I had a hangover. I’d stressed myself out so much after last night’s events that a pounding migraine had settled into my temples before I managed to drag myself to bed. The next morning I still felt the aftereffects.

Rolling out of bed, I untwisted my pajamas and grabbed my robe, shoving my arms through before leaving my room. I dreaded facing my mother. When I told her last night I was fired, she didn’t really say much. Now that she’d had all night to think about it, I was certain she’d have plenty to say.

Our apartment was modest, perfect for the two of us. With two bedrooms and one bath, the TV room also functioned as a dining room. Other than the kitchen, that was pretty much it. Like I said, it wasn’t that big. Most apartments in New York weren’t large because the city was so overpopulated, but ours suited us just fine.

I poked my head out of my room and peered down the hall, directly at the dining table where my mom sat in her powder blue scrubs, sipping her coffee—waiting for me to wake up before leaving to work as a nurse at the local hospital.

I sighed.I might as well get this over with.

I trudged down the hallway and took a seat across from her at our tiny dining table. “Morning,” I mumbled.

“Morning, Violet,” she answered. Her hair was braided down her back and pulled away from her face. “Sleep well?”

“Yes …” I waited for her to dig in.

“Hm,” was all she said as she took another sip. “Would you like to elaborate on what happened last night?”

I was twenty-five years old, but it was moments like these where I still felt like I was twelve.

“Ma, it wasn’t my fault!” I jumped right in. “I swear to you, I know what I saw!”

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