Page 50 of Unraveling Charlotte

“Yours? I didn’t agree to that.” My heart thuds viciously against my rib cage.

He ignores my protest, his words like velvet and steel. “Not yet.” His teeth graze my ear, his tone holding an edge of command. “I can be very persuasive.” His response hangs in the air like a foreboding echo, and my mind churns with the weight of his presence. “Go to bed,” he finally instructs, the soft demand leaving me with a swirl of conflicting emotions and unanswered questions.

I make a slight squeak of protest, and amusement flickers in his eyes.

“You need rest, and unless you want me to knock you out, I suggest you march your pert ass up those steps.”

“Knock me out?” I take a cautious step away from him.He wouldn’t.

“Oh, but I would,” he says, telling me I probably said that out loud. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small vial and a needle in a packet. “Choose.”

Knock out, as in medical. Right. That doesn’t make it any better.

“Good night, Lyric,” I murmur, my gaze lingering on him until I reach the bottom step of the stairs. His presence still hangs heavily in the air, a mixture of intrigue and uncertainty swirling around him.

“Sweet dreams, dove.” His voice follows me, the words sinking into my consciousness as I ascend the stairs.

The upper floor feels different tonight, almost surreal. I move through the dimly lit hallway, my thoughts a tangled mess. Hayes’ words replay in my mind, a reminder that my actions that night set a chain of events into motion. He warned me that I would become a person of interest, but not because I’m a suspect.

Because of my existence. Because of Sal. I called the cops. I invited outsiders to this sleepy little town.

As I enter my bedroom, a sense of apprehension and curiosity tugs at me. The events of the night, the encounter with Lyric, and the knowledge that a hitman is guarding me forms a chaotic puzzle in my mind. I’m not naïve. I understand this isn’t a simple tale of protection. There’s something deeper at play, something I can’t yet fathom.

I sit on the edge of my bed, lost in my thoughts. Lyric’s enigmatic presence looms large, his words and actions making me question everything. The contrast between him and the danger that ended Sal’s life is stark. This is a different kind of danger, a different kind of connection.

I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Who is Lyric protecting me from? Why has he taken on this role? And what lies beneath his chilling exterior? The truth feels elusive, hidden in shadows that I can’t entirely penetrate.

Amid all this uncertainty, one thing is clear—my life has taken an unexpected turn, and the line between safety and danger has blurred into something altogether different. As I close my eyes, the weight of unanswered questions remains, settling into the fabric of my consciousness.

Thirteen

Some days,I try to convince myself that I’ve led a life untouched by trauma and my parents surrounded me with love, but deep down, I know it’s not the complete truth. Trauma isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience. It’s messy, with edges that cut deeply no matter how much I try to smooth them over. Those edges have shaped me, but then there are days like today, when I wake up with a fresh outlook, realizing that I’ve been the one shaping my edges all along.

I am more than the scars of my past.

“It’s Friday, Lottie,” Milo declares, his little face scrunched against the chilly air.

“Indeed, it’s Fri-yay, Milo.” I play along, giving him a wink as we pause on the sidewalk outside his school.

“Lottie.” He groans, his small hand tugging at mine. He pulls me down without warning until I’m kneeling on the pavement before him. His little hands cup my cheeks with the utmost seriousness. “It’s trunk-or-treat.”

“What time?” I ask, even though I already planned to pick up his costume after therapy and buy a bag of candy. I’m aware of the schedule, but I want him to remind me. His excitement is too adorable to resist.

He lets out a tiny huff of impatience and squishes my cheeks, nearly crushing my face in the process. “Seven.”

“Seems like it’s going to be late,” I comment, voicing my thoughts about the event’s timing. Darkness itself doesn’t spook me half as much as the potential dangers lurking in the dark.

Lyric will keep you safe.

I squash down that thought before it can fully form, gripping Milo’s hands in mine as if anchoring myself in the present. “Don’t worry, buddy. Your awesome costume is ready to be picked up, and your candy bag is all set.”

He lets out a relieved sigh just as the school bell chimes to signal the last five minutes before class starts. The sound takes me back to my school days, when I used to set my pace to the rhythm of that very bell, using it as my last-minute alarm clock to get to class on time.

“I don’t want to be late,” Milo declares, his eyes fixed on the school’s entrance. He dashes off, his backpack rhythmically bouncing against his little legs. Just like every other day, I stand and watch until he disappears through those doors. Only then do I straighten up and begin my short journey to therapy.

October in New York is an odd time. Snow is like a flirtatious game, occasionally drifting down only to dissolve the moment the flakes touch the ground. While a part of me wishes those flakes would stick around, I also want Milo to enjoy his trunk-or-treat later.

Turning the corner and walking toward the row of quaint businesses, I suddenly feel a tingling on the nape of my neck. The morning bustles with people walking up and down the sidewalk, a mixture of hurried students trying to make it before the last bell and workers heading to their jobs. The street is alive with activity, and despite the crowd, I can’t shake off the feeling of someone’s eyes on me.

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