Okay, clearly that message wasn’t meant for me. Could it be a work thing and he sent it to me by accident? That wouldn’t be good. I should reply. Let him know about his mistake.
Yet jealousy rears its nasty head. What if that message is for another girl? Not like we had anything close to a commitment. I have no business feeling this way. There could be a long list of women he texts throughout the day.
Irritated, I shove the phone back into my purse and stalk across the parking lot, heading toward my car. The clouds are low, creating a mist that I can feel dust my skin, dot my hair, and I glance up at the sky, wishing I could do things differently. Do them over and take a different route, though it’s pointless to think like this. There are no take-backs in life.
My real problem is I’m emotionally exhausted after my appointment with Dr. Harris, which is typical. Facing all my demons, talking about the bad stuff leaves me drained.
No matter how much I want to, I can’t change my past. Not even what happened between Ethan and me. What’s done is done. Though I wish I knew what ruined it. I believed we had a connection. I felt it. Did he? Maybe not. Maybe it was all me? It had to have been me. Maybe he discovered who I really am. All it would take is a simple Google search, though he’d have to figure out my last name. If he did discover who I am, that would turn off any normal guy.
Too much baggage, he’d think. Too damaged.
I’ve turned the night of our dinner over and over again in my head and I still can’t figure out where everything went wrong.
I’ll probably never figure it out.
Unlocking the car, I climb into the driver’s seat and slam the door, jam the key into the ignition, and start the motor. But I don’t move. It’s like I’m consumed with thoughts of that stupid text that wasn’t even meant for me. I should ignore it. He doesn’t deserve to hear from me ever again. He’s a jerk who lost his chance.
Right?
He’s a jerk I wish I could see again, as stupid as that sounds.
Unable to stand it any longer, I pull my phone out of my purse and type Ethan a reply.
I think you meant to send this to someone else. ?
I agonize over that stupid smiley face like it’s the most important thing on the planet. Finally deciding against it, I hit the back button, delete the too-cheery symbol, and hit send.
And pray I don’t look like an idiot.
“Why can’t I see him?” I was in a hospital bed, all bandaged up, and Mom sat by my side. They wrapped my ribs and my wrist, which I somehow sprained during my days in captivity. The cut on my mouth still throbs, though they said it wasn’t bad enough for stitches. The bruise on my cheek—the one he caused when he slapped me so hard that first day—is already fading.
They decided to keep me in the hospital for a few days—for observation, they called it. They’d already poked and prodded me in every way conceivable, so I couldn’t imagine what more they wanted to observe. Maybe they were afraid I would lose my mind and try to kill myself.
Too late. I already feel dead inside.
“See who?” The confused expression on Mom’s face wasn’t a surprise. She’d looked that way from the moment we were reunited, when they first saw me in that tiny interrogation room in the back of the police station. My parents had clung to me and we all cried together for what felt like forever.
There were no more tears at the hospital, only confusion and questions. Lots and lots of questions, ones I had to answer again and again, to the point where I felt like I was on constant repeat.
“Will,” I whispered, irritated that she wasn’t really paying attention to me. She was too distracted by some suited-up guys that stood in the hall outside my hospital room. Men who would probably come in here at any minute and ask me yet another set of questions.
I was so sick of it.
Horror filled Mom’s eyes and she shook her head, her mouth thinned into a tight line. “Absolutely not,” she said vehemently. “You can’t talk to that boy ever again.”
My heart cracked. Beyond my family and Sarah, Will was the only other person I wanted to see. I needed to know he was all right. He took care of me and it was my turn to take care of him. “Why? I just want to thank him for helping me.” I was whining but I didn’t care. “He’s not the enemy, Mom.”