I was there.
I felt the cold. The leather underneath my hands as I fought with the urge to get out and head towards a house sitting off in the distance.
Stern warnings given before slammed doors.
“Stay here, Layna. Don’t move.”
Hissed through bristled hairs and dry lips. Heart pumping, pumping. Wildly beating.
I dropped the books in my hands, somewhere else.
Driving. Driving. Driving.
Long, dark roads. Cold, frigid air seeping through the cracked window.
I wanted ice cream. It’s what he promised.
Then nothing.
I couldn’t remember.
I could remember.
Some but not all.
Details were missing. Where were they?
Bits and pieces trickled in. Violent bursts of memory crashed into the walls of my mind.
Waylon Jennings crooned from the radio. His favorite. It made me smile knowing how he loved music. It played all the time. Just for him.
I hated Waylon Jennings. I hated music. I hated the strains of voices intertwined with instruments, meant to be an escape.
It wasn’t an escape. It was a trap. Holding me under.
Always.
Gravel under tires. Shadowed lanes covered by trees. The moon was gone. The stars had disappeared.
Alone.
“Stay here, Layna.”
“Ma’am, do you know where I can find the new Stephen King book?”
I wasn’t there. I was here.
I pointed towards the stairs. The older woman looked at me and I knew what she was thinking.
She’s crazy. What is wrong with her?
It wasn’t anything I didn’t already think about myself.
The woman tutted under her breath but left, following my less than clear directions. I bent down and picked up the book I had dropped. My hollow center felt uncomfortably full.
With thoughts I wished would go away.
There were few things in my life that I truly needed. I made sure of that.
But I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed the number of the one thing that I would always need. I couldn’t cut the string tying us together. The link was forever. Too strong.
The phone rang and rang, finally going to voicemail. The message that played in my ear was enough to settle me down.
It was enough to hold me together.
For now.
“Layna, are you still up here? It doesn’t take that long to shelve a stack of books,” Diana laughed, with just enough bite to let me know she was somewhat serious.
“Sorry, I got distracted,” I excused, grabbing the first book I could reach. Diana cocked an eyebrow and looked at the cover.
“Strange reading choice for a woman without children, don’t you think?”
I balked, I couldn’t help it. I looked down at the book I had inadvertently chosen and could have laughed at the irony. Raising moral children. Teaching what we learn.
“Uh, no, the title just caught my attention.” I hastily put it back. Diana regarded me with an amused expression. I knew that Diana didn’t really like me, but she had no real reason to fire me. I was a competent employee. I took any and all shifts she offered. I worked hard and then went home. I was quiet and kept to myself.
And if I didn’t embark on temporary friendships with my boss and co-workers the way the others did, that was their issue, not mine.
I put Diana on edge. I had noticed her watching me warily. In all my efforts to blend in over the years, there were times I just couldn’t help but stick out.
Because I wasn’t ordinary.
I had lost the ability to converse and laugh and be. I didn’t know how to answer questions about what I watched on television last night or what movie I wanted to see. Things that were so important to everyone else, barely registered in the realm of my priorities.
I didn’t care about any of that.
So that made me hard to read…hard to get to know. Hard to talk to.
It didn’t matter. Diana recognized the distance I maintained and disliked me for it.
Some people were like that.
Hating without reason.