I wasn’t sure if he was the same person who kidnapped me. Certain details didn’t match, though it was so muddled in my head it was hard to be sure.
Truth be told, I wasn’t sure he existed at all. The way he watched me so long with that strange, cold curiosity. The way he finally stepped over me and walked away, as if he had seen all he needed to see—it didn’t make any sense.
I had already lost so much blood. I heard my mother talking in my ear, for fuck’s sake.
It didn’t help that the college student who picked me up was most likely drunk. I scared him half out of his mind, appearing in the middle of the road like an apparition out of a horror film. He swerved and almost ran off the road, the car doing a full 360 before it stopped. I hobbled over and wrenched his passenger door open, collapsing into the front seat. He could barely look at me as I bled all over his parents’ Accord. Not that I was in a state to care.
After a brief and mumbled explanation to the emergency room nurses, he sped away. By the time the cops tracked him down, all he could tell them was that he picked me up somewhere off the 101.
It seemed inconceivable to me that the state of my body, the deep marks on my wrists and ankles, the cuts all over my feet, the fucking slashes down my arms weren’t enough evidence.
“HE PIERCED MY FUCKING NIPPLES!” I howled at the cop.
Officer Fuckhead sucked on his teeth, a sound that enrages me. Then he wrote a single word in his notepad that probably said Liar.
At least Erin was worried about me.
“Where the fuck have you been!” she cried when I stumbled through the door four days later. “I called your phone like a million times!”
“I don’t have my phone anymore,” I mumbled, remembering that was another thing I was going to have to replace.
I gave her a brief and emotionless description of what occurred, again omitting any mention of a second psychopath.
“You can’t be serious,” Erin said, her pretty face crumpled up, mouth open in horror.
I knew she was feeling guilty that she hadn’t called the cops herself. I didn’t blame her for that—it wouldn’t be the first time one of our roommates disappeared on a four-day bender.
“Yeah, it’s insane,” I agreed. “Don’t know if I should buy a lottery ticket or watch out for lightning strikes.”
“Are you okay?” Erin asked, wincing like she knew how stupid the question was.
“Yeah,” I replied, carefully avoiding looking at the thick bandages around my wrists. “I’m fine.”
I wasn’t fine, but I learned a long time ago that the only options are to fake it or succumb to a complete breakdown.
To change the subject, I said, “What about you? How did things go with Shaw?”
“You don’t want to hear about that,” Erin said, blushing.
“I really do. A lot more than I want to talk about my night.”
“Well,” she said, trying to hide her grin, “we hooked up in the stairwell.”
“You did?”
I wasn’t really surprised. Erin is gorgeous and Shaw gets around. It was only a matter of time until she punched her ticket.
“It didn’t last long, but it was pretty fucking hot,” she giggled.
“Great. Good for you,” I said.
The words came out dull and emotionless. I was trying to pretend like nothing had happened, but it was fucking with my head being back inside the madhouse walls of the townhouse, with the scent of Frank’s burnt coffee and Joanna’s oil paints. She has the only room in the house big enough for a bed and an easel.
“So . . . you wanna go for a drink?” Erin said kindly. “You look like you could use one.”
We went to our usual place on Belvedere. When we tried to ascend to the rooftop bar, Erin hunted through her purse, swearing softly.
“Oh, fuck,” she said. “I lost my ID again.”
“You probably left it at Zam Zam,” I said. “Don’t worry about it, Manny’s bartending, he won’t card you.”
The rooftop bar was stuffed with hanging plants and fairy lights, and so many people that we couldn’t get a seat and had to stand by the bar. Erin bought the drinks because I was beyond broke, having lost my purse and cellphone, with god knows what kind of hospital bill coming my way.
“Thanks,” I said, gratefully sipping the mule she thrust into my hand. “So, you gonna see him again?”
“Who?” she asked, looking through the crowd for anyone else we might know.
“Shaw.”