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It takes all the willpower my mama did not give me to pull back and introduce myself. “Aria.”
“What do you say I get you out of here, Aria?” he asks.
My hands grip to his leather jacket. He has this James Dean vibe, and I am a goner. “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, baby, I have all kinds of things in mind,” he promises darkly.
A hand slaps the bar between us, and an arm cuts us off.
“I’m going to need to see some identification,” Cayenne demands.
Just like that, the dream blurs, and I wake up.
I jolt awake, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. The dream fades, but the memories linger, sharp and painful. I press my hand to my chest, but it does nothing to calm my racing heart, and my eyes burn with unshed tears as Noah’s face lingers in the back of my mind.
Cayenne never interrupted. No, my dumb ass snuck out the front and texted her as he was taking off my pants. Going home with Noah that night was the biggest mistake of my life. I just didn’t realize it at that moment. His charm turned to control, his touch to torment. What started as occasional criticism became daily verbal assaults, then escalated to physical abuse. He isolated me from everyone, convinced me I was worthless without him. Hell, I barely realized how trapped I was until Cayenne and Ginger showed up on our doorstep years later. I had no idea just how bad things had gotten until I saw myself through their eyes—a shadow of who I once was, covered in bruises I couldn’t explain away anymore.
Cayenne is fierce and loyal to those she considers friends, and has been mine since high school, while Ginger is the quiet strength I never knew I needed. They saved me when I couldn’t save myself. It’s all a blur now—Cayenne and Ginger showing up, me looking like I’d gone ten rounds with a brick wall. Next thing I know, I’m in a car, leaving everything behind. Funny how your brain blocks out the worst parts.. I had no idea just how bad things had gotten until I saw the horror in their eyes..
A rogue tear drips from my eye, and I try to steady my breathing. “I’m safe,” I tell myself, repeating the affirmation. “I’m alive. I’m safe. I’m alive.”
Fuck, what was it the therapist told me to do? The five, four, three, two, one thing. Oh yeah. Acknowledge five things you see around you. Still breathing rapidly, I clench my fists in my sheets. Sheets! My cream bamboo sheets. The mattress that lies on the floor because I couldn’t afford a bed frame. I glance at the only dresser I upcycled—that’s three. Blowing out a breath, I look at the clothing I left on the floor from when I got in last night. Lastly, I look at my phone plugged into the outlet.
“Acknowledge four things you can touch around you,” I tell myself. Can I use sheets again? Fuck it, I can because I can see his haunting smirk behind my eyes every time I close them. “Sheets.” I grip them in my hands, bringing them to my chest. My T-shirt. I let my hands roll over my body, over the pilled fabric. Frantically, I look around before crawling to the window to touch the blackout curtains. I head back over, where I grip the comforter I kicked off me in my sleep.
I fling the comforter over my head and lean against the wall. My heart skips a beat. Three. What was three? I close my eyes as tears drip down my cheeks. I swore I wouldn’t cry anymore for that man, but here I am, crying.
“Hear!” I all but shout as I close my eyes and listen. Outside, I hear the traffic around Hyde Park and the train as it rumbles through. Then, somewhere in the distance, a dog barks.
“Two.” I breathe a little easier. “Smell.”
This one isn’t as easy. I fell asleep with the plugs in my nose. I love the plugs and how they help me, but it’s like being cut off from a vital part of myself. I peel them out and take one long inhale. The pungent scent of the apartment assaults me. Two? Only two? Try a dozen scents.
I take another deep breath, my senses sharpening with each inhalation. First, the lingering aroma of tacos from last night still clings to the air, mingling with the stale scent of spilled beer from the bar. The faint scent of lavender from my pillow spray barely masks the musky undertone of my unwashed laundry piled in a corner. I catch a whiff of Cayenne’s perfume, a mix of jasmine and vanilla, on my jacket draped over a chair. Did I buy a bottle just to pretend she’s near me? Yes, I did. Finally, the unmistakable smell of Hyde Park itself—a blend of city grime and distant greenery—seeps in through the slightly open window.
Sweat and fear still cling to my skin from the vivid nightmare, and I can’t help but notice the faintest hint of mold in the corners of the ceiling—a reminder of the building’s age. The scent of an old paperback novel on my nightstand brings a trace of comfort amidst the chaos.
These distinct smells, each pulling me back to the present, ground me in the here and now. I take a deep breath, letting the scents anchor me, and try to steady my racing heart. I’m safe. I’m alive. I’m home.
“One. Taste.” I nearly gag as I focus on taste. “I forgot to brush my teeth last night.” Absentmindedly, I reach for the bag of orange candies beside my mattress. I nearly laugh at myself as I fall back onto my bed and curl into myself. Stale bitterness lingers on my tongue, mingling with the remnants of last night’s dinner, as the orange candy slowly replaces the taste. My eyes fall on my pile of laundry, and I cringe.
I have to go to the laundromat today before I head into work this afternoon.
With a sigh, I push myself up from the bed, determined to start the day anew. The cool hardwood floor sends a shiver through me as my feet make contact, waking me just as fast as a bucket of ice water over my head.
As I stand, my phone buzzes with a text. It’s from an unknown number, but the message makes my blood run cold.
I miss you, Aria. It’s time to come home.
My hands shake as I drop the phone. After all this time, how did Noah find me?
6
MALACHI
Heads lean in as people whisper expectantly, maybe a little doubtfully, as Mayor Hargrove walks to the makeshift podium in Hyde Park. His stiff posture screams confidence, but the slight twitch in his eye gives away the stress simmering beneath. The flimsy paper banner flutters uselessly in the breeze, doing nothing to blot out the tension that hangs in the air like a storm cloud about to burst.
This, his reelection campaign, is supposed to reflect the confidence and hope a community gets from its leader, but the looks in the eyes of the locals tell a different story.
