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“I’m sure you’re mistaken.” I glance at Leah. “We should go.”
“But I just got here,” Journey says, a pleading quality to his words, as he reaches for my hand.
When his fingers brush mine, a jolt of electricity zaps every single one of my nerve endings, and I have to tense my musclesto keep from collapsing into a puddle of rampant hormones on the floor.
“Yeah, Wren,” Leah adds. “He just got here.”
I roll my eyes at my friend. She knows why I’m hesitant to have a repeat performance with Journey, but she alsodoesn’tknow when to quit. We have one of those love/hate friendships.
“I’m sorry,” I say, surprised at the genuine regret in my words. “I have to go.”
I push past Journey, ignoring Leah’s pleas that I stay, and rush to leave the bar. When I reach my car, I release the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. Guilt tries to rear its ugly head at leaving my friend behind, but I remind myself that Leah’s resourceful and will find a way home safely.
As soon as I start the car, my cell rings. I pull it from my purse and glance at the screen. Leah’s name flashes, but I ignore the call. Instead, I send her a quick text.
Me: I’m okay. I’ll pay for your Uber. Have fun tonight.
I don’t wait for her reply before tossing my phone onto the passenger seat and putting the car in gear to pull away from the curb. By the time I reach my apartment complex, my mind is spiraling, and the voices are intensifying.
Forget about him. It’d just end in heartache.
C’mon, have some fun. Live a little.
Good girl, Wren. You’re better than cavorting with strange men.
Journey’s big and scary.
I’d mount that horse and ride him into the sunset any time.
“Shut up,” I mutter as I unlock my front door and stride inside. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
As soon as I’m locked inside, I quickly make my way to my bedroom, stripping as I go. When the voices get this loud, I start to get uncomfortable in my own clothes, my own skin.
Naked, I climb into bed and pull the covers over my head in an effort to shut the world out. It doesn’t make the voices go away, but it does quiet them a little.
I spend a few minutes breathing in and out, in and out, trying to calm my mind. When that stops working, I start counting to one hundred. Dr. Young has taught me so many tips and tricks to keep my anxiety and the voices to a minimum, but they don’t always work.
Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, fort?—
Thud, thud, thud.
Shoving the blankets off of me, I sit up straight and glare at the ceiling.
Why, God? Why is someone pounding on my door now?
Don’t answer it. Nothing good happens after a late-night knock on a door.
Aw, c’mon, answer it. Maybe it’s him!
I’ll fuckin’ kill him.
So much for a calm mind.
I scramble off the bed to rifle through my dresser for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Once I’m as decent as I’m gonna get, I walk to the door.
“I’m coming,” I shout, annoyed at the continued pounding. “Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
After flipping the lock, I yank open the door. My mouth goes bone-dry when I see Journey standing at the threshold, his hand up as if he was getting ready to knock again.
