Page 136 of Nyx

For some reason, I feel like I'm prepping myself to be helpful rather than letting the idea of refusing to go take over. There's still that voice in my head telling me that my go-bag and the keys to my car are all that I need, but it's quieter than it normally is, and I know that has everything to do with Cerberus, and more specifically, Nyx.

I don't know how many times I’ve promised myself that I would never rely on another person in this world, knowing that depending on someone else puts me in a vulnerable position, but I find myself glad that these guys have been here to help.

I don't want to keep running. I never did.

I didn't want my life to end up where I had to always keep looking over my shoulder, wondering when Graham was going to step out of the shadows and finish what he started so long ago.

When I first left, I had convinced myself that I would settle, that I'd start a new life and never look back, but the fear was already instilled in me, the pain and trauma from my marriage already strong enough to keep me running.

I want things to be different going forward.

I need things to be different, and that doesn't mean that I stop being concerned about my safety. It just means that it's okay to let others look after me for a while.

I leave my bedroom with the full confidence that this is going to be a great day, that we're going to help people and further the dissolution of men who hurt women by getting those victims the services they need.

We're going to show them that they're strong enough to take the required steps toward their freedom from the pain and hurt they've suffered, that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

The scent of brewed coffee hits me the second I step out of my bedroom.

My eyes immediately search the small room to find him. Relief rather than trepidation builds inside of me when I find him leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of water in his hand.

"Good morning," I say, giving him a small smile.

A part of me wants to walk up and wrap my arms around him, a hug of appreciation because, despite all the worry I live with constantly, I was able to get a decent night's sleep for the first time in as long as I can remember, and I know it was because he was here to keep me safe.

The bags under his eyes tell me that I'm the only one who slept well last night.

"You didn't sleep well," I observe.

"I never do," he confesses.

"Are you always up this early?" I ask.

"Usually earlier," he says with what some might consider a smile.

The man told me he liked my laugh, but I can't recall a moment when I've heard one from him. I know he takes his job very seriously, but there has to be time for joy in a person's life.

I shake my head, the idea seeming ludicrous. When do I ever have joy? I haven't even made an effort to get the plant I mentioned last week back in the group at Juniper House.

"I made coffee," he says.

"Thank you," I tell him, walking up and grabbing the travel mug from the cabinet.

I realize that when my shoulder brushes his, at some point, I stopped seeing him as someone I should avoid and started to see him as someone I could fully trust.

He has never done anything that would make me think he'd hurt me or try to manipulate me in some way to get what he wants.

I don't know if all the Cerberus men are like him, but I get the feeling, with their tasks of keeping women safe, that there's a very real chance that they are.

I had no idea men like this existed in the real world, that there were men who dedicated their entire lives to protecting people.

It's a sad realization that nice men who don't hurt women seem to be less normal. I know my job at the women's shelter puts me right in the middle of people who hurt people and women who are hurt, but even strangers seem less courteous than they could be.

Common decency seems to be a thing of the past, something long gone from generations before my time.

I pour my coffee, adding a little sugar and missing the days of high-calorie creamer. I isolate myself so much that, other than bodyweight exercises, I don't have many means of staying in shape. A nice long run would probably work wonders for my mental health, but I could never turn off the voice that screams that I'm unsafe outside, where just anyone can drive by and hurt me.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks as I lift my cup to my lips.