Page 5 of Don’t Look Back

“You don’t have to do th⁠—”

“Get your ass in the truck.”

Ryan hadn’t been joking: He lived close enough to The Hole to walk, but in his state, the curving backroads, and the amount of people leaving the bar who probably shouldn’t have been driving, I wasn’t going to let him leave alone. It was something my dad had always done for me and my friends, and I’d inherited it from him.

It must have been less than a couple minutes before Ryan directed me to turn down a gravel road that I knew only harbored two houses. I flipped on my high beams in time to see a deer bound across the road in front of me. Ryan’s head swiveled to follow it.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

“What tipped you off?”

I chuckled. “No one who grew up in the country looks that amazed by a deer. Not to mention, I’ve lived here my whole life, and I know everyone in this town.”

“You got me—just down here.” He gestured in front of us at the even longer gravel driveway cutting through the woods. “I’m from Miami.”

Was that where the accent was from?

As I drove further down the gravel driveway, I recognized the residence.

“You work for the Thompsons?” I asked. Then it hit me: They had four young kids. “Oh, you’re the live-in they hired to help with the boys.”

“That’s me. I don’t think they were expecting me to answer their ad, but I had good references and the kids love me. I um… I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell them about this… or that I’m⁠—”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Stacy bribes me with pot roast so I don’t ask questions when I’m fixing her minivan three times a month. That’s the extent of our relationship.” I gestured towards the injuries on his face. “You should get some ice on that. You’ll be sore in the morning.”

Ryan nodded. He opened the door of the truck and jumped out, twisting my shirt around in his hands. “I really appreciate you helping me. Do you want to come in and wash up? I’ve got my own entrance and bathroom downstairs; you wouldn’t wake anyone up.”

“Thanks for the offer, but it’s been a day from complete hell. I really just want to get home and get into bed. You should do the same.” I threw the truck into gear and smirked at him. “Quit causing trouble.”

Ryan smiled weakly, shutting the door. He disappeared around the side of the house and when he didn’t return, I assumed he’d gotten inside. Only then did I back down the long driveway to get back to my own home–one that I didn’t really want to go back to at all.

I drove across town as slowly as possible, even sitting at our one red light for five minutes. It changed three times over before someone pulled up behind me. I wondered who could possibly be out at that time of night. Then again, they were likely wondering the same about me.

I’d forgotten to leave a light on when I left, so by the time I reached my driveway, I was turning into complete darkness. My headlights briefly illuminated the front of my house before I killed the ignition. Muscle memory guided me from there: Ten steps from the driveway, up four steps to the porch and another two forward before I pulled the screen door open. Every noise from then on was magnified. Usually, I would have been met with a T.V. playing softly from the bedroom, or Grace’s white noise app. I would have been careful dropping my keys onto the table so I didn’t wake her because it was hard enough for her to fall asleep as it was.

I wonder if she’s struggling to sleep tonight….

The thought alone had me seething. I’d never been a violent person. When I was nine, I stepped on a spider and never forgave myself for it. Yet, standing there alone in my completely silent house, thinking about Grace had my blood boiling. I picked my head up, catching my reflection in the mirror by the door.

Grace had picked it out, as she had with most things. I’d always hated it. Mirrors freaked me out, especially in the dark. Right before picking up her keys, she’d look into that damn thing, touch up her lip gloss, give her hair one final fluff, then give me a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving.

The glass shattered beneath my fist before I realized what I was doing. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, shards falling to the ground. The punch rattled the frame that crashed to the floor. Blood poured between my fingers and mixed with Ryan’s, which had dried to my skin. Deciding to leave the mess for future me to deal with, I went to the bathroom to assess the damage to my hand.

Before it was even warm, I jumped into the shower, icy water pounding my chest. I stared at the shower floor, watching as blood swirled around the tile before disappearing down the drain.

I’d never considered myself to be very emotional, but watching that blood wash away felt oddly metaphorical. The thought of crawling into bed alone after the day I’d had seemed to be the nail in the coffin. Pain stabbed at my chest. My hand ached, the cuts burned. Once my left arm rinsed clean of all the dried blood, I spun to let the water hit my back. Tipping my head back, the water turned hot as it wet my hair. The warmth seemed to be the little bit of comfort that I needed and finally, I let myself cry.

CHAPTER THREE

I couldn’t sleep in that bed.

After putting it off as long as I could, I crawled under the covers somewhere around four in the morning. I was exhausted, yet I tossed and turned for hours. I’d doze off, only for my eyes to shoot open when I found nothing but empty space beside me.

Eventually, I abandoned the bed and curled up on the couch, only drifting off once the vibrations of my alarm shook the couch an hour later. If I’d had any common sense, I would have stayed home. When I saw the remains of the mirror by the front door, however, I figured I was better off around other people than left to my own devices.

The cuts on my hand were small, but I wrapped it anyway. I didn’t need grease or oil getting in there. Purple bruises peeked out from underneath the bandages.

As I locked the front door and began my journey to work, I replayed the events of the previous day over in my head. Crying in the shower hadn’t given me much relief—just a headache. I didn’t even know how to begin to process my emotions.