Panic erupted in my veins, and I jumped away, slamming my back against the door, the handle digging into my spine. Slapping at his hand, I attempted—and failed—to duck out from under his arm. “Get the fuck off me!”
And still.
He did. Not. Move.
I was boxed in between his brick-wall frame and the car, Sugar going nuts on the other side of the glass. My fight-or-flight response exploded inside me, but there was no escape. My phone was still in the car, along with my purse and the mace this very man had given me to protect myself with when I showed houses.
I drew in a deep breath, praying the boost of oxygen would calm the panic quickly spiraling out of control.
It was Mark.
It was just Mark.
It was just fucking Mark acting like an asshole, throwing a temper tantrum. Why? I did not know, but he would never hurt me.
“You’re scaring me,” I whispered, switching gears and hoping to appeal to the softer side of him. Wherever it currently was.
His stone face didn’t even falter. “You don’t think I’ve been scared? Watching you fall in love with that bastard day after day, over and over again like I’m stuck in some kind of Groundhog Day loop. It doesn’t matter what I do, Remi, or how many times I do it. You always run back to him.”
I shook my head rapidly. “What are you talking about? I’m not running back to anybody. I’m trying to get away. I stopped at Bowen’s to tell him I was moving to Savannah. I was coming home to tell you the same thing. But now you’re freaking me out. I just want to—”
Nothing else made it out of my mouth before the back of his hand slammed down hard against my face.
“You’re not fucking moving anywhere!” he bellowed.
Pain exploded in my cheek and my vision tunneled as the coppery tang of blood filled my mouth. Unable to keep my feet underneath me, I listed to the side, teetering on the edge of consciousness.
Maybe it was wishful thinking.
Maybe it was denial.
Maybe my brain wasn’t operating on all cylinders, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt he would catch me.
It was Mark for God’s sake.
He would never hurt me.
That was the last thought I had as my head cracked against the concrete driveway, Sugar’s frantic barks fading away into eerie silence.
Bowen
Flat on my back, I stared at my bedroom ceiling from the floor, a box full of Remi’s belongings beside me. Well, Remi and Sally’s belongings.
No matter how mad she got when I referred to Sally as a separate person, that was exactly who she was to me. A beautiful, troubled woman I had loved and cherished every day of our nine months together.
A woman who had died.
Sally had never been more real to me.
After slicing my wrist, I’d gotten on a pretty serious mental health regimen. My doctors were amazing, setting me up with antidepressants that gifted me with a reprieve from the overflowing emotions I couldn’t seem to turn off. I started weekly visits with a therapist who encouraged me to attend an after-hours grief counseling group he ran. I went because I knew I needed the help, but listening to the loss of others did not make my own any easier. If anything, it only made me more bitter.
Those people mourned a loved one who was no longer alive. In a lot of ways, that seemed easier. I was stuck in this weird limbo of knowing she was out there but lost to me all the same. Each time I left my house, I looked for her. Wondered if that would be the day I’d finally run into her. I saw her face in crowds. Heard her laugh when there was no one around. I couldn’t step outside without the wind whispering my name in her voice. She was a ghost who haunted my every breath. There was no closure to be had because I knew, if I just went to her, I could end my suffering altogether. Only I feared that it would reignite hers.
My therapist had come up with the idea to separate the difference between Remi and Sally. To mourn the loss of one while celebrating the life of another. Desperate not to lose her own son to the darkness, my mom had been all over it. She’d thrown a huge party for our family, including a whole damn tree she’d planted in her backyard. I’d balked at the idea of a celebration of life at first. It seemed so stupid and pointless. However, as Tyson, Cassidy, my parents, and I all sat around telling stories, both hilarious and heartbreaking, I had to admit that it eased the ache inside my chest.
And now, as I lay on my floor of my bedroom after packing up her belongings so I could deliver them to her house, I was faced with the paralyzing task of welcoming that pain once again. For two months, I’d had her back. Two of the most magical months of my life. Losing her felt like I was being torn in half all over again.
