That made her feel a little bit better, but when she tried to imagine it, it still seemed scary.
She also wasn’t sure seeing him would help… even if he was the only person who knew what happened to her, so he was also the only person who might understand why she still felt the way she did.
Finally, making a snap decision, she sent back, “Pick me up.”
After he agreed and told her he would be on his way momentarily, she stayed in bed, pulling her blankets up to her chin. She had something new to think about, she just didn’t know what to think about it.
Eventually Willow pulled herself out of bed to go into the bathroom and take her hair out of the messy bun, opting to wear it down in waves that fell all the way to her butt. Once more she considered the scissors, but it wasn’t really the time for an impromptu haircut.
Even though she heard her mother’s disapproving voice in her head telling her she should probably change out of the “beach cover-up” before she left, she didn’t. She wasn’t afraid to show leg; despite the fact that he was the one to hurt her in the first place, she harbored no real fear that he would do it again.
Her sometimes overwhelming distrust of all people and things since she returned home occasionally tried to convince her otherwise, but she thought his guilt was real. Ethan didn’t have sexually violent urges—he had just been in a bad situation, exactly like she had been.
Until she fell asleep on another bad night. Then he’d do it all over again, but it wasn’t like her dreams were within his control.
Maybe she should just stop sleeping. Too bad she couldn’t function without sleep.
Since she didn’t want to get caught sneaking out—no way could she explain that—she crept downstairs and didn’t turn on any lights. Her anxiety levels spiked—not only had she refused to be alone outside of her bedroom since she’d been taken, but she was essentially terrified of the dark, and usually turned every light in the house on, even if she was just going downstairs to get a drink while her family watched television.
Sitting on the couch by herself in the dark, looking at the door that strangers had walked through and then dragged her unconscious body out of… wasn’t exactly comforting.
Finally she saw a car pull up outside of her house, but she didn’t unlock the door until he sent her a text to verify that he was there.
A split second later, her paranoia took over and she panicked—what if he was in on it? What if he was a bad guy posing as a good guy, and he had just been biding his time, waiting for his chance to take her back? For all she knew, he didn’t even really have a wife or kids! She had seen no proof. Maybe he wasn’t even Ethan Wilde. His picture probably wasn’t listed on his website, since his job required anonymity.
She didn’t unlock the door. She moved her hand away from the doorknob. Panic was rising up in her chest and she wondered frantically what she had done. Maybe she should go upstairs and lock herself in the bedroom with Ashlynn and Lauren and tell him to go away. If he didn’t, she would know he was a bad guy and she could call the cops. Surely he hadn’t brought anyone to help him, since he hadn’t expected resistance.
“Are you coming out?”
Her heart skittered as she read the message. She was being crazy. Or had she been too trusting before? She didn’t know, all she knew was that terror had wrapped its talons around her nerves and she was starting to shake.
“I changed my mind,” she sent back, not sure what else to do.
“Do you want me to leave? Are you okay?” he replied.
“Are you alone?” she sent back.
There was a brief pause, then he said of course he was alone.
At first, she didn’t know what to say or do, then she sent back, “Send me a picture of your driver’s license, please.”
“What?”
He was understandably confused—or was he reluctant, because he was really Jack?
A minute passed and then she received a picture message—Ethan Wilde, with his picture. Surely he wouldn’t have thought to bring a fake ID, right?
She hesitated, debating trying to get more proof or assurances, but she began to realize that she was being crazy.
Shoulders slumping, still uncertain, she stared at the license for another moment, looking for anything that felt off, before she managed to get her hand back on the knob.
But she couldn’t unlock it. The last time she had unlocked that door, someone had invaded her home and wrecked her life. She couldn’t shake the fear that it was going to happen again—after all, why should she trust him?
Then she thought about the scenario at the pizza place, the girl who had been a spy…she was going to shoot Ethan. There was no way they had the foresight to plan a long-con that long.
Instead of asking him to prove his identity again, she sent back simply, “Promise I’ll be safe.”
Without hesitation, he replied, “I promise.”