13
Veronica
I’ve always had the ability to laser focus on something. Even as a little girl, I remember getting totally absorbed by a single thing and being able to spend hours doing it. Back then it was things like drawing and arranging my toys until they were just so. These days it’s making videos and helping as many victims as I can. Right now, it’s ignoring the fact that two biker thugs shot at us and I almost died.
Chance is taking a long and convoluted way back to the office along winding country roads lined with shrubs and tall redwood trees. Our headlights are the only light in the darkness. He’s driving fast, but the sound of the tires against the pavement is a gentle, pleasant lullaby.
“Are you getting sleepy?” he asks after glancing at me. “It’s normal. That must’ve been a huge shock to you.”
“But not to you,” I reply in a very drowsy voice. I could in fact go to sleep right now. As long as I keep my focus on the night and the soft, rhythmic sounds in the car.
Like his breathing. It’s calm and even. Or his voice, deep and soothing. I wish he’d say more.
“I’m sorry,” he says and that’s it.
We went up a hill and now we’re coming down, and at the bottom of it is a residential area, the streetlights glimmering orange, the sudden light piercing my eyes. I had no idea we were this close to home.
A few minutes later we’re parked in front of my office, standing in the darkness just beside the door. Nothing seems to be stirring, except the air disturbed by his even breathing. The orange streetlights are making the red highlights in his hair glow and his eyes are just for me. Somehow, I find that very comforting. If I just look into his eyes, I don’t have to unpack anything that happened tonight. I can just focus on them and all else will fade.
“Do you want to come up?” I hear myself ask.
“Do you want me to?” he asks, his voice thick with disbelief.
“Come, I’ll take a look at why you’re bleeding,” I say and his breathing isn’t as even anymore. It’s almost labored as he follows me into my building and up the two flights of stairs to my apartment.
I’ve lived here for two years and the place still smells new. That’s because I basically live in my office.
“Whoa, did you spill that bottle of perfume this morning?” he asks as he enters and he’s right, the scent of my perfume is still hanging in the air near the bathroom. Maybe I did overdo it.
I turn on the light and point at one of the two bar stools by the kitchen island. “Sit, I’ll be right back.”
I rush to the bathroom, where I dump about half the contents of my medicine cabinet into the sink before finding the rubbing alcohol and first aid kit that my mother, who thinks of everything, got for me as part of furnishing this apartment.
When I return to the living room, he’s standing by the wraparound windows of the living room that look over the town of Pleasantville and the dark hills beyond it.
He turns as he hears me approach.
“Do any of the windows overlook the parking lot?”
“Nope,” I say. “Only town views.”
And then what happened hits me, like a ton of rocks crashing down on my head, and I barely made it to the arms rest of the nearest sofa before my legs give out.
“You think they followed us?”
He turns all the way and looks concerned. “Nobody followed us, I made sure of that. But they might figure out where we went. We shouldn’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
“What are you saying? How would they know where to find me?” Somehow, I’m managing to keep my voice steady, which is not at all how I feel.
“I’m not saying they will, they’re a bunch of dumbasses, but it’s better to be safe.”
I shake my head, looking down at my hands that are sticky with blood that hasn’t quite dried yet. I got it all over the first aid kit and the alcohol bottle I’m still holding, and probably the fancy white leather sofa my mom picked for me. I don’t know why she picked so much white. I suppose I could’ve told her at the time, she did keep asking, but I just didn’t want to be disagreeable.
She picked out the outfit I’m wearing today too, and the shoes, during one of the few and far between mom daughter shopping trips we took. She was so excited when she saw me wearing the skirt, saying how pretty and feminine it looked on me that I ended up getting excited too, despite myself, and bought it. Along with a shirt to go with it and shoes. That was last summer and probably the last time I bought something other than yoga pants and a hoodie, and today is the first time I’m wearing it.
I’ve done so many bad things to my family already. When will it stop?
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I say. “I can’t go to my parents’ house… my sister lives there… and if they can find me here they can come there too… that can’t happen.”