some more time.”
“Okay.” His blue eyes were searching my face urgently, looking for something I had to hide. “Okay. I understand.”
I wasn’t convinced that he did.
***
A fter we unpacked the car and set things up, I fixed us sandwiches, grapes, and cookies for dinner. I was actually ready for him to leave, but I figured he at least deserved to be fed after helping me move all my stuff.
He didn’t seem inclined to leave afterwards, and I ended up having to make a number of obvious hints about being tired. He finally got up and headed to his car, and I released a sigh of relief as his SUV disappeared down the long drive.
The cottage was surrounded by trees. There was nothing else in sight in all directions, except the pool in the back. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so completely alone.
I’d wanted it. It was why I’d moved out here. I wanted the kind of freedom that came from having no one looking over your shoulder, judging your actions, assessing whether you were healthy or not. But, now that I was here, the silence was oppressive. It closed in on me, bringing darkness.
And in the darkness the demons lived.
It was always this way, whenever I had nothing to distract me. I would start to think about it, remember it. I’d be unable to keep it from my mind. Then I’d get anxious about every noise. Then I’d smell repellant aftershave that couldn’t possibly be in the room. Then I’d feel the edge of a table pushing into my stomach and rough hands pulling my hair, pulling my legs apart.
It was happening again now.
When I started to shake, I ran to the stereo and turned it on. It was set to an opera station on the satellite radio—probably from the last time my dad had stayed here—and they were playing The Magic Flute .
I left it on that station, since the music felt different, not something the girl I used to be would have listened to. Mozart filled the room, and it seemed to help drown out the demons. So I turned it even louder. Then louder, until the music pulsed through the room, the whole cottage.
I stood in the middle of the floor for a minute, knowing I should probably take a shower and get ready for bed. But I didn’t want to go to bed. I was restless and jittery and desperate for something to keep me from thinking about things I didn’t want to face.
Damn Gideon, anyway. If he hadn’t insisted on bringing things up earlier, then they wouldn’t be so much on my mind.
When I started to tremble again, I paced around the cottage. Tiny, open kitchen. Room for a dining table. Living area with couch, media console, and one big chair. Recently remodeled bathroom with steam shower and jetted tub. One bedroom with big windows and an elliptical trainer in the corner. I went back to the living area and turned on the security system, staring for a minute at the green indicator light.
It was a pleasant, comfortable little place. Nothing anyone could complain about.
It was almost ten o’clock on a Saturday night in June. I was twenty-three years old.
And it felt like any life I’d ever had was over.
I wasn’t going to sit around feeling sorry for myself, though, so I changed shoes and got on the elliptical trainer.
I pushed myself as hard as I could for an hour, until I was exhausted, drenched in sweat, and felt like I would just drop. Mozart still throbbed through the house, through my head, through my body. Every muscle ached, and my lungs burned every time I took a breath.
It seemed right somehow—as if the state of my body was finally starting to match the state of my soul—so I kept going.
***
T he long, painful ordeals on the elliptical trainer with opera blaring became a regular routine.
It wasn’t good for me. I knew it even then. There’s a little part of your mind that recognizes when you’re doing something to hurt yourself, but sometimes that voice isn’t loud enough to drown out all the others.
I had too many voices. And the loudest ones—the
“Okay.” His blue eyes were searching my face urgently, looking for something I had to hide. “Okay. I understand.”
I wasn’t convinced that he did.
***
A fter we unpacked the car and set things up, I fixed us sandwiches, grapes, and cookies for dinner. I was actually ready for him to leave, but I figured he at least deserved to be fed after helping me move all my stuff.
He didn’t seem inclined to leave afterwards, and I ended up having to make a number of obvious hints about being tired. He finally got up and headed to his car, and I released a sigh of relief as his SUV disappeared down the long drive.
The cottage was surrounded by trees. There was nothing else in sight in all directions, except the pool in the back. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so completely alone.
I’d wanted it. It was why I’d moved out here. I wanted the kind of freedom that came from having no one looking over your shoulder, judging your actions, assessing whether you were healthy or not. But, now that I was here, the silence was oppressive. It closed in on me, bringing darkness.
And in the darkness the demons lived.
It was always this way, whenever I had nothing to distract me. I would start to think about it, remember it. I’d be unable to keep it from my mind. Then I’d get anxious about every noise. Then I’d smell repellant aftershave that couldn’t possibly be in the room. Then I’d feel the edge of a table pushing into my stomach and rough hands pulling my hair, pulling my legs apart.
It was happening again now.
When I started to shake, I ran to the stereo and turned it on. It was set to an opera station on the satellite radio—probably from the last time my dad had stayed here—and they were playing The Magic Flute .
I left it on that station, since the music felt different, not something the girl I used to be would have listened to. Mozart filled the room, and it seemed to help drown out the demons. So I turned it even louder. Then louder, until the music pulsed through the room, the whole cottage.
I stood in the middle of the floor for a minute, knowing I should probably take a shower and get ready for bed. But I didn’t want to go to bed. I was restless and jittery and desperate for something to keep me from thinking about things I didn’t want to face.
Damn Gideon, anyway. If he hadn’t insisted on bringing things up earlier, then they wouldn’t be so much on my mind.
When I started to tremble again, I paced around the cottage. Tiny, open kitchen. Room for a dining table. Living area with couch, media console, and one big chair. Recently remodeled bathroom with steam shower and jetted tub. One bedroom with big windows and an elliptical trainer in the corner. I went back to the living area and turned on the security system, staring for a minute at the green indicator light.
It was a pleasant, comfortable little place. Nothing anyone could complain about.
It was almost ten o’clock on a Saturday night in June. I was twenty-three years old.
And it felt like any life I’d ever had was over.
I wasn’t going to sit around feeling sorry for myself, though, so I changed shoes and got on the elliptical trainer.
I pushed myself as hard as I could for an hour, until I was exhausted, drenched in sweat, and felt like I would just drop. Mozart still throbbed through the house, through my head, through my body. Every muscle ached, and my lungs burned every time I took a breath.
It seemed right somehow—as if the state of my body was finally starting to match the state of my soul—so I kept going.
***
T he long, painful ordeals on the elliptical trainer with opera blaring became a regular routine.
It wasn’t good for me. I knew it even then. There’s a little part of your mind that recognizes when you’re doing something to hurt yourself, but sometimes that voice isn’t loud enough to drown out all the others.
I had too many voices. And the loudest ones—the
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