I glance down at the plastic CVS bag dangling from my fingers, one box of tampons tucked inside. I nearly forgot to stop at the drugstore in the wake of my perilous escape.
“Yeah, I did,” I call as I saunter down the hall to the bedroom to deposit the box under the sink.
Once in the bathroom, I reach into my jeans pocket and pull out the black and gold lipstick tube. I pop the top and examine the reddish-brown wedge at the top of the metal tube. Rotating it between my fingers, I wonder if Hannah had the audacity to use it or if she just coveted it like a total creep.
I look in the mirror and slide the lipstick across my bottom lip and then my top. I cock my head, studying myself, and press my lips together. Arching my brow, I mouth to my reflection.
Fuck you, bitch.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Brett
Present
“I don’t know why I’m still like this,” I muse, gazing around Judy’s office as I try in vain to pick apart my idiosyncrasies.
“Because it hasn’t been that long,” she smiles in such a way that makes people—or at least me—feel like they’re finally arriving to the proper conclusion after searching blindly for so long.
“I don’t think this feeling will ever go away.”
The realization is jarring, because even though I’ve changed so much and I’ve been able to recover much of what I lost, I know I’ll never be the same person. Nothing will ever be the same as before.
“Not completely,” Judy concedes, “because you are fundamentally changed. The trauma you experienced in college, and then what happened just last year, are more than enough to alter your neurological state. The surveillance, the secrets, the gaslighting—it’s all designed to break you, to hollow you out into a shell of who you once were.”
My eyes fly up to her warm face and I try to quell my shock at her uncanny word choice.
She’s good.
“To you, it’s diabolical,” she continues, “and it is. But to a skilled manipulator, it’s as easy as stopping at the store for some milk. Except, later, he drowns you in it and then you thank him for it.”
And she’s right. He is skilled. He was back then, and I’m sure he still is today.
Only, I’m sure he’s gotten better.
●●●
I knew it wouldn’t take long for something like the restraining order to end up all over social media. Below the picture of me on the Spice Ghouls Instagram page are thousands of comments about the RO. I’ve been ignoring the emails and DMs until now. I received multiple texts even while I was with Tyler and Sydney with links to a few of the many forums and posts tagged with my name.
Once I’m back in my 4Runner, I click on one of them—a Reddit post—and read the succinct preface to a file embedded in the page.
There are a couple of people who this book could be about, but there’s only one who has a restraining order against him filed by BRETT SORENSEN. Thoughts?
My heart races as I click on the file. I don’t even have to read it; I recognize the format and the font and the logo at the top because I know the document well. One copy is folded up and tucked inside my glove box underneath my registration and another is in a filing cabinet at my house. And, not surprisingly, people have a lot of thoughts…
So…is this a true story?
It’s definitely him.
You need to leave her alone, especially if it’s true. This is really traumatizing.
Is that the guy she’s with now?
No it’s a different guy.
You know you’re doxxing these people, right?
My eyes go wide and my breath catches at the next comment, which is accompanied by a photo. I sanitized my social media long ago. But that doesn’t mean other people have. Some people post pictures and forget about them. Other people keep them for different reasons…
It’s a screen shot. His cheek is pressed against my temple and he’s taking a selfie of us. It would be a lovely picture if there wasn’t so much malice hidden behind his striking eyes and gorgeous smile. That picture was taken before I knew what kind of monster he really is.
His name is right there on the screen next to mine. He has a name and a face. And, now, they know. It’s been up there for days, so it won’t take long until he does, too. He probably already does…
So, what do I do when I find out my legal affairs have been leaked to the public? I head for Starbucks, the nearest source of caffeine, of course. Just like last time, trauma calls for coffee, and who am I to fight the addiction? But I order a decaf, because I’m five months pregnant and I have to try and stay Zen. It’s like my body knew when I was ready, when it was strong enough to grow another life instead of the stress and anxiety laying waste to anything in its path.
And I’m sure as hell not about to let anything ruin that now.
Every few minutes, my phone vibrates, muting my music for a split second. The thought crosses my mind to just turn it off, but I can’t do that. What if there’s an emergency? What if—
There’s a sharp crunch and, suddenly, I’m thrown forward. I let out a scream as the back of my head hits my headrest and my seatbelt catches against my chest. I scramble to stomp on the brake again before I roll into oncoming traffic and then throw the 4Runner into park. I freeze for a few moments, bracing myself with one hand on the wheel and the other on the console. There’s a caramel-colored splash of coffee with cream dripping from the gear shift and seeping down into the cracks.
After I finally catch my breath and realize I’m not injured and the SUV is otherwise still intact, I grab the top of the steering wheel and crane my neck to look in the rearview mirror. And when I do, my jaw drops.
“No way…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brett
