it’s because of Ben. My mind can’t stop wandering to
him.
I leap out, sloshing water all
over the floor, and quickly dry myself. Wrapped in a towel, I go
through the ritual. Top deadbolt. Yale Lock. Chain. Bottom
deadbolt.
By the time I finish, my heart’s
racing again and the familiar panic returns. My fingers are numb,
and I can’t be sure I’ve done it right so I start again.
And again.
By the time I’m on the ninth go,
I’m so mentally and physically tired that I can’t go on, so I get
the knife from the kitchen, sit in front of the door, shivering,
and gasp for more breath than I can take in.
A voice in my head screams, Get some help!
My chest is on fire, hurting so
much I think I’m going to die from lack of oxygen. And maybe that’s
a good thing. It would solve a lot.
Then another voice pops into my
head. This time it’s Ben’s and it’s echoing loud and clear. He’s
repeating what he told me today. It’s OK. Just breathe slowly.
In, out. In, out.
My hands drop to my lap, and I
look at the ring on my right hand. The simple silver band with a
turquoise stone that Mum left me. I stare at it through watery
eyes, trying to ground myself, as he suggested, and use all my
energy to concentrate on breathing in and out. In. Out.
‘You’re OK. You’re OK. You’re
OK,’ I whisper over and over to myself until the panic
subsides.
The feeling comes back into my
hands and feet, and my heart’s no longer pounding like a booming
bass drum.
I close my eyes and carry on.
When I open them again and look at the clock in the hall, five
minutes have gone by.
Slowly, I get to my feet. I take
the knife with me to bed, tucking it underneath my pillow, and lie
down. As I close my eyes, I concentrate on breathing again until I
fall asleep.
My alarm wakes me at five a.m.
It takes me a few minutes to remember where I am because it’s
unfamiliar. Usually, I’m waking up screaming, crying, or heaving.
But last night I slept better than I have for a long time, and I
didn’t have the nightmare. At least I don’t think I did. It must’ve
been the deep breathing. And probably the fact I’m so exhausted, my
body is craving a night of uninterrupted rest.
I get dressed and do my makeup.
Once the mask is in place, I go down to the coffee shop and start
baking. As I lose myself in flour, sugar, and chocolate, an idea
forms in my head.
I’m going to ask Ben to help me
get through this.
I want my life back again.
12
BEN
I shower and shave and think
about Grace. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to offer me the job,
but I already know she’s stronger than she seems; she just doesn’t
realize it yet.
The bruises on my face don’t
look good, but I can’t do much about that until they fade. I just
hope they don’t put any customers off. I don’t want to give her any
excuse to fire me before I’ve even started.
I study my sparse wardrobe. I
don’t have a uniform like Grace does, but Lisa’s too pregnant to
wear one anyway, and she was just in black leggings and a black
smock top. Obviously, the leggings and smock top are a no go, so I
pull out a plain black shirt and black jeans.
I down a cup of Earl Grey tea
and eat a couple of slices of toast. It’s six-thirty, and I’ve been
up since five. I’m used to getting up early anyway, but nothing
would stop me being late for my first day at the shop.
The insurance company are
messing me around about my car. Not that it was exactly worth much.
I hardly earn enough to pay for the petrol and my flat, so I can’t
afford to get another one. For now, I’ll just have to walk
everywhere, which doesn’t bother me. When you’ve been cooped up for
so long inside, walking is good.
I arrive at the shop at quarter
to eight and peer in the door. I can’t see anyone, so I knock.
A few seconds later, Grace comes
out of the kitchen, her eyebrows raised with a smile as she unlocks
the door. Her smile lights up her face, and it’s
him.
I leap out, sloshing water all
over the floor, and quickly dry myself. Wrapped in a towel, I go
through the ritual. Top deadbolt. Yale Lock. Chain. Bottom
deadbolt.
By the time I finish, my heart’s
racing again and the familiar panic returns. My fingers are numb,
and I can’t be sure I’ve done it right so I start again.
And again.
By the time I’m on the ninth go,
I’m so mentally and physically tired that I can’t go on, so I get
the knife from the kitchen, sit in front of the door, shivering,
and gasp for more breath than I can take in.
A voice in my head screams, Get some help!
My chest is on fire, hurting so
much I think I’m going to die from lack of oxygen. And maybe that’s
a good thing. It would solve a lot.
Then another voice pops into my
head. This time it’s Ben’s and it’s echoing loud and clear. He’s
repeating what he told me today. It’s OK. Just breathe slowly.
In, out. In, out.
My hands drop to my lap, and I
look at the ring on my right hand. The simple silver band with a
turquoise stone that Mum left me. I stare at it through watery
eyes, trying to ground myself, as he suggested, and use all my
energy to concentrate on breathing in and out. In. Out.
‘You’re OK. You’re OK. You’re
OK,’ I whisper over and over to myself until the panic
subsides.
The feeling comes back into my
hands and feet, and my heart’s no longer pounding like a booming
bass drum.
I close my eyes and carry on.
When I open them again and look at the clock in the hall, five
minutes have gone by.
Slowly, I get to my feet. I take
the knife with me to bed, tucking it underneath my pillow, and lie
down. As I close my eyes, I concentrate on breathing again until I
fall asleep.
My alarm wakes me at five a.m.
It takes me a few minutes to remember where I am because it’s
unfamiliar. Usually, I’m waking up screaming, crying, or heaving.
But last night I slept better than I have for a long time, and I
didn’t have the nightmare. At least I don’t think I did. It must’ve
been the deep breathing. And probably the fact I’m so exhausted, my
body is craving a night of uninterrupted rest.
I get dressed and do my makeup.
Once the mask is in place, I go down to the coffee shop and start
baking. As I lose myself in flour, sugar, and chocolate, an idea
forms in my head.
I’m going to ask Ben to help me
get through this.
I want my life back again.
12
BEN
I shower and shave and think
about Grace. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to offer me the job,
but I already know she’s stronger than she seems; she just doesn’t
realize it yet.
The bruises on my face don’t
look good, but I can’t do much about that until they fade. I just
hope they don’t put any customers off. I don’t want to give her any
excuse to fire me before I’ve even started.
I study my sparse wardrobe. I
don’t have a uniform like Grace does, but Lisa’s too pregnant to
wear one anyway, and she was just in black leggings and a black
smock top. Obviously, the leggings and smock top are a no go, so I
pull out a plain black shirt and black jeans.
I down a cup of Earl Grey tea
and eat a couple of slices of toast. It’s six-thirty, and I’ve been
up since five. I’m used to getting up early anyway, but nothing
would stop me being late for my first day at the shop.
The insurance company are
messing me around about my car. Not that it was exactly worth much.
I hardly earn enough to pay for the petrol and my flat, so I can’t
afford to get another one. For now, I’ll just have to walk
everywhere, which doesn’t bother me. When you’ve been cooped up for
so long inside, walking is good.
I arrive at the shop at quarter
to eight and peer in the door. I can’t see anyone, so I knock.
A few seconds later, Grace comes
out of the kitchen, her eyebrows raised with a smile as she unlocks
the door. Her smile lights up her face, and it’s
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