Cherries

Chapter 17

Summer

My morning started with a slight tickling sensation running up my arm. In my sluggish sleepy state it felt like fingers dancing lightly across my skin, and of course I thought of him. I felt a small smile creep up on my lips as I slowly began to wake. It was a fucking spider. Dead spider now. Not sorry about the spider, but it has got me feeling out of sorts, that I'm still stuck at the point of sleeping in my car. That I can't bare to leave this house but I can't bare to stay either. And there goes my brain yet again. Overthinking. Undecided. Unsure.

I may have taken control over the past few months of my body, and I do feel stronger and healthier. But I'm beginning to realise that the much larger problem is taking control of my thoughts, sorting myself in a rational manner, making good decisions without the influence of others, being reliant upon me, myself and I.
I feel like I'm using the people around me, that they are giving me so much more than I can give them. That all I'm doing is taking and never giving. That I rely on them but they can't rely on me. That I'm being incredibly selfish in all of those situations.

My mind inevitably drifts back to the night at Adam's place, just a week or so ago. The way he cared for me, touched me, held me. It was an incredible awakening really, to feel that human connection again, that someone would want me like that after so long. My fear is that he is fighting his own feelings for me, that the overriding emotion is that of pity. That he is really only humouring me out of obligation. I came into his life after all, and even that was a favour to Rogers. Nikki came to my aid out of obligation to Adam. Adam's mother was there on the night of my last breakdown, and was amazing how she looked after me, but she knew who I was to Adam. She would never have been that heartless to ignore me in that awful situation. Any sympathetic person would have done the exact same thing.

And what do I ultimately have to offer these people and our connection? I'm unstable, anxious, out of control. I have no job, no grand ambitions or plans. I'm not even a real widow, just a grieving woman, dealing with an unsolved murder, and I sleep in my car. What a fucking catch.

I don't deserve any of them.

They don't deserve my shit. Pulling them all down. Dealing with me.

My heart hurts but I know pulling away is going to be for the best.

Adam may be pissed. Probably relieved if he's being honest with himself. I know I'm a lot. But I don't in any way, regret what we did. Kissing. Touching. Holding each other. Although after that night, it was awkward. My fault. Didn't know what to do or say. Just have a fucking coffee with the man who had his glorious fingers shoved inside you, smile at him and make him feel like he didn't do anything you didn't want to do. But no, acted weird, looked at anything but him, and eventually left, hardly saying anything. Ungrateful. Selfish.

So I firmly believe that our time is certainly not now. It is more likely never. A beautiful dream. Not to be drawn into my fucked up reality.

I shake my head from my thoughts and try and refocus on getting ready for the day. I have training and then perhaps I need to figure out what to say to Adam. How in the hell do I put it into words? To pull completely away from the only thing that has made me feel something other than misery for the last few years?

My mind is so messed up.

I can't find my god damn car keys. I swivel around in the kitchen and in doing so, I manage to knock my AirPods off the bench, they hit the floor and go skidding under the couch. I fumble around on my knees trying to reach them without success. The couch is really heavy but the feet can slide across the wooden floor with the right amount of momentum. I plant my feet and push and I hear a weird grinding noise, like wood splintering against wood. I kneel down again and shine my phone light under the couch. There's something stuck there.

I txt Adam to let him know I'm going to be late as I head out to the garage for a car jack. It's the only way to jimmy up the couch without help or breaking my back.

I pump the jack up and it slowly lifts the couch. I kneel again and reach out my hand. My other hand is clasped over my mouth because I've suddenly realised what it is I'm looking at. I scramble to the kitchen cabinet and grab some gloves. My hand touches the wood and I slowly and carefully pull out the bat from it's hiding place.

"I need you to stay here, baby. No matter what. No matter what you hear. Please, baby. I need to hear you say it so I know you understand me." He whispers to me and searches my face, like he's committing it to memory.

My body starts to shake as the realisation of the situation hits me again. Someone's in our home.

"Okay," I reply in a shaky breath. He looks at me and smiles, kissing me quickly on my lips, before pulling away all too fast. He moves to the back of the robe and his hands grab the baseball bat stored there long ago.

"Call the police baby, but stay quiet," he gives me one last look and slinks out the bedroom door, closing it behind him without a sound.

My heart is thundering away in my chest, my breathing is fast and raspy and tears drip down my face. I notice none of these things. My eyes are completely focused on the bat, the large gouges taken out of the sides and the dark brown smudges as I twist and turn it slowly in my shaking hands.

Twenty minutes later I'm pulling up outside the police station. The bat is safely inside a large, clear plastic bag. I walk quickly through the entrance checkpoint area as I spot Rogers waving me through to the front desk. I show him the bat, through my tears and he reassuringly holds me close as the enormity of my discovery hits us both.

I don't see the man sitting alone in the waiting area. I don't see the press pass he wear's around his neck. I don't see him slide his phone out and start taking pictures of me, of Rogers and of the bat. I don't see the sly grin on his face as he looks at the situation and realises this could be a very real story for him to bust wide open. A distraught woman bringing in, what looks like evidence and conversing with a very senior detective about it. His fingers type away furiously on his phone and I don't see that either.