THE WOMAN BEFORE

Chapter 2

R O S I N A

     SOMEONE HAS BEEN watching me. I feel it, even as I sit in the corner booth with Lauren talking about my future husband and our wedding. I don’t know if I’m paranoid. I had a wild imagination when I was a child. Once in high school, I swore to the principal and my math teacher I had seen a ghost in the female lavatory. After they consulted my parents, they sent me to the school’s therapist. I told her the same story, but she didn’t believe me. She even said I made it all up to seek attention.

     I went through a series of sessions with her. They were very boring and unnerving. After a laborious evaluation, the therapist said I imagined it, which was a result of the late-night horror movies I had been watching. My parents stopped me from watching my favorite series, and I couldn’t stop hating them for ruining what made my childhood days fun. I now understand they were looking out for their only daughter. When I grew up and went to college, I finished the horror franchise.

     But I swear I’m not making this one up. Someone is indeed watching me. I have this strange feeling I’m being stalked. I haven’t shared it with anyone yet, not even Evans. Possibly because I know I might be imagining it. It’s becoming incessant, and I fear it might escalate to reality.

     “Rosina?” A female voice calls my name and my thoughts skitters to a stop.

     “Yes.”

     I glance up and stare at the brunette sitting across from me and clasping her slender fingers around the mug. My eyes trace the tip of her brown hair, down to the belted knee-length gray dress she’s wearing. I’m still with Lauren. What were we talking about before my thoughts drowned me?

     She looks blankly at my face. “Are you even listening to me?”

     I blink. “Yes. I am. What did you say?”

     She frowns. “See? You weren’t listening to me. What are you thinking about?”

     Sometimes, spending time with Lauren is a pain in the neck. We couldn’t have a decent conversation without her scrutinizing me as if I were one of the files she studies at her work. But maybe it’s not her fault. I get distracted lately. And that sickening feeling of someone following me isn’t making my day any better.

     “Nothing. You were saying something about erm... the wedding gown.”

     Her frown deepens and the dimples at the corners of her lips show. I try to delete the picture of an angry Lauren from my mind, but I can’t. Her olive-toned face still haunts my vision.

     “No, Rosy. We weren’t talking about the gown.”

     It’s my turn to get angry. “Don’t call me Rosy. You know I hate that name.”

     “Because it reminds you of rose flowers?”

     I pout, “Roses make me sneeze. I loathe them.”

     She shrugs. “You can’t blame me, can you? Whenever I hear Rosina, I think of red roses.”

     “I don’t care what you think. Just don’t call me Rosy. I feel like sneezing already.” Sliding my hand into my Gucci handbag, I pluck a tissue and cover my nose, waiting desperately for a loud sneeze to no avail. Huffing, I put the tissue away and sanitize my hands.

     “What were we talking about?”

      “Your husband-to-be,” she says and sips from her mug, then places it in front of her.