Hunted

Naomi

Chapter 22
Five years ago.

I can feel myself shaking at the slightest sound, the tension crackling in the air like static. Cold sweat drips down my back as I stare blankly ahead, a lump rising in my throat that feels like it might choke me.

What have I done? Why did I listen to her?

Suddenly, a hand lands on my shoulder, and I flinch, my heart racing. "You saved me," she whispers, her voice low and urgent. It's my Mom, and she turns me to face her, gripping my shoulders tightly. "You did the right thing."

"Marcus had nothing to do with it," I whisper, desperation clawing at my chest. "Marcus had nothing to do with it."

"Oh, darling, he was using you just like his father used me," she insists, her voice dripping with conviction. "I saved you. Can't you see that? Now they'll end up in jail, and we can be free."

I shake my head, struggling to think straight. "Marcus—"

"Shut up," she snaps, her tone sharp. I flinch at the hiss in her voice as she pushes me back slightly, rubbing her temple in frustration. "Great, now I'm the bad guy here. I was just trying to protect you."

"Where have you been?" I demand, my voice trembling as I look up at her, searching her eyes for answers.

She meets my gaze, her own eyes dark and heavy with weariness. "Trying to make money so I could get away from Anderson. I told you that already."

I swallow hard, the weight of her words settling in. It's been a week since everything happened, and I haven't seen a trace of Marcus. The fear wraps around me like a vise, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. I shouldn't have done it. I should have filed the restraining order against him instead of his father.

Mom sits beside me, pulling me into a comforting hug, and I can't help but melt into her warmth. She runs her fingers through my hair, her touch soothing. "Baby, you don't know how much I've yearned to see you. How much I wanted to come here and hold you. But I couldn't. Not with Anderson around."

Why did you cheat? I want to scream. Why did you cheat on Dad? Why can't you tell me who my real father is? But the exhaustion weighs down my tongue, and I can't form the words.

"You understand why we did this, don't you?" she asks, cupping my face in her hands, searching my eyes.

I hesitate, the confusion swirling in my mind, then finally nod. "Yeah."

The doorbell rings, and every nerve in my body goes on high alert. The hairs on the back of my neck prick up, and my heart races, thudding so hard it feels like it might burst. But Marcus... Marcus never rings the doorbell. My hands tremble as Mom pulls back from me and heads to the door.

"Hey," a woman's voice greets softly.

"Hey, girl," Mom replies, pulling her into a warm hug.

"I wanted to check up on you," the woman says, her voice thick with concern. "Kaya wouldn't stop whining about coming here."

Mom nods, her voice low. "I'm relieved it's almost over."

Their words cut through me like knives, each one sharper than the last, and I feel myself sinking further. Suddenly, Kaya slips through the doorway, her footsteps barely audible, and settles beside me on the couch. Her eyes search my face, filled with worry. She has been looking after me for a week since then. I haven't been able to go to school and she would bring me her notes and just spend time with me.

"How are you holding up?" she asks gently. "I still can't imagine what you've been through. Marcus deserves to rot for what he did to you."

A wave of guilt washes over me, settling deep into my bones. It wasn't Marcus. He didn't do any of it, but I can't make the words come out. My throat feels tight, clogged with the truth I'm too afraid to say. I swallow hard and nod, feeling the weight of my silence.