I belonged to another man. I was in the home of another man. I was in the bedroom of another man. And yet, there I was, my lips pressed to someone else.
The holidays had come to an end; myself and the rest of the world thrown into the first week of our new year. Life seemed to pick up where it always pauses during the holidays. People fell back into their normal routines; clocking in at 9, clocking out at 5. Coming home, cooking dinner, sleeping and repeating. Joe fit this mold just the same, returning to the shop every morning to do what he loved.
His family fizzled out, all flying or driving back to their homes.
Resuming their lives.
Returning to their reality.
It must've been nice to have that constant comfort of familiarity; to not have to ask questions or feel dumbfounded at all times. To go back to your own world after a little time in a fantasy.
Truthfully, the concept of the holidays makes people seem a bit mad.
But honestly, I just wasn't used to it.
I was in hiding, and it was obvious as the sun. While I was free to go wherever I pleased, when Joe was at work, I was afraid to. Something in me knew that Wilmer had not given up. I knew in my heart he was searching for me; if he had not found me already. The past two weeks had been far too silent. And if I had ever learned anything from Wilmer's silence, I knew that it was much more lethal than anything he could sacrifice his lungs for.
I felt crazy; being this paranoid all the time. Constantly having to look over my shoulder, while ensuring Joseph that I was absolutely okay.
Of course, I felt safe with him.
But I wasn't an idiot. Wilmer wasn't going to stop; no matter how safe I felt.
And that was just the cold, hard truth.
In the time I had been living with my mechanic, I'd changed my phone number twice; even having to limit my conversations with Ariana for fear of being traced. At times she would come over to keep me company, but I tried to keep this from happening too frequently. I just knew that Wilmer would have her followed, and I didn't want to risk it.
And damn, it sucked.
Feeling so bound and gagged by paranoia. Feeling endlessly punished for wanting better for myself, and wanting out of the hands of Wilmer's abuse.
Even with Joseph there, I could feel my numbness fading, revealing my degrading severed heart. The pain in my chest only subsided when Joseph held me, but it never truly went away. It always came thundering back like a storm; lashing me for suppressing its presence. My skin felt like it was covered in pins and needles; my lungs the shrinkwrapped into chronic suffocation.
The broken heart was leaving its scar.
And it was a slow and painful process.
As I sat on Joseph's sofa watching endless re-runs of sitcoms, I stirred the tiny cup of hot tea that warmed my palms. The couple on the screen argued, pitching fits with one another after tiny digs and complaints. They threw in cheesy insults, causing the other to crack some kind of grin that alluded to the inevitability of their making up.
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