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  The door closes and I hear her right behind me. “Yes, coffee is always good, but not until you tell me what you did to your hair and why? And why in the hell do you still not have a phone? Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to come all the way over just to tell you something?”

  “Not really, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” Suppressing a giggle, I reach up into the cupboard and pull out two coffee cups, then turn to the Keurig, ignoring the sharp pain in my ribcage on the right side.

  “Oh, my God! What happened to your knees?”

  Startled, I glance down at my bare knees, suddenly aware that I’m still only in my sleeping shirt. My knees are red and angry looking, with gnarly scratches halfway down my shins. Now that I’m aware of them, they sting. Fresh scabs cover areas of broken skin. How do I explain this?

  “Oh, hmm, yeah, I uh…”

  “Dude, you’re freaking me out. What is going on?”

  I roll my eyes and return to my chore of making our coffee. “Yes, I’m fine. Just sit down. Let me make some damn coffee, and I’ll tell you all about it. Okay?”

  An exasperated sigh fills the kitchen. “Okay, fine.” The chair screeches against the floor as she pulls it out and plops down. “But I’m not a patient person, so let’s go on with it.”

  Thirty minutes later she sits across the table from me with wide, astonished eyes. “What the hell?”

  “What?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now. You sit there and tell me about how much you’ve been suffering all this time. Panic attacks, insomnia, and freaking cutting yourself. And I’m thinking, yeah, I knew you were struggling, but I had no idea how much. What kind of a friend am I? How could I have not known?”

  “How would you have known, Terin? I’ve been hiding it. I’ve been hiding from everything.”

  “Yeah, but then out of the blue, you see some woman get attacked and you go all ape shit on her husband. Pretty much beat his ass. Then come home and cut all your gorgeous hair off? I mean, what am I supposed to think? ’Cause to most people it would seem that you may have flipped your freaking lid. I’m wondering if I need to check you into a hospital or something. Yet, you’re sitting there all calm and collected and telling me you feel better than you have in years. Bruised and beat all to hell, but cool as a cucumber.”

  I sip on my coffee, enjoying the strong, bitter flavor. “Better than I ever have in my life, actually.”

  Terin leans back in her chair and eyeballs me with contemplative, thoughtful eyes. Taking it all in. “So what does all of this mean?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  She chuckles. “Well, one thing is for sure. We’re going to the salon today and fixing that train wreck on your head. What kind of a friend would I be if I let you walk around like that?”

  I burst into laughter, spitting coffee out of my mouth. She laughs with me. I wipe my chin and laugh harder, tears now spilling down my cheeks. I snort. Our laughter crescendos and melds into one beautiful sound. I feel free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Terin and I stroll down the busy sidewalks, sipping on our hot mochas. The chocolatey drink is rich and comforting, warming me from the inside out. I resist the urge to run my fingers through my short haircut for the hundredth time. A burst of wind picks up, scattering leaves along our path. The hairs on my neck stand up as the frosty air caresses the back of my neck. I like how it makes me feel weightless, as if the long hair I had all of my life had been weighing me down all of this time, and now it’s gone. My neck stretches longer, more elegant. My spine is straighter when I walk, more confident. There’s a bounce to my step. I know I’m not the only one who notices either. People watch me more. I catch their eye. In the last twenty-four hours I’ve become a different person.

  I stop short when I see a familiar image staring back at me from an old vintage-clothing store window.

  “What?” Terin asks, staring at me with wide eyes.

  The image of a phoenix rising from the flames splays over the front of an old worn t-shirt. I shiver as the power of it washes over me. I fight the urge to walk into the store. I want to buy it but I shake my head and keep walking. I haven’t earned it. Not yet. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” I keep walking but the image burns in my mind.

  As if trying to read my thoughts, Terin interjects. “So now what?”

  I take a slow sip of my coffee, careful not to burn my tongue, then shrug. “What do you mean? Like, what are we going to do now?”

  “Well, I guess that too, but I was actually referring to more along the lines of what are you going to do now? You had this huge breakthrough last night, call it a nervous breakdown, or a violent rampage, whatever. The point is, you’ve had a revelation of sorts and now you’re better? I guess I just feel like there’s something next. Like this is the beginning of something.”

  I purse my lips and ponder over Terin’s conjecture while we wait to cross the street. One more block until we reach my apartment. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, I guess. The last twenty-four hours have been a bit of a whirlwind. I’ve been kind of enjoying it, to be honest. Even the bumps and bruises feel good, in a weird way.”

  “And you should be! I mean, not the bumps-and-bruises part. That’s a little crazy. But you know what I mean. I wasn’t trying to rain on your parade. I’m sorry.”

  I stop walking and put a hand on her shoulder. She stops and looks at me with hesitation.

  “It’s okay, don’t be sorry. I’m not upset. Well, maybe I am, but not because of what you said.”

  She cocks her head. “Then why?”

  I let out a deep sigh. “It made me realize that this feeling, this sense of empowerment and freedom that I’m basking in right now, it might not last. Maybe tonight, when I’m all alone again, the anxiety and terror will creep back in. Maybe I’m just fooling myself today.”

  Terin shakes her head briskly. “Nope, nope. Don’t even go there. That’s no way to end this day. You and I have had a great afternoon. You look amazing with your new sassy haircut. I’ve enjoyed seeing my old friend again, bolder and more beautiful than ever. If you find yourself struggling tonight, then give me a call and I’ll be over in a heartbeat. I’ll come over with a bottle of wine and we’ll have a sleepover. But right now, you’re going to enjoy your well-deserved, hard-earned good day! Do you hear me?”

  I nod and bite my lip. “Yeah, I hear you.” I offer a thin smile, hoping she won’t see that I’m forcing it. I can’t stand the idea of losing this feeling.

  Her brows furrow. I know she sees my inner struggle. “Hey, listen, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to think about what you can do to keep this newfound positivity and confidence. You’re going to think of ways to continue to build on what you started. Whether it’s your self-defense class, the support group, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to find what makes you feel strong and you’re going to do that. Make sense?”

  Her words echo in my mind and the gears start clinking and chugging along as new thoughts are born. Before I can string them together into a linear and coherent pattern, she tugs at my coat.

  “Come on, let’s get inside. I’m freezing out here.”

  I tuck these fresh, underdeveloped concepts into the back of my mind so I can take them out and dissect them later tonight. I shuffle after Terin to keep up.

  “By the way, I asked about your phone earlier but shit got weird, so we never really discussed it. Are you ever going to try to get your phone back from Tom or what?”

  We come to the front stair of the apartment. I reach into my pocket and pull out the key. “I’ve thought about it a few hundred thousand times but that’s as far as I got. He swears he doesn’t have it but I know I left it in his car.”

  She follows close behind, eager to get into the warm building. “Well, I can go over there if you want. Just give me his address.”

  Memories of the one time I was ever at Tom’s home, unannounced and u
nwelcome, come flooding forward. I cringe on the inside, shame overwhelming me all over again. “No, that’s not necessary. I think I’ll just go buy a new phone. That one was almost two years old anyway. Time for an upgrade. To be honest, I enjoyed not having a phone for a while, but I know you’re right. I need to get one again.”

  Entering my unit, we shrug out of our jackets and toss them to the couch rather than taking the time to hang them. Terin plops down in the rocking chair by the window. Her favorite spot. Within seconds she’s rocking back and forth with her typical enthusiasm.

  “Okay, fine. So you’ll get a new phone. But that still doesn’t explain why he’s denying he has it. Why not just give it back? You’d think by now, nearly two months later, he’d have dropped by or put it in the mail or something. I mean, come on. It’s common courtesy. Have you even heard from the rat bastard?”

  This conversation has me on edge. Memories of the day Tom stopped by to see me in the hospital flood back. He seemed so odd that day. So out of sorts, like he was nervous. Then again, I was drugged and still disoriented from my whole ordeal. That entire week blurs together now, like a bad dream pieced together. The good feelings from earlier today are gone. “You know, maybe he’s telling the truth and he really doesn’t have it. I mean, just because I thought it must have fallen out in his car that night doesn’t mean that it did. Maybe I lost it somewhere between there and when I was grabbed.”

  “Hmm, maybe…I’m just not sure. I think we should go over there and at least ask Tom about it.”

  I march to the kitchen. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? Maybe some chips and salsa?”

  “Okay, so we’re changing the subject. Fine. But that’s not the last of it, missy.”

  “I know.” I turn my focus to making a plate of cold cuts with cheese and crackers along with chips and salsa, as promised. We talk nonchalantly about the weather and her new boots and the latest season of Dancing With The Stars. Quietly, methodically, I contemplate over the things she and I have discussed today. Answers to her questions play out in my mind. I know what must be done. I can’t, I won’t, tell her, but my heart beats faster in anticipation. I can’t wait.

  ***

  As soon as Terin leaves, I dart to the living room window to gauge my timing. It’s already four thirty in the afternoon, so there’s only about another forty-minutes before the remaining daylight is completely swallowed up by winter’s darkness. With it being a Friday night, there will be plenty of nightlife activities around the city. If I hurry, I should be able to be out and about by nine or ten.

  That’s when things start getting good, anyway.

  I dash down the hallway and into my bedroom. Rifling through my drawers and closets, I toss everything that I think I might be able to use to my bed. Within minutes I’m damp with a thin layer of sweat and a little frustrated. I don’t have exactly what I want for tonight’s excursion, but I’ll have to make do. Tomorrow I’ll have to do some shopping.

  For now, I forage through the pile of clothing that I’ve gathered and piece together my outfit for the evening. I’m even sweatier by the time I try on six different combinations and finally settle on what I think will at least get the job done. I don’t really even have a plan. Just an amorphous need to go out into the world and seek out that which I’m craving. An itch that needs scratched.

  I stand in front of the full-length mirror on the wall by the bathroom door. Dressed in black from head to toe, the matching workout wear is form-fitting, comfortable, and made of thin material that is easy to move in. Breathable. Innocuous. I slip into my black sneakers and grimace because I wish the pink Nike swoosh symbol wasn’t there. Not a big deal. Something is missing, though. I return to the closet in search of my stash of hats and pull out an old snap-back of my dad’s. I’d worn it years ago when I was helping him bring in firewood and never gave it back. At thirteen, I’d known he and my mom were having a lot of marital problems and knew they would someday split. Looking back, I think I must have wanted to keep a piece of him just in case they did break up. It took another decade and a whole lot of heartache for them to actually go their separate ways, but now I hold the hat in my hands, looking at the woman facing me in the mirror, and feel gratitude. I know my dad shouldn’t have cheated on my mom, but I also know that he fought depression from living with her passive-aggressive condescending insults for a lot longer.

  Though it was never outright acknowledged, I know they married before they turned eighteen because I was on the way. They both made the best of a sticky situation before they even knew who they really were in this world, much less what they wanted.

  We don’t always get to choose who we want to be initially. But it seems, if we’re lucky, we eventually get the opportunity to choose who we want to be in the end. With that thought in mind, I put the hat on and pull the bill down so that it fits secure over my short hair. I look like I’m simply a woman ready to go for a jog. No big deal.

  I head to the kitchen and pluck my favorite knife from the cutting block. The one I’ve been fond of lately as I’ve carved out my unyielding anger into my flesh. Then I dig through my sewing materials and find a strong piece of elastic. It takes me over an hour, but eventually I’m happy with the strap I’ve made to hold the knife around my calf. I slip it on, then sheath the knife into place. I pull the thin fabric of my pants down, and though you can make out an object there, it’s obscure and not that noticeable. I jump up and down to ensure it’s secure. I’m quite pleased with myself. It’s not bad for a quick-fix solution. Tomorrow I’ll find something better.

  Unsure of how or what I’m searching for this evening, I leave my apartment sure of only one thing. Anxiety and fear will not claim me again tonight. Or ever again.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  I’ve been walking the streets for hours. My feet hurt. My back aches. I’m a little hungry. But mostly I’m hugely disappointed. Though it’s well past eleven, nothing is going on. Nothing interesting, anyway. The streets are crowded with people bustling about from place to place in search of exciting shenanigans. Drunken debauchery of all sorts can be found on every corner, but so far nothing more harmful than the usual from your typical sloppy drunks, rowdy boys and girls looking to get laid, and the occasional yelling match in the street before a friend breaks it up and the fun dissipates too quickly. Very lame.

  It’s not fair. I’d anticipated a bit more excitement for the evening. Instead, I’ve wandered the streets in search of something I can’t quite name.

  Giving in to my growling stomach, I opt to go into a small pizzeria on the corner where I’ve been loitering the last half hour. The inviting smells of pizza dough and spices welcome me in. It’s warm and dry inside and I’m glad I wandered in because I’m suddenly ravenous, practically drooling.

  I sidle up to the counter to order a slice of meat-lover’s pizza and a Coke. I take my meal and look for an open place to sit. For being so late, the place is fairly full. There’s an empty spot in the corner, by an elderly man who looks like he’s seen the better side of hell over the course of his life. His skin is pocked and marred. A scar runs up his entire right arm, which is still lean and muscular given his age. Tattoos garnish a majority of his exposed skin, including his neck. A brief moment of hesitation washes over me before I squash it away.

  As I approach, I notice his hands tremble as he eats a piece of pizza. He glances my way and I recognize that glassy, inebriated stare. He’s been drinking for…well, for a long damn time. I offer a brief smile and pass by. When he smiles back, I notice that he’s missing a fair amount of teeth. Sadness encompasses me as I wonder what this man has been through in his life. War? Battles? Violence. Heartache. Addiction. Loss. All of the above. My appetite wanes. I make my way to my seat, frustrated with life. Why does it have to be so hard? Why all the suffering? Why so many battles? I keep my head down and slowly eat my pizza, enjoying it much less than I had intended. The evening as a whole has not gone as I in
tended. Then again, it rarely does.

  Feeling defeated and deflated, I gather my trash. As I pass the man on my way out, I can’t help but notice his food is gone but he still sits there, his head slightly hung. Is he homeless? Is this the warmest spot to hang out for as long as possible before he goes back out into the cold? I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a ten-dollar bill, quickly placing it on the table next to his hand and walking away before he can say anything.

  When I walk out the front door, the cold air smacks me in the face and jolts me out of my sad reverie. Now I’m just deflated. Back to the apartment I go.

  Two blocks from my building, I spot a car on the opposite side of the street. The parking lights cut through the dark and a thin film of exhaust escaping the tailpipe indicates the car is running. Probably someone dropping off a date. Keeping my steady stride, my mind toys with a myriad of possibilities as I imagine what the date would have been like. A first date? Did it go well? Are they kissing goodnight?

  A door up ahead on my left slams. Attention diverted, I follow the sound to see a woman clambering down the steps of an older brick building. Even from this distance I recognize her disheveled state. Her hair spills out of a messy topknot on her head. Her short skirt inches further up her thin thighs as she scurries down the steps. She wears a sequined tank top, one strap haphazardly hanging off her shoulder. She carries her high heels in one hand, too hurried to put them on. I recognize her. She’s the prostitute who had frequented my street a few months back. I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks.

  As she hits the sidewalk, she’s already glancing up and down the street before she crosses, and I can tell she’s heading toward the parked car across the road. The window rolls down and a man leans out. “What the hell took you so damn long?” he barks. I note a slight Hispanic accent.