Where We've Been

Interview Day

~~~

Excuse any mistakes.

~~~

HALEY

I woke up tangled in my sheets, drenched in sweat and choking on my breath.

Forcing myself to sit up, I willed the adrenaline surging through my veins to ebb. I placed a hand over my heart, feeling it pump twice as fast in panic. I shivered, feeling claustrophobic as I felt the all too familiar ache in my spine. I didn't dare close my eyes; the images of my nightmare were still imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.

Fingers trembling, I reached down and slowly unwrapped my legs from my sheets. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and glanced at the clock on my side-table. It was barely five in the morning, and I chuckled darkly. There was no way I could get back to sleep, even if I wanted to. My body was exhausted, but wide-awake.

Sighing, I stood up and stretched my arms over my head. My joints let a couple tired cracks, and I shook out my arms. The ache in my wrist was still there, distant and permanent. I suddenly became aware of how damp and cold my pajamas felt, clinging to my skin in the most uncomfortable places. The sweat had cooling, sitting on top of my pores, and I felt disgusting. Quickly, I peeled off my t-shirt and boxers, and I threw them in the corner of the room before crossing to my bathroom. I locked the door behind me.

When we moved into this house a couple weeks ago, Agent Denis—or Frank, as he told me to call him—gave me the master bedroom because it had its own bathroom that no one else could get to. He told me it would make me feel more secure and insisted I take it, even though I felt bad. However, Frank was right. Knowing that the only door to the bathroom was in my bedroom made me feel safe. No one could sneak in on me.

I squinted after flipping on the light, and I reached into the shower and turned it on. I made sure the hot water was on full blast before stepping under the spray. At first, the water stung, pelting my back like bullets, but I clenched my jaw and endured. A minute later, I was okay, and I started scrubbing myself with the bar of soap. I went from my head to my toes, rubbing my skin raw but clean. I was always scared there was still blood somewhere, even if I couldn't see it.

After washing my hair, I stayed there for I don't know how long, leaned against the tiled wall. Water rushed over my hair, spilling down my face, catching in my eyelashes. My fingers found the scar on my abdomen, puckered skin in a jagged oval, still in the process of healing.

I didn't realize the water had gone cold until I heard my teeth chattering.

The metal knobs squeaked as I turned them off, and I pushed back the shower curtain. Stepping onto the bathmat, I grabbed a semi-clean towel from a hook on the back of the door. Wrapping it tightly around my body, I leaned over the sink and wiped the steam from the mirror.

I wasn't used to myself, yet. After the first trial, Jared Shipman's, I was put into witness protection while they tried to catch Glasses. Part of the process was dying my dirty blonde hair dark brown and chopping it to just above my shoulders. The most jarring part was that my hair couldn't hide the scar on my chest anymore. Just on the left side of my collarbone, when Glasses was particularly aggressive. I thought that was the day I'd die, but I lasted another month.

I looked away and leaned down, quickly brushing my teeth as I tugged my towel higher on my chest. Then, I walked back into my bedroom and crossed to the big window. The sun was slowly rising over the trees in the front yard, turning the sky periwinkle.

I wish I could say the sky in North Carolina was different from the sky in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. I wish I could say every time the sun set, I wasn't waiting for them to unlock the door and send me out into the woods again. But those would be lies. Wherever I go, it's the same sun, the same sky, and I have to push the memories away, hide them in the back of my mind. At least it was the sunrise, not the sunset.