promises and fear • kai anderson

CHAPTER ELEVEN: STREET CORNER

  I was sitting on my bed with my hair tied into a messy bun above my head. I was chewing on my nails, an old habit I picked up at an early age. I was having one of my many thinking sessions. Which included staring off into space, not really being aware of where I was, and knowing I wasn't going to bed tonight. I was leaned against my pillows behind my head with the blankets scrunched at the bottom of my bed. It was the afternoon so I had my session with my annoying therapist today. It was getting harder and harder to fake being alright in front of him. Things have been getting to me. Especially the fact that I might be blamed for a man in a coma. 

  Yeah. That was still on my mind. Ever since the police came in it had gotten way worse. I had ever right to be blamed. I held a knife to the guy's throat for crying out loud! In front of people! I was surprised they hadn't leaped at the chance to tell the cops of my little incident. Maybe they were scared of me? I don't know. I guess they just had better things to do. I know I was scared at the moment. Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal. Maybe I was just being paranoid. I was a normal everyday citizen. I hadn't done anything wrong!

  "Oh because holding a blade to someone's throat is just a normal everyday thing." 

  My brain barged into my thoughts and I groaned, leaning back into my pillows further, bending my neck down. I hated stress with a burning passion. Maybe I would take up that offer Chloe had given me about that gym. Seemed working out might help me. 

  I sigh, looking to my clock. It was around that time to go to my therapy session. I groan once more, sitting up and running my hands down my face before throwing my feet over the edge of my bed and onto the floor. I yawn, tired from the hard day. I still had work to do though. I mumble out a complaint as I stand and walk over to my closet. All I had on now was a tank top and sweatpants and I didn't think that would cover it in a office. 

  Opening up my closet door, I shift my clothing hangers and then pull out a hoodie since it was cold as hell outside, a pair of pants and boots. I pulled my clothes on in a sort of dazed state as I think about everything. Sam in the car crash. My therapy sessions. The election. God, the election. Shit has just gotten worse for me after that. But, I started to think further than that. Further into my past. I started to think about when I got this place. I actually got it with my old boyfriend.

  We had gone out for three years. We had plans to be married. He just never dropped the question. We did get this house from both our savings. We saved and planned, saved and planned. Finally, after awhile, we got the money and moved here. A rich, nice community with nice and rich people. We were supposed to build a life here. That is until our life turned to shit. 

  He just started to act like an asshole. A class A jerk. He barley paid any attention to me. He never told me where he was going. He was even worse when he was drunk or had friends over. We just started to drift apart. It just tripled when I found out he was cheating on me with some skank he met at a bar. That is when we fought over the house. But with my knowledge of the law and being almost the sole person to pay the bills for this place, I managed to get the house and he had to move out. I haven't seen him in a year although he used to call often to complain about him having my stuff or him not finding his things and accuse me of stealing. He stopped about seven months ago. 

  I blink as I realize I had just been standing there, staring at my bed with my clothes now on. I shake my head a bit and clear my throat, looking around for my purse and phone. I spot it on my chair near the window and head for it. I pick it up then check my hair before heading out the door. I made sure to lock it like I always did but when I did I felt a little chill run down my spine when looking at my door handle. I crease my brow as it goes away as quickly as it came. I stare at my door handle. I had a certain feeling just then. I felt the need to protect my house. Lock it even more than able. I had the itch to check the back door.