Page 56

CLAIRE

Going back to real life is an odd feeling after spending a week in a tropical paradise and the past few days under Mark’s touch. It’s as if the floodgates have been opened now and there’s no going back to how we were before. We haven’t had sex yet, but we’ve been taking it slow, exploring each other’s bodies late into the nights.

I had agreed to his stipulation that this doesn’t turn into a "real" relationship, but a part of me wonders where he draws that line. Is it just the idea of labeling it that bothers him? Because, as of right now, we do basically all the things that a couple would do; we eat dinner together most nights, I do the housework while he works, he kisses me constantly now that we’ve established our boundaries, and we often spend the nights curled up on the couch watching movies together. What difference would there be in him calling me his girlfriend? I’m not really sure, but the last thing I want to do isscare him away by asking, so I’ll keep my mouth shut for now.

But maybe one day…

No, I can’t even let myself think that way. Hoping that one day he’ll change his mind about what he wants from me is a surefire way to get my heart broken. I try to remind myself that there’s a whole world full of people out there, that most "normal" people go through multiple relationships before they find their forever partner. Even then, the idea of leaving Mark’s apartment—leavingMark—makes my heart ache in ways it never has before.

One day at a time,I remind myself. There’s no use in worrying about the future if there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Still, that’s easier said than done.

Classes are back in full swing, and I’m just about to walk out of the building after Psychology class when my phone alerts me of a new email.

When I see the message, my blood runs cold. It’s the same sender as before—someone from home, though I’m still not entirely sure who.

"Claire,

I’m begging you to come home. Everyone misses you so much. I know that you’re probably experiencing a lot of new things, but none of those worldly things will ever come close to God’s love for you or your family’s love for you. If you continue to live in sin and reject the teachings of the church, you will regret it. It’s never too late to repent.

‘Let the wicked forsake their ways

and the unrighteous their thoughts.

Let them turn to the Lord, and he will have mercy on them,

and to our God, for he will freely pardon.’

-Isaiah 55:7"

I lean back against the cool brick wall and slide down until my bottom hits the floor. This can’t be happening. I had almost managed to forget about the first message, having been knee-deep in schoolwork and then going on vacation with Mark, but I apparently couldn’t escape for long.

Based on the phrasing of the messages, I’m now almost certain it’s my mother. I understand why she’d want me to come home—I’m sure I messed up their whole plan for me to serve as another testament to their parenting by doing my good Christian duty of marrying a man of God and having a bunch of babies for them to add to their collection of grandchildren.

I just wish they could understand that I want to build myownlife, make my own mistakes, and follow my own dreams. That will never be good enough for them, though.

My heart won’t stop racing as I stare at the message, seeing the words but not really reading them anymore. Dread sits in my stomach like a dead weight. I could block the email address, but something tells me she’d make another and keep contacting me. My mother is nothing if not persistent in her lifelong quest to maintain her image, which includes making sure all her children are just like her. Me disappearing in the middle of the night and leaving the community was the worst thing I could have done to her because it wrecked her image of our perfect little family.

Sucks for her, but I couldn’t give a damn about any of that now.

Except my chest is still tight with anxiety even while knowing there’s nothing she can do but continue to try to guilt trip me.I’m safe, I’m okay.I repeat those four words over and over in my head until I manage to calm down enough todrive home.

When I make it home, I’m grateful to find that Mark is busy with something in his office, so I quietly head to my own room and shut the door.

A part of me wants to collapse in his arms and cry, and the other part wants to stay in here by myself until I can think straight. I know he’ll worry like crazy if I tell him what’s going on.

Actually, my next appointment with Dr. Lawrence is tomorrow, so I’ll just ask her what I should do.

I change into my pajamas, flop down on the bed, and send Mark a text, not wanting to face him tonight. "Not feeling well tonight. I’m going to sleep, so don’t wait up. See you tomorrow." I add a smiley emoji to the end of the message to make it sound less serious before tossing my phone on the nightstand and cocooning myself in my blankets.

Fifteen minutes later, his voice sounds outside my door. "Claire?" It’s just loud enough for me to hear, but I lay there in silence and pretend to be asleep even though I want nothing more than for him to come wrap me in his arms.

But I can’t escape from all my problems just by letting his presence suppress them until I can pretend they aren’t there. I need to deal with this on my own. I’m just not sure how.

After a mostly sleepless night of tossing and turning, I drink way too much coffee before making my way to Dr. Lawrence’s office. The little sleep I did get brought me no relief. My dreams were hazy and disjointed, snippets of scenes and images—me lost in an old building that resembled the back hallways of my old church, the lighting dim and illuminated only by flickering candles glinting off stained glass windows. I remember desperately trying to find my way out,but the hallways seemed to change every time I turned a corner. Something was chasing me, though I didn’t know what. All I knew was that I had to get away.

I had woken in the morning with my heart racing and my chest tight, but the relief that it was only a dream quickly took away most of the anxiety. Still, a tiny piece of it has lingered throughout the day, no doubt due to the email from yesterday.

It only takes a couple minutes for me to get called into Dr. Lawrence’s office, and she can immediately tell something’s wrong.