Page 21 of Don't Speak

CHAPTER TWENTY

My eyes shoot open, the bright light shining in.

I immediately shut them, trying to forget the nightmare that plagued me this time.

I’m safe. I’m at home. You’re not there, Nikki.

He can’t hurt you. I lay still for a moment, fighting back the tears forming in my eyes.

No one prepares you for having to relive your trauma throughout your adult years.

You would think suffering through it once would be enough, but no.

Having the constant reminders is torture.

Grounding myself again, I throw my legs over the bed and sit up.

Simba looks at me from the closed door. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, buddy.” Opening the door, he prances over to his food bowl, awaiting my arrival.

Once I’ve taken care of his demands, I run through my morning routine.

Life is pretty mundane when you only work, come home, have one friend to hang out with, and then go to work again, but I like it. I like the routine. It keeps me sane.

I’m off today, so I figured I’d run into town to try out a new little coffee shop and check out the local bookstore. I usually don’t go anywhere, preferring the comfort of home to people, but I feel like I need to get out.

I take a quick shower, throw on a pair of ripped jeans and my Medusa crop top, and put on some green Vans.

Grabbing the keys to my car, I head out, locking the door behind me.

Suddenly, the hairs on my arms stand, and the feeling of being watched is back again.

I look around but don’t see anything. I shake the feeling, chalking it up to paranoia.

I get into my car and slide into the seat, shutting the door as I put my key into the ignition.

“Bring Me to Life” by Evanescence blares through the speakers. I jump, quickly turning the volume dial down. I am not the same person I was last night. I put the car in reverse and back out of the driveway, heading to what I hope to be a relaxing day.

About 20 minutes later, I’m pulling into Thanks-a-Latte Cafè. It just opened a few days ago, and I’ve really been wanting to try it. I’ve heard good things from the girls at work. Amelia is working today. Otherwise, I would have invited her.

Getting out of my car, I walk toward the front door, opening it to the robust smell of freshly brewed coffee.

It smells divine. I look up at the menu, which is a series of screens with options to choose from, ranging from espresso to frappès, to mochas, and more.

I go with what I know since I’m not a coffee connoisseur by any means.

Walking up to the barista, she asks, “Welcome to Thanks-a-Latte Cafè. What can I make for you?

“I’ll have an iced white chocolate mocha, please. A size medium,” I reply.

She tells me my total, and I scan my card.

A few minutes later, they call my name for the order, and I grab my cup, walk over to a table, and sit down.

I put in my AirPods, opting to just sit back and hang out for a few while I enjoy my coffee.

I can’t help but watch the people as they come and go.

Some walk in with smiles on their faces, and others look like they’re having a rough morning.

A man in a suit sits in the corner, lost in what I assume is a business call, judging by the briefcase sitting by his leg.

A young woman sits alone in a booth, typing away on her computer.

A few others are sitting around a table, watching social media videos, and sharing the funny ones with each other.

I can’t help but wonder if they’ve experienced any hardships in life.

I used to be resentful of people who never had to endure what I had to.

I always used to think it was unfair that I was subject to abuse as a child while my peers around me grew up with a loving family.

A normal family. Why was I given the life I had while everyone else had it much better? What did I do to deserve it?

Noticing that I’m starting to tear up, I change my thoughts to those of Dean.

Remembering how hard he was makes my whole face change from one of sorrow to one of desire.

Quickly, though, my mind starts working against me again, and I start questioning everything once more.

How could you think he could ever want to be with you?

No one in their right mind would ever want someone like you.

No one wants a broken woman. No one wants a woman with trauma.

No one wants a woman with emotional damage.

He could get something better in a heartbeat.

You have too much baggage. You’re not good enough for anyone.

No one will ever choose you. If she didn’t choose you, no one will.

Realizing I’m not in the best mental state, I grab my coffee from the table and head back out to my car. I think the bookstore is exactly what I need right now.

There really is nothing like the smell of a book.

The earthy scent of the pages is so calming, and the smoothness of the paper is like holding magic in your hands.

I’ve always loved books. I mean, what could be better than escaping into another character’s problems and avoiding your own?

I found solace in stories growing up. I went on adventures in my mind to escape the reality I was living in.

Books were my saving grace, and they still are.

I guess you could call them my only constant in life.

There was a time I stopped reading, thinking that getting a job and attempting to put myself through school was the only thing I needed to focus on.

My mental health suffered, and when I found reading again after several years, I realized that I’d never give it up again.

I’m perusing through the romance section when I catch movement from the corner of my eye.

I look up to find Dean perusing the mystery section, seemingly unaware of my presence.

This can’t be a coincidence, can it? He doesn’t look like the type to be caught dead in a bookstore, but I guess I don’t really know him.

Placing the book in my hands back on the table, I stroll over to where I’m hidden behind a shelf, able to keep an eye on him without him seeing me.

He picks up another mystery book, turning it over to read the back before placing it back down again.

He continues his stroll, stopping to pick up a thriller and doing the same thing.

This one apparently piques his interest because he keeps it in his hand before continuing.

I move slowly behind him, quiet enough to not get caught and maintain my distance.

He stops at one last table before turning and walking behind a row of shelves.

I can’t see him from here, so I pad my way over and turn the corner.

When I do, I’m faced with nothing. He’s nowhere in sight.

I stand frozen and confused before I’m suddenly grabbed by the arm, spun around, and pushed up against the bookshelf.

“What the—” I screech before a hand covers my mouth.

“Are you following me, little lioness?” he hums, his mouth centimeters from my ear.

With his hand still covering my mouth, all I can do is shake my head.

“No? Are you sure about that?”

I stare into his eyes, still unable to speak.

My breathing quickens, and that’s all he needs for confirmation.

He leans back down, whispering, “Naughty, little lioness. Don’t you know you shouldn’t follow predators?

You may just end up becoming their prey.

” Suddenly, I hear him inhale deeply as though he is taking in the scent of me. “Mmm. My prey smells delicious.”

It’s good that he’s supporting my weight because I would have buckled to the floor immediately.

“See you at work, little lioness,” he says before he lets me go and walks away without another word.

I’m left an utter mess. My heart is still racing, and I can feel the blood pumping through my veins.

My panties are drenched . I am utterly speechless.

His dominance is intoxicating , and I can’t help but crave more.

I shouldn’t. I should end this now before it goes any further, but I want him. I want him so bad .

After I compose myself, I finish perusing the bookstore. Every so often, I pass by the spot where he held me, playing the encounter over and over in my head. I can’t help but smile. You can’t get attached. You will never know love. He just wants sex, and then he will leave you like everyone else.

My smile quickly fades, and I turn to leave the store, leaving the books I was going to purchase behind. I just want to get home.

My brain is a real bitch sometimes.