Page 32 of Don't Speak

CHAPTER THIRTY

Light filters through the window, and I blink my eyes open. No nightmare .

Could it be a coincidence that the night Dean stays over, I don’t have a nightmare? At the thought of Dean, I roll over, only to be met with the soft sheets of an empty bed. I deflate a little, hoping that he would have been here with me.

I sit up and notice a note on the pillow. I pick it up and read it.

My little lioness,

I’m sorry I’m not here when you wake up.

I received a phone call this morning that required my attention.

I promise you didn’t scare me away. I’ll call you in a little bit when I’m done.

I started your coffee pot for you, so you should have some freshly brewed coffee waiting.

I went out and grabbed some bagels for you as well.

They’re in the microwave. Simba was staring at me suspiciously this morning, and I was afraid he’d eat them if I left them on the counter.

I’ll see you soon,

Dean

I chuckle at the part about Simba. I’m sure he would have loved to have eaten a bagel this morning.

Making my way out of bed, I head to the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee that is, in fact, already brewed.

A smile tugs on my lips. I’m not used to this kind of attention.

After I’ve made my coffee, I grab a bagel from the microwave and smother it with cream cheese.

I’m one of those ‘Would you like a bagel with your cream cheese?’ types.

You can never have too much cream cheese.

As I’m spreading the cream cheese across the bread, my mind drifts from reality, swarming with thoughts about the last few days.

Sean is still on the run, my mother is clearly still drinking herself to death, I have a stalker who won’t stop taking pictures of Dean and me, and then there’s Dean.

The only thing keeping me from jumping out a window right now.

How much stress can one person endure before their heart gives out?

I still haven’t called the cops—a stupid decision, I’m sure.

But I can’t, and I’m not going to. I’m not running again. I’m fucking tired of living in fear.

The rest of my morning is as mundane as usual.

The Bunker is closed today. Ben decided a few years ago that one day a month, the entire staff gets the day off, and it’s been nice.

I’m sitting on the couch with my Kindle, but my mind is drifting to thoughts of last night.

I clench my thighs together at the reminder of him inside me, an ache growing there again just by thinking about it.

I’m quickly snapped out of my happy place when my phone rings.

Thinking it’s Dean, I don’t even check the caller ID.

“Hello?” I answer excitedly.

“Hello, is this Nikki Williams?”

“Yes, it is. Can I ask who is calling?”

“Hi, Nikki. I’m Dr. Harrison from Cimarron Creek Hospital in Cimarron, Texas. I have your mother here.”

“My mother?” I question. Cimarron is the city I grew up in, but I thought she left after I did. I didn’t expect her to go back.

“Yes. Dana Williams is your mother, right? You were listed as an emergency contact,” she tells me.

“Yes. Dana is my mother. What happened to her?”

“Well, it seems as though your mother was intoxicated and was in an accident. She’s alive, but she’s in critical condition. She doesn't seem to have anyone else here, so I wanted to call and inform you in case you wanted to come and see her,” she tells me.

“Is she going to survive?” I ask almost coldly.

“We do expect her to make a full recovery,” Dr. Harrison responds.

“Thanks for the call, Doctor. But I won’t be visiting. I haven’t had a relationship with my mother in years, and I don’t expect that to start now. When she wakes up, she can figure out her next steps from there,” I tell her and swiftly hang up the phone.

I set my phone on the table and immediately burst into tears.

The thing about boundaries is that they still have a tendency to hurt when you have to enforce them.

Part of me still loves her deep down. That unhealed child in me will always cry for a mother she never had.

I don’t like knowing she almost died, but I also can’t forget everything that has happened and rush to her side. I can never face her again.

I don’t think I’ll ever heal from this. I don’t think there will be a day when I’ll not be sad thinking about my mother, thinking about what was robbed from me. I will always battle with loving her and hating her.

This will always hurt. But I can’t help but think that maybe Dean will choose me. That maybe I am worthy of love from him. That maybe he will show me what it is like to be put first.

And for the first time in a while, that thought gives me a little bit of hope.