Page 16 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

MAGGIE

Frozen.

I’m frozen with fear.

I lie in my bed in the darkness, heart racing, breaths shaking, eyes glued to my shut door.

Did I hear something in the apartment in real life or was it in my head? I’d just been stirring from an upsetting dream about Kyle, so maybe my brain….

My pulse doesn’t listen to that possibility; my ears listen for more noises.

It was thud-like, the sound I heard. Muffled yet thud-like.

I’ve gone so rigid that my muscles are starting to ache.

Calm down, I tell myself. Even if there was a noise, it was probably Emma or Joy. They live here, too, remember? Maybe one of them was getting something from the refrigerator and the door thudded shut.

That makes sense. I know it does. Those kinds of things happen all the time.

But it’s hard to separate fear from fact.

Dream-Kyle is still vivid in my mind, thudding me into a car, scaring me as much as the real Kyle did at Merritt’s and in the Lucent parking lot. I was so weak in my dream—the terrible, can’t-even-talk kind of weak—and dream-Kyle was making me go with him, and nobody was around to help me and I couldn’t run and—

As that panic collides with the panic I feel now, a weak whimper escapes me.

Think comforting thoughts. Think comforting thoughts. Don’t dwell on that other stuff, Maggie, just….

A soft tone.

Not here—not in my room or on the other side of my door. No, a soft tone in my memory.

‘You can relax. This is as much of a problem as he’s gonna be tonight.’

Tears well in my eyes as I pull a jagged breath in through my nose.

Luke being near me was comforting.

He sat next to me, close enough to touch me, a most unexpected guardian.

He’s not here now, though. It’s just me and noises I can’t place and fear and nightmares and uncertainty.

What if Kyle really does know where I live? What if he’s mad about earlier and he—?

My heart rate must’ve begun to calm, because now it’s picking up again.

I felt safe with Luke. Maybe I didn’t feel like his friend or like we were okay or like we could have a lot of fun, but I did feel safe. He didn’t abandon me when I needed him.

I wish he were here, I can’t help thinking. He kept me safe. I wish I could know he was near me. I miss knowing that.

I don’t even have his phone number. I can’t text him and tell him I’m afraid, or call him and hear his voice, or…or….

But he probably wouldn’t help anyway. Not again.

He did what I asked him to do. He had a temporary job, and he did it, and he told me his thoughts on informing the police, and all of that was incredibly generous of him. If I keep coming to him with this, I will be an imposition.

We are not on good enough terms for him to want to involve himself any further.

Feeling overwhelmed by that knowledge and my thoughts about him and my roiling anxiety, I give in to the urge to quietly cry.

I’m tired. I want to rest, not be afraid.

I wish I weren’t by myself.

But as quickly as I’ve dampened my hair and pillow with tears, I think again about my friends.

I’m not really by myself.

It’s not feasible for Luke to be of any help to me, but I could text my group chat with the girls and ask if one of them made the noise I heard. Could say I’m scared.

I sigh, then sniffle thickly and locate my phone.

Not even a minute has passed before my message gets answered:

JOY: Oh, my love :( Yes, it was me getting some water. I’m so sorry I scared you! Want me to come sleep in there with you?

It’s insane how quickly that sends relief barreling through me.

Suddenly breathing easier, I close my wet eyes in a long blink. With another, lighter sigh, I shake my head at myself, then smile at her sweet offer.

ME: Oh, whew. God. I really had myself freaked out. Don’t be sorry, but yes, I’d love to not be alone

I get my lamp turned on low. In no time, one of my sisters from another mister is coming to my rescue, armed with her own pillow and an apologetic glass of water she got just for me.

She’s so thoughtful it actually makes me laugh a little.

“Thank you, Joyful,”

I whisper.

“No need for thanks,”

she whispers back.

“I love you!”

“I love you more.”

“Nuh uh!”

We giggle while she gets comfortable on the other side of my bed. I take a sip of the refreshing water, then turn off the lamp and get comfortable again too.

She says.

“Don’t get spooked if Emma reads our messages and comes to join the Keep Maggie Comfy sleepover.”

Now I grin and reply.

“Fair warning,”

because it is.

Joy giggles again.

I have the best friends in the entire world.

We both go quiet.

It’s not long at all before I’m sinking back into peace, caring a little less about my nightmare…

…although a flush does reach all the way into my bone marrow over how quickly my brain jumped to missing being near Luke.

—

Oh no. Oh, God.

My chest is on fire.

My heart is pounding, frantic, making my chest feel like it’s on fire.

If I thought I was afraid last night in my bed—

But no, no, no. This is not real. It can’t be.

Please don’t be here. Please, God, let me be imagining this. Let it be another nightmare.

It’s real, though.

Kyle is here, at the same grocery store I’ve been at for the last fifteen minutes.

I was only just starting to get over my anxiety about how things went at Merritt’s. Now he’s where I am yet again.

I can’t tell that he has actually seen me—he appears to be minding his own business in the poultry section, pondering packages of chicken with his hands in his pockets like a normal shopper on an ordinary Thursday afternoon. But I still turn and speed away down the aisle closest to me, not caring that I needed chicken thighs.

I don’t care about anything anymore except leaving.

What do I do? I think wildly, my entire body feeling hot now, my grip tight around my basket handle. What do I do? Should I ask someone for help?

I look behind me and don’t see him. He’s not following me or even peeking around the corner.

No need for help. A coincidence—once again, it’s just a coincidence that he’s nearby.

Yeah. Yeah, it must be, right? He’s not here to bother me, right? Or else he would have already?

Unless he’s staying back on purpose to avoid my attention so I don’t cause a scene. If it seems like a random encounter, he won’t look suspicious.

“Motherfucker,”

I puff out.

A woman close to me turns shocked eyes my way.

“Language, young lady!”

Well, it’s not an expletive I use very often, but I don’t have time to apologize for how harsh it sounds. Also, her chest. Is not. On fire.

As I approach the registers, I peer around again—and find Kyle is coming into view now, and looking around, too, but not at items, and he’s not holding any chicken.

Don’t see me.

I leave my basket with an already-busy cashier and bumble out.

“I’m so sorry—an emergency—”

but she doesn’t seem to hear me because she’s chatting with her customer.

A cart attendant is just outside the entrance. I ask him to walk me to my car, making sure I’m heard this time—in fact, I have to apologize anew right after because my tone is brusquer than intended. He forgives me easily when I quickly explain what my matter is.

My eyes drink up our surroundings on our way across the parking lot and even after I’m in my car, despite that he keeps a lookout. Kyle hasn’t come outside. I buckle up in such a rush that I piss off a fingernail, but there’s no time to baby it.

“Coast is clear,”

I assure myself.

“Kyle’s not out here. I looked twenty times. He’s still in the store. He’s not following me.”

These things may be true, but they don’t stop me from watching my rearview mirror once I’m on the road. I obsess about making sure no cars behind me look iffy.

Thank God none do.

The trembles in me won’t settle down, though.

In the sudden clutter of my mind, I manage to wonder what the dinner plan is now. It had been for me to start some soup in the slow cooker before going to work so Emma and Joy can eat it when they get off. Now my burst of anxiety refuses to let me drive to a different grocery store. It doesn’t want to do that or go shopping for better workout clothes like I intended to—it wants to hide away at home.

That’s what I’ll do. Something else can be figured out for dinner; the girls will understand. And exercise clothes can wait.

Still, the more distance I put between me and Kyle, the more my brain is freed up for frustration. Guilt too.

This…isn’t fair.

It’s unfair that someone can make me too afraid to see to my responsibilities and to follow my interests.

After Luke and Paxton left us girls at home last night, I took the advice to call the police and ask for guidance. The officer recorded notes on my concerns about Kyle Danfords, but his information mimicked what we all read online. He said not to engage with Kyle. He recommended buying pepper spray or some other easy-to-access weapon, as well as doing my best to always be around someone who can help me if needed. He said to keep a log of incidents and encounters, make my friends and relatives aware so they know who to look out for, and call the police for real if Kyle gets more threatening.

I generally like being prepared, having instructions to follow, knowing what to do and not do, knowing what’s expected of me. But right now I feel weak, helpless, and ill-equipped.

The world is full of hiding places for frightening things, and I’m one Maggie who can’t keep an eye on all of them.

And truly, my day wasn’t awful before this. I was doing decently—not completely relaxed, but not stiff and on-edge. My mood had improved after waking in the night from that dream; between my friends’ support, getting better rest, and remembering how to handle things, I loosened up enough to go about my day pretty much as usual.

Now I’m shaken and feeling stupid for going to the store alone.

By the time I’m back home, I’m just about quaking.

I sit on the couch, then stand and pace for five seconds, then sit again. I message my friends, get up and peek out the windows for unusual cars or Kyle, pace some more. Turn the TV on so I can exercise, then turn it back off because I’m too worked up, then turn it back on because I feel like I have to do something with all this worried energy inside me.

In my room, my thoughts are a flurry while I change into the best exercise clothes I have.

It’s okay. I’m okay here. It’s just me. Kyle didn’t follow me home. He doesn’t know where I live.

I don’t think.

What if he does?

No, I can’t go there. I don’t even have a solid reason to suspect that.

But I also didn’t have a reason to think he’d be at that grocery store when we have so many others he could’ve gone to, or that he’d wait outside for me to get off work the other night, or that he’d secretly plan to go to the bar when I—

A knock at the front door tears a jagged gasp from me.

Time grinds to a stop.

Just like that, I’m terrified.

Just like last night in bed, I’m frozen.

I stand in the middle of my bedroom, my hands having paused pulling my capri leggings on, my gaze aimed in the direction of the living area.

I feel like I can’t breathe from my rising panic, feel ice-cold and burning hot at the same time.

It’s not him. It can’t be him. It wouldn’t be.

Except I don’t know that for sure.

The police—I need to call the police if it is him, which means I need to look out the peephole.

I’m scared to move.

But it’s important that I call for help if Kyle is at my home. No, it’s not just important, it’s a must. It’s non-negotiable.

Another knock comes, startling me all over again.

I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.

I should’ve gone somewhere public after all.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

There’s no time for ‘should’ve.’ I gotta get to the peephole. One, two, three, go.

I jerk my leggings the rest of the way on, adjust my loose tank top, and make my feet carry me to the front door as quietly as possible. Hoping I’m not radiating distress that could be noticed even through a door, I hold my breath and go on my tiptoes and look out the—

“Oh my God,”

I burst out at full volume. As I clap a hand over my mouth, it feels like my heart is going to explode from my chest.

Then a quick second passes and I’ve got the door unlocked and opened, and Luke is in full view.

“Oh my God,”

I repeat, so overwhelmingly relieved that I could fully cry.

“It’s just you!”

He runs one, two, three looks over me.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m glad you’re home. Can I come in? I gotta talk to you.”

His tense and unsteady tone registers with me, and my chaotic brain notices how he looks. He stands with tightly crossed arms and a jittery leg. His hair looks like his hands have been through it more than once. Those blue eyes are tired and wild at the same time.

Top to bottom, he matches how I feel.

Part of me wants the explanation for his visit right this second because Luke Bramhill doesn’t just drop by my home and get welcomed in. But with my current mood on top of last night? God knows I’m happier to see him than I am annoyed.

I step back to let him through the doorway. I start to ask him to check that Kyle isn’t out in the hall somehow, but he glances around all by himself. That watchful look is familiar from when our group left Merritt’s; I’m that much more relieved to know he’s still on guard.

He comes into the apartment, which means no one worrisome is around.

Nevertheless, I’m glad to get the door shut and locked again.

“Did you think I was Kyle?”

he asks, sounding concerned.

I turn to look at him. There’s a frown on his face, furthering the discontentment about him.

There’s no way I can lie.

“I was terrified you were. I’m—I’m fresh off of seeing him at the grocery store. It didn’t seem like he saw me, too, but I freaked out so badly that I stopped shopping and just left my basket and hurried out of there. He did start walking to the front after I did, though, and he was looking around, but not at stuff, so I don’t….”

My hands are going clammy at my thinking about it, so I rub them on the sides of my tank top.

“I made sure he wasn’t following me after that, but it only happened, like, twenty minutes ago and I’m here alone and it’s so easy to worry, especially after my dream last night—I had a nightmare about him—and so when someone knocked on the door, I…um….”

As I try to catch my breath, I realize I sound insane.

It leaves me in a whisper.

“I sound insane.”

Luke’s dark semi-curls are so mussed that they’ve lost their style. Some of them are hanging over one side of his forehead, and they brush back and forth there when he shakes his head, begging to be pushed away from his eyebrow.

He doesn’t do it. He just looks at me—right at me, right in the eyes. For all the world, it feels like I’m the only thing on his mind. The only thing he cares about.

When was the last time he looked…?

Eight years ago, my heart reminds me.

New pressure fills my chest. There’s old sorrow, betrayal, bitterness, but there’s also the safety I felt with him just last night—I’d been so thankful for it. I outright missed it when I woke from my nightmare in a panic. Now he’s here and the feeling of safety has come back; it’s such a relief for him not to be a threat even if he is Luke.

God, this is all so much to deal with.

The stress of Kyle at one turn, the dichotomy of Luke at the other.

“Would you have felt better if I was there?” he asks.

Tense, unsteady words paired with a frown and crossed arms and a jittery leg.

“At the store,”

he clarifies.

“Even in the parking lot at work. If I’d been with you, would you have felt better somehow?”

The questions surprise me. I don’t know why he’s asking them, but he’s right on target; I’d just been thinking about the sense of security he apparently brings me.

Indeed, his questions hypothetically comfort me, too, because I can easily imagine how differently his scenarios would’ve played out. Seeing Kyle would’ve upset and unnerved me, but Luke’s presence would’ve been like armor. It would’ve made me feel like I wasn’t truly vulnerable.

The knowledge pulls heat into my cheeks.

Still unable to lie, I nod.

He copies me. “Me too.”

Now puzzlement piles in.

“What? You would’ve felt—?”

“Don’t punch me, Maggie.”

I can’t question that before he’s stepping closer and settling his hands on my shoulders. The contact yanks a shocked breath from me, puts the twist-leap-fall feeling in my stomach, sets fire to every nerve ending I have because his grip is firm yet gentle and the straps of my shirt aren’t very wide, which means his skin is on my skin and—

“Don’t punch me,”

he says again, his eyes arresting mine.

“Just listen to me, okay? Listen to what I have to say and know that despite how it sounds, I’m serious about every single word.”

I can’t begin to name the fresh emotions coursing through me.

I certainly can’t move—not because he’s holding me still, but because my muscles refuse to pull away.

All they do is let me nod again.

He’s sorry for getting mad that I helped him with Ronald.

The random thought is a breeze through my mind.

“Okay,”

he mumbles.

“here we go.”

Distractedly, I mumble back.

“One, two, three?”

He ponders that, then agrees.

“Yeah, one, two, three,”

even as his frown deepens.

His noiseless mouthing of the numbers helps me count with him before—

“I think I should pretend to be your boyfriend.”