Page 16 of Wicked Lies Grow Wildflowers

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MAEREN

My mind was reeling the entire drive home.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how good Xander smelled.

I wish I could have bottled the scent. The feeling of his hand around my throat is permanently tattooed on every nerve beneath my skin.

His presence is hulking and as unnerving as he is, I also feel a sense of security.

Regardless of what he says, I won’t run from him, there isn’t a reason to. At least, not yet.

When I pull into my parking space, something on the ground catches my eye.

Reaching down, I pick it up with shaking hands, realizing that it’s a polaroid photo of myself.

In my assigned parking spot. I look closer and notice that it was taken on one of my runs last week.

I’m facing away from the camera, the person who took it clearly following me.

Tears well in my eyes at how violated I feel.

The flowers, the note, this photo—all absolutely connected.

They have to be. There isn’t any writing on it either, no way to identify who took it.

Locking my car, I run inside my apartment, slamming my door and making sure it’s locked tight behind me.

I slide to the floor and pull my knees to my chest, trying to think logically.

Calling the cops is probably the wisest decision right now, just out of precaution if nothing else.

This no longer feels like a funny game I can brush off or explain away.

I can’t chalk it up to coincidence. My stomach drops as I briefly consider that Xander could be the one behind this, before quickly kicking that thought away.

It’s absurd. How could he be? We were just together the last two hours.

I dial the non-emergency police number and explain my situation to the operator, trying as hard as I can to keep my voice steady, and they assure me they will send someone out to check on me.

Twenty minutes later, an officer arrives and takes my story down, searching my apartment to make sure no one got inside, not seeing a single item out of place.

The officer takes the note and photo in for evidence to see if they can get any prints.

He isn’t confident that anything will come back, but it’s better than nothing, I guess.

When the officer leaves, my hearing tunnels and a panic attack strikes.

I haven’t had one in so long, and though I battle anxiety constantly, I’m able to manage it.

Panic attacks hit me suddenly and without warning, filling me with an overwhelming sense of dread and the promise of death, no matter how irrational that is.

I try to remember the coping skills my old therapist taught me.

Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste.

I go through all of the steps and try to breathe through the feeling of my heart slamming out of my chest and my brain screaming at me that I’m going to die.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay .

Gracie comes over and curls up on my lap, stealing my attention as if she knew exactly what I needed.

I focus on smoothing her soft hair, trying to distract myself from the flood of emotions waging war inside of my brain.

My phone rings and I nearly jump out of my skin, almost throwing Gracie off of me.

The shrill ringtone feels far too loud in the utterly silent space and snaps me right out of my daze.

I pick it up, seeing that it’s been an hour since the officer left and realizing that my mother is calling me.

The worst timing. The universe has to hate me, there’s no other reason this is happening right now.

I consider ignoring the call but I know she will just blow my phone up if I don’t, so I might as well rip the band aid off now. I wipe away my tears and suck in a ragged breath. “Hello, Mother,” I say, my voice void of any emotion. I have none left to give.

“You could act more excited to talk to your own mother, you know.”

“You caught me at a bad time,” I pacify.

“Well, it’s always a bad time for you, isn’t it?

I just wanted to see if you were done being mad at me or not.

You acted like a petulant child the last time we spoke.

I deserve and would love an apology, but I know you would just lie through your teeth.

I may forgive you if you choose to come to dinner in two weeks. ”

“I’m sorry if my boundaries and intolerance for disrespect were triggering for you, Mother. But no, I won’t apologize for standing up for myself,” I spit out.

“Oh Maeren, you will never grow up, will you?” she says in a sickeningly sweet voice. “Just come for dinner and we can move on. I’d like to have you over, we have catching up to do.”

“Sure, Mom.” I’m so glad she can’t hear my eye roll.

“Text me the day and time so I can put it in my calendar. I’ll be there.

I have to go now though. Bye.” I hang up the call before I start screaming at her.

I try to stay as calm as possible but sometimes my anger boils up, and right now all I want to do is smack the condescension right out of her voice.

Pacify. Pacify. Pacify. An hour in two weeks. I can do that.

After the short conversation with my mother, I’m even more exhausted and can barely carry myself to my bed. I strip out of my clothes and climb under the covers, knowing that tomorrow will be even worse than today. The day after a panic attack always hits the worst.

Oh God. Everything hurts. My head pounds, my muscles tight and achy.

No one talks about how the rush of adrenaline from a panic attack gives you a hangover.

It’s not as bad as the episode itself, but it’s as bad as the initial comedown.

You’re no longer only heavily exhausted, you’re heavily exhausted and everything hurts.

My body was wound so tightly with dread and it will take a while for that tension to totally dissipate.

I decide to call into work so I can recover as there’s no way I can feign my usual preppy customer service attitude right now. And in all honesty, I’m too nervous to leave my house. The idea alone makes me want to throw up.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. The officer assured me I wasn’t in direct harm but to exercise caution: lock my doors, let someone know my whereabouts, stay alert—all things I typically do as a woman.

I called Sage and let her know the situation had escalated and she took it about as well as I thought she would.

Which means she freaked out, threatened to dismember whoever is behind this, and then offered to have me move in with her.

I assured her that I’m okay here for now and shared my live location with her, just in case .

If I mysteriously go missing she will be able to find me, if my phone is on me, that is.

I make a mental note to always double check for my phone when I leave and to always keep it charged.

Am I being paranoid? Maybe. But I also think of it as being proactive.

I refuse to end up like one of the victims featured on my favorite podcast.

Once Sage is briefed, I think back to before my day went to hell yesterday.

Xander. I didn’t update her on him or the entire situation that unfolded between us yesterday.

I didn’t mention a single thing about it because I just didn’t have the energy to recount all of the details. I will tell her though—eventually.

There really isn’t much to talk about right now anyways.

We had one kiss and parted ways. It’s not like he warned me to stay away and then practically forced me to leave.

He wasn’t giving me whiplash with his hot and cold behavior at all.

Nope. It was a simple, regular, ordinary kiss.

I’m definitely not sweating as I replay it in my mind.

Xander is… something . Intense. That’s the right word—he is extremely intense.

I’ve never even so much as flirted with anyone like him before.

He seems older than he is but I highly doubt he’s much older than myself.

He has an air of experience around him, like he’s seen some horrors in life.

I recognized that because it calls to me.

Maybe he’s just as damaged as I am and that’s why I feel such an intense and innate connection.

Maybe I should reach out to him? No, that would seem too needy.

I just saw him yesterday and the last thing I want is to come off as desperate.

I would probably die of mortification if he thought I seemed too into him.

There’s a fine line between interest and neediness.

Not that I have any real relationship experience to go off of, but that seems right.

I should probably refrain from all contact until my thoughts are less scattered.

I don’t want to accidentally say, “ Sorry, Xander, I’m a little out of my mind right now because I feel like maybe I have a stalker and I thought that it could be you, but there’s no way that’s right.

It totally couldn’t be you and now you think I’m absolutely insane for even thinking that at all. ”

But what if he doesn’t think I’m interested due to my silence and decides to end things before they’ve even begun?

What if he’s waiting on me to make the next move because he wants to give me some space and just assumes I’m not interested?

He seemed so into me but maybe he worries it’s all one sided.

Screw it . I’m a grown woman, I can do this. I’m too old to play mind games.

Picking up my phone, I craft a text. I want to sound casual, but I can’t exactly say, “ Wow, that kiss basically scrambled my brains and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since it happened. So hey, how’s it going?”

That would make me seem absolutely psychotic, so I settle on,