Tara Sivec - Worn Me Down

Getting out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom to shower off the sweat and feelings of anxiety the dream left in its wake. When I’m finished, I quietly creep into Emma’s room and gently sit on the edge of her bed. I watch her chest rise and fall with the deep breaths of sleep and I softly run the backs of my fingers down her cheek.

Every single day since I walked out of the house William and I shared with just one single bag filled with as much of my and Emma’s things that would fit inside of it, I’ve second-guessed my decision. What kind of a mother takes a child away from her father? William always wanted a boy and the disappointment when we found out we were having a girl was evident. He never spent one-on-one time with her, never read her a bedtime story or did any other special things that a father should do with his daughter, but he still loved her in his own way. He hurt me , he bruised me and he broke me . After I left the hospital three days after that night, the only thing I could think about was – what if he would have killed me? Emma would be alone with him. What if he decided to use her as his punching bag in my absence? I knew if I stayed with him, he would eventually kill me and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her at his mercy.

Emma sighs in her sleep, rolls towards me and burrows her face deeper into her pillow. I bite back tears as I slowly slide into bed next to her and rest my head on her pillow, wrapping my arm around her small body and pulling her closer to me. I breathe in the scent of Johnson’s baby shampoo that lingers in her hair and I remind myself that I did what I had to do. I did what I thought was right to keep my baby safe, and I would do it all over again if I had the chance.

A knock at the door wakes me up at six and I rub the sleep from my eyes, glancing down to see that Emma is still asleep next to me. With a kiss to her head, I carefully get out of bed, closing her door behind me and heading out into the living room.

Looking out of the peephole, I don’t see anyone there. A feeling of unease washes through me when I think about the letter that came in the mail and how William knows where I am now. Brady’s apartment building is small, but it’s secure. No one can come up to an apartment without being buzzed in first. Feeling like an idiot for being nervous when it’s probably just the super dropping off the rent bill, I slide the chain off of the door and unlock the deadbolt, opening the door slowly.

Glancing down at the floor in the hallway, my blood runs cold and my hand flies to my mouth to cover up a sob. Standing in a row like little soldiers guarding the door are three crystal vases, overflowing with bunches of purple orchids. Their spicy, vanilla scent fills the hallway, overwhelming my senses until I feel like I might throw up. I quickly slam the door closed, my hands shaking as it takes me three tries to put the chain back on and secure the deadbolt. Once the door is locked, I back away; staring at the door like it will burst open at any moment and my worse nightmare will be standing in front of me. I keep walking backwards until my ass bumps into the wall next to the television and I slide down to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

I used to love purple orchids. Growing up, my mother kept vases of them in every room. It was the one good memory I have of being a little girl – going to the flower shop with her every Sunday and buying orchids to fill the house. We would pick out the plants with the prettiest blooms and the softest petals and then she would take me to the country club for lunch, just the two of us. She wouldn’t nag me about sitting up straight, minding my manners or acting like a lady. We would talk about the beautiful flowers and how nice the house would smell as soon as we got home.

My head thumps back against the wall and I squeeze my eye shut to try and keep the tears from falling as I think about how much I loved orchids and Sundays alone with my mother.

I loved them until my mother told William they were my favorite flower. I loved them until he would buy them for me every time he hurt me as a way to absolve himself from the pain he inflicted, as if a bouquet of flowers could erase what he’d done.

The smell of the flowers in the hall clings to my nose and my body shakes with the memory of each and every time I received a vase of those flowers.

She’s late for work and she’s not answering her phone. Is this how she “forgets” about what happened between us, by ignoring me and not coming to work?

That’s just fucking great.

The office phone has been ringing off of the hook for the last hour and a half and even though I’ve familiarized myself with Brady’s current cases, I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing with the new ones that roll in.

The bell above the door chimes and I look up to see a guy walk in. He’s wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses and his look just screams “security guard”. Sliding the glasses off of his face, he looks at me in confusion. “Where’s Gwen?”

Ignoring the ringing phone, I shrug. “Beats the fuck out of me. Who are you?”

“Dylan Callahan. I’m a friend of Gwen’s,” he tells me with a smile, holding his hand out for me to shake.

I don’t like the way he says her name, like he’s entirely too familiar with her. It burns a hole in my gut and makes me want to punch the smile right off of his face. God dammit. One kiss from this woman and I already feel like a jealous asshole.

I begrudgingly grab his hand and shake it, squeezing it a little too hard just because I can. “Austin Conrad. I’m filling in for Brady.”

He lets go of my hand and shoves his sunglasses into the front pocket of his suit coat. “Brady mentioned something about you being here. I was working as Layla’s body guard before he decided to get his head out of his ass and profess his undying love for her,” Dylan explains with a laugh.

Now I remember him. Brady told me about how the night he went back for Layla she was about two seconds away from kissing this douche bag. Even though Brady worked out a plan with Dylan ahead of time so he could get some alone time with Layla, Dylan went off the rails a little to make Brady jealous.

I knew there was a reason I hated this guy on sight.

“What do you need Gwen for?” I ask, getting up from the desk and walking around to the front of it.

“I’ve known her and Brady since high school. When I told her I was going to be in town, Gwenny told me to stop by so we could catch up.”

Gwenny? I’m going to throat punch this motherfucker.

“Well, she’s not here so you’re date is going to have to wait,” I tell him, not even bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.

No wonder Gwenny was so gung-ho on forgetting about what happened between us. She’s got this asshole waiting in the wings.

“Well, can you let her know I stopped by? I’ll be in Nashville for about two weeks, so we’ll have plenty of time to get together,” he informs me, pulling his sunglasses back out of his jacket and sliding them on his face. “She’s got my number. Just have her call me.”

Yeah, I’ll get right on that.

Dylan turns and walks out of the office right when the phone starts ringing again.

Fuck this shit.

Grabbing my keys from the desk, I storm out the door, locking it behind me. If Gwenny wants to ‘catch up’ with Mr. Bodyguard, that’s fine with me. She can get her ass into the office and take her own damn messages.

I cannot believe I’m actually going back to the “scene of the crime” to tell Gwen her date was looking for her, yet here I am. She was quick to brush off what happened between us and it’s not like I wanted to chat about it either, but now it looks like we’re going to have to do just that if I want to restore some semblance of peace between us so she can get her ass back to work.