Stripping off, I hop in. The water burns my skin, making me jump. My skin is so cold the water feels like it is blistering it. I only know it is my skin that is cold by the shaking of my hands and the fact that my toes are blue. Easing myself in slowly, I let the water warm my freezing body, inhaling the smell of my two-dollar strawberry shampoo.
When I hop out, I grab my fluffy towel and walk into my room, quickly getting dressed before hopping in bed. I have to be back at work by 5:30 am for the breakfast shift. Wrapping myself up in my comforter like a human burrito, I close my eyes, drifting off into the darkness of sleep.
E
velyn
I sleep terribly. Nightmares plague my sleep, making me toss and turn, and I wake in a sweat. My anxiety forces me to get up and check all the locks again.
Then, lying in bed, trying to go back to sleep, my mind won’t stop questioning if I really checked the lock on the windows or the door. And that, in turn, makes me even more paranoid, so I’m forced to get out of the bed to check again.
By the time the noise of my alarm blares next to my head, I feel like a zombie. Dragging myself to my feet, I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. Only nothing comes out. The pipes shudder and groan, but no water. “Fuck!” I scream, annoyed, realizing the water has frozen in the pipes overnight. This has to happen in the morning when I need a shower to wake myself.
Walking into the kitchen, I pick up the kettle to find it empty.
“Not today, Satan!” I yell, flipping him off with both hands, as I march to my room and grab a fresh blouse from the closet and some black slacks.
Quickly getting dressed, I throw on my flats only for my toes to go straight through the end. “Really? Can this day get any worse?” I groan, as I get up and dig through the kitchen drawer.
Duct tape. Duct tape fixes everything. Grabbing a roll of black tape, I tape my flats that now have a mouth for my toes to play peekaboo. Giving my toes a wriggle, they seem to hold, but just in case, I wrap more around the end of my shoes to make sure they hold in the snow.
Buttoning up my blouse, I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth. Then, I make the mistake of looking at my reflection. My god, I look like shit.
I haven’t slept in a good week, which is easy to prove by the huge, dark bags under my eyes. Any bigger, I could smuggle my wallet in them. When I think of my wallet, I quickly rinse my mouth, drop everything, and run to get my bag. I reach into it and dig around for the wallet.
Panicking, I tip my bag upside down and the contents spill on my bed. My wallet is gone, and I don’t remember picking it up.
I could try going back the way I came to see if I can find it. The thought alone makes me shiver in fear.
Throwing my phone into my bag, I toss it over my shoulder before grabbing my sweater and pulling it over my head. Pulling my hair into a high ponytail, I unlock my door and take a deep breath, willing myself to leave the safety of my trailer. When I swing the door open, I quickly rush out before locking it. As I turn around, I see something sitting on the top step. Looking around, I eye the package suspiciously. It is a cardboard box. Bending down, I pick it up and open it.
My blood runs cold, and my heart hammers in my chest so hard I think it might bounce out. My breathing comes in short pants, as panic takes over. Anxiety is my biggest weakness. It takes nothing and everything to set it off. Nothing feels worse than the adrenaline that pumps through your veins, just because your brain becomes a little irrational.
I know I’m not being irrational this time, though. As I look down at my wallet, I know I have a reason to panic and burn bridges in fear. They know where I live.
What if they come back to finish off the job? I look around to make sure they aren’t lurking around.
Gripping the handrail of the stairs, I try to ground myself. Something I can feel: the wooden handrail. Check. Something I can see snow. Check. Something I can taste: my toothpaste. Check, check, fucking check. Yep, very much alive still.
I will my heart to stop racing and beating erratically. Forcing my feet down the stairs, I practically run the entire way to work, bursting through the glass door.
The bell jingles loudly, as Lisa spins around from serving someone and stares at me, bewildered. “Geez, Evelyn, the way you burst in, I thought we were being held up again,” she says, coffee pot in hand.
“Sorry,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath as I place my hands on my knees.
Standing up, I look around. The cafe is retro, with its red and white checked flooring, brightly colored bench seats, and table decorations. I notice the person Lisa is serving is watching me. I drop my eyes, but I can feel his eyes on me as I walk behind the counter and grab my apron.
Lisa sets the coffee pot down and I grab a mug, filling it before gulping down the liquid gold.
“Rough night?”
“You have no idea,” I tell her, finishing my cup and pouring another.
“Vick isn’t in yet. Hopefully, he doesn’t stop in today,” Lisa says, walking past and squeezing my shoulder.
The morning is abnormally quiet. Like, no one comes in, except the man that Lisa served. When I watch him from behind the counter, he looks up and I avert my gaze. Something is off about him.