Page 3 of Fragile hearts

I hadn’t attended his funeral. I was still in recovery. In the fifteen years since his death, I haven’t been able to visit his grave. I know where the cemetery is.

I have looked it up dozens of times. Sometimes I would lie in bed wondering what his headstone would look like. What would be written on it, and if people still remembered him and brought him flowers. But I could never bring myself to visit.

I have always had a little hope I have been dreaming. That my whole life since the attack has been my imagination, and I’m scared that if I visit his grave, I would realize that everything was indeed real and he is really dead.

They never found the killer. Mr. Monroe never existed. They think he changed his name, but since he had left no DNA behind, they couldn’t track him. He’s still around, living as if he did nothing wrong. I was always afraid he would come back if I visited this town, but it’s been fifteen years and not once has he made an appearance.

I had paid the deposit a few days ago, when I had received the news that I was allowed to rent the place. They had handed me the key and told me when I could move in. The place is fully furnished. There is one bedroom already equipped with a bed and everything you could think of.

The other one is empty, but I’m planning on turning that into a bedroom too. The living room has a big lounge sofa with a fifty-six-inch TV hanging on the wall, which is way bigger than I used to have.

The dining table seats four people. But I won’t use it much, since I’m used to eating on the couch.

But what I’m most excited about is the sixty-inch tub. I have never used a tub before. My old apartment didn’t have one, and I was never allowed to use one growing up.

I had packed all my necessities, which mostly consisted of clothes and pictures I have of Micah and me. And then went on the road. It all went well until my 2012 KIA Rio. My baby, who’s been by my side for the past 5 years, started sputtering and decided to stall out a few miles from my destination.

There weren’t any signs that could tell me what was wrong. I had popped the hood. But there was no smoke or oil leaking anywhere. And apart from that. I had no idea what to look for. So I called the tow company. They told me they would send someone as quickly as possible. But that was over two hours ago. So now I’m here sitting in the grass, my skin burning in the blazing sun.

I rub my fingertips against the scar on my throat. It feels sore due to the bright sunlight. I’ve searched for some shadow but found nothing.

There are no trees in sight. There is a grassy field landscape filled with tulips, roses, and other types of flowers I can’t name. In the distance, I hear some birds chirping, but other than that it’s completely silent.

I blow out a breath, rubbing my sore arms. A black truck heads my way, the tires screeching against the asphalt. I jump up, my body sluggish from sitting too long. I wave at the driver. “Here!” I scream, “I’m here!” A man exits the car, grabs a black baseball cap, and places it on his head as he walks over to me, the grass crunches underneath his feet.

“Thank god,” I breathe out. “I thought no one was coming.”

The man steps a few feet away from me. Wavy brown hair peeks from underneath his hat. He’s towering above me. I’m not the shortest at five foot eight, but he’s at least five inches taller than me.

His eyes meet mine, his left eye a bright blue, while his other is a chestnut brown. They’re beautiful. I have never seen someone with such intriguing eyes before. But there is a lingering sadness behind them. His shoulders are tight as if he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice deep and raspy. I rub my sore arms again, certain I’ve developed a sunburn.

“Yes, turning into a lobster, though.”

His eyebrows pinch. “You don’t have sunscreen?”

“I used the last bit of it, thought I could buy a new bottle today. But as you can see, I haven’t had time for that.”

He hums, then turns on his feet and walks towards his car. His footsteps are large compared to mine. I’m almost near the car when something dawns on me.

“Wait. How do I know you’re not gonna kidnap me?”

The man turns around and raises his brows at me. “You think you’d still be standing there if I wanted to kidnap you?”

Well, he has a point there. I would be lying in the trunk of his car with my mouth taped shut and my hands bound together.

“Come on, I’ve got more things to do.” He opens the passenger side door for me.

I climb into my seat. He closes the door behind me, circles the car, and sits down in the driver’s seat.

We drive in silence. He doesn’t turn the radio on, which I don’t mind. I grab a lollipop out of my pocket. I always carry a few with me. I was never allowed candy growing up, so when I got my own place, I started experimenting. I bought numerous kinds of candy to see what the hype was about. In the end, I bought lollipops, and I have been addicted to them since. “Want one?” I offer it to the man. He stares at it, then at me and nods.

I unwrap it for him and hand it over.

He stares at it, puzzled, then sticks it in his mouth. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”