Page 5 of Fragile hearts

I step back. Then turn around and head the other way. I make my way through the town. My hands are clammy, my heart racing, as if I’ve run a marathon.

I count in my head, trying to calm myself.

It has been fifteen years since I last saw that house, but it feels like yesterday.

I decide I’m going to walk to my house. I can’t unpack my suitcases since they are still in my car. I decide to take the scenic route.

How far can it be?

Apparently very far. I’m sweating like a pig. My clothes stick to my body.

My hair is soaking wet. And I don’t even want to talk about my smell. And on top of that, I feel like a tourist attraction. I’ve been greeted by numerous people I have never met while they’re full-on ogling my scar.

After what feels like hours, I finally reach the house from the pictures. It’s just like I imagined. The front garden reminds me of the landscape I was in earlier. It’s in desperate need of mowing, but that’s a thing for later. I take my keys out of my pocket, then unlock the door, open it, and whisper. “I’m home, Mickey.”

Chapter Two

Alexis

Someone is breaking into my house.

Or rather, trying to.

So far, he has not succeeded.

I was lying in bed with my window open to let the cool, breezy air in. When I heard a voice outside, I stared out my window and saw a person standing by my front door. I ran downstairs and hid behind the kitchen counter.

Keys rattle against my stained glass door. My heart is hammering in my throat, knees aching from kneeling too long. I turn around, searching for something—there—a baseball bat.

I grab the long piece of wood. My fingers thrum over the cracked pieces, the letters fading from the long-time use.

I hoist it over my shoulder. Take a deep breath, crack my neck as I trail towards the door. It’s a man. I hear him clearer now. He mutters something as I near the door. “Stupid key.”

He doesn’t see me approaching. My hand touches the door handle. In one breath, I swing the door open using all my strength. The door creaks from the force. The burglar whose head was leaning against it stumbles. Explicit words tumble from his mouth. “What the fuck!” With swift movements, he keeps himself standing, holding the doorpost with all his might. He lifts his head. Staring down at me. His face contracted with anger and confusion. His eyes sweep over me. Then, quicker than I can anticipate, he takes the bat away from me. And throws it behind him. The sound of wood hitting concrete echoes through the night. I stare at him, my mouth wide open. Then look closer. The moonlight shines brightly on his face. I recognize those eyes.

Carson.

He’s not wearing a cap now. His brown hair is tousled. “You?” I ask, puzzled.

Was I right? Was he going to kidnap me?

“Hi, Sunshine.”

Sunshine? He sure is creative with his nicknames.

He has dark circles under his eyes, which make perfect sense since it’s in the middle of the night. I open my mouth, then see three familiar objects standing behind him—my suitcases.

Why the hell did he have my suitcases?

“I was going to bring them to you.”

“In the middle of the night?”

He stares at me, the keys of my house still in his hand. Then it hits me.

He was going to break in.

“You just tried to break into my house.”