Chapter 5

5

Vega shook the wine bottle, coaxing the last drop of liquid out. She felt like a fiend, groaning when she realized she was officially out. "I can't believe this is my life."

The scar around her wrist hadn't lost its itch—it had worsened. Her skin was red and raw from her fingernails digging into the delicate skin.

She let the bottle hit the floor too hard, cringing until it stopped clattering and remained fully intact.

It had been over an hour since she'd gotten off the phone with the dispatch operator. Halfway through the bottle, she started hollering again, hoping that someone, anyone, would hear her on the other side. She felt like a prisoner in a cell.

A bottle of wine deep, she decided to press the Call button again. And again, and again, and again until her finger went numb. She wanted to cry, to scream, but what was the point?

She was alone. Truly and utterly alone.

Vega laid herself on the floor, sprawled out like a starfish. One, two, three, four, five, six… She began to count the lines in the ceiling tile until she had to go back to the beginning and start again .

A voice sounded on the other side of the elevator when she got to 995. "Hello?" Vega almost thought it was all in her head until the deep voice continued to talk. "This is the Chicago Fire Department. We're here to get you out. Can you hear me?"

Vega jumped up so quickly she made herself dizzy. "Yes! Thank you! Oh my god, thank you!" She rested her hand against the metal door, dreaming of the hero on the other side.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

What a fully loaded question.

Vega swallowed, closing her eyes. "I just want to get out of here."

"We've gotcha." There was movement behind the door. "What's your name? I'm Oliver." Poor Oliver had drawn the short stick and was tasked with keeping her calm while they broke her out.

"Vega." Her voice felt small.

"That's a pretty name. Okay, Vega, I'm going to need you to stand back. You're stuck in between floors." His voice came from above her head.

Vega nodded.

"You've got to give me a verbal confirmation that you understand before we start."

Duh, Vega! "Yes. I'm standing back." She stumbled backward. That bottle of wine had inebriated her, making her limbs feel heavy and slow.

"Good. We're going to get you out of there quickly. Promise," Oliver said, and she imagined him holding up his hand like a boy scout.

Vega did her best to keep her heart rate down—the visions she'd been having seemed to come whenever she couldn't keep herself from panicking.

"Vega?" The same voice was close to the door again. "You okay?"

This man was a complete 180 in personality to the woman on dispatch. "I'm okay. Are you almost done?" she asked, antsier by the passing second .

"We're going to pry the door open."

Those words made her squirm excitedly, her weight shifting from foot to foot.

Less than a minute later, the elevator's doors creaked open, forced apart by a crowbar. The opened doors revealed a dark wall with enough space in between the floor for Vega to fall to her death.

Heights weren't her favorite. Chase once surprised her with a bungee jumping excursion in the Bahamas for their honeymoon, and when she got to the top of the tower, she chickened out and ran as fast as she could to the bottom.

Maybe Jessica is more adventurous.

She choked back her fear, forcing her eyes up to the man splayed out on the floor above the dark abyss. His pretty amber eyes were clear even in the dim lighting. "Bobby's Diner?" he asked, noting her blue uniform with white, scuffed-up non-slip sneakers.

Vega stared, still dancing back and forth on her feet to avoid feeling antsy. Words, Vega. You need to say words. "Yeah. It's a really glamorous place." Maybe not those words, but it was better than staring blankly.

The handsome fireman smiled at her, reaching an arm down through the too-thin opening she was expected to slip through. "Pass your bags up to me, and I'll pull you out next." His fingers wiggled in wait.

After gathering her things off the floor, Vega reached up high to pass them over, realizing they were still soaked. "I swear it's not pee," she blurted out, biting her lip hard enough to cause a bit of pain as punishment for her stupid mouth. "A bottle of wine broke." Definitely should have started with that.

"Good to know," Oliver responded with a chuckle, putting her bag to the side. "Okay, your turn."

Scratch, scratch, scratch .

Her nails dug into her wrist again. Vega coaxed herself to the open door, willing her eyes not to look down—only up to the hero saving her. "Please don't drop me," she whispered, lifting her arms above her head.

"I promise I won't," he responded, wrapping his large hands around her forearms. "But I can't guarantee this is going to be a very comfortable position. I'm going to make it as quick as possible, okay?"

Vega's throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, giving him a single nod. "Okay." As soon as the word slipped through her lips, Oliver hoisted her up. It happened so fast Vega had no time to register she was even suspended in the air.

The dirty floors of her apartment building were underneath her quickly, and if she didn't know they'd never been cleaned a single time since living here, she would've kissed the fucking floor.

Oliver and another fireman helped her up. "You good?" His face was welcoming, a little stubble around his sharp jawline. Damn it, Vega, you're married —to a cheater. She threw those thoughts out of her head, focusing on the fact she was finally free.

"Great," she said with a small smile. "Thank you." Vega looked around at the other firefighters, thanking them as well.

"Our pleasure. The elevator repairman just got here, but I'm sure you're not interested in using this one ever again, huh?" His laugh was soft, his lips settling into a warm smile.

"This one or any other for that matter." Vega hoisted her bag over her shoulder and glanced up at the number outside the elevator door. Of course she'd gotten stuck a half floor away from her exit. "Thanks again," she said as her nails dug into her wrist for the umpteenth time.

Oliver's eyes grew wide. "You're hurt." He reached out to her with gentle hands, but Vega pulled away, burying her arm against her chest.

"Oh no, it's nothing. I…" Vega quickly searched her brain for an excuse. "The chemicals at work." She rolled her eyes, brushing off his worry. "Have a great night!" Vega turned on her heels, her shoes squeaking against the old, checkered linoleum .

She looked down at her wrist, where droplets of blood had started to dry and crust up.

As she slid her key into the door of her apartment, it flew open, and she was face-to-face with Chase.

His mocha eyes scanned her body, his short blond hair gelled back in his typical after-work style. "Vega." He sounded relieved, a sigh leaving his lips as he took in the scene behind her. "What the…" His round face was riddled with worry, dark bags clouding his under eyes, and for the first time in years, Chase had stubble forming on his jaw.

I can't do this right now. Without a single word, she turned around and padded away from her apartment and the man she'd once thought she might grow old with. Oliver, the handsome firefighter, and his co-workers watched in silence as she stomped past them. Their eyes flicked behind her, landing on the husband trying to keep up.

"Vega, we need to talk about this!"

She skidded to a stop, spinning around with her finger in Chase's face. "We'll talk when I'm ready. Until then, give me my space, leave me alone, and maybe go stay with your little girlfriend ," Vega snarled.

Chase reached out and wrapped his hand around Vega's finger, pushing it down and away from his face. "Vega, please. This is all just a big misunderstand?—"

Her hand connected with the side of his cheek, the crisp slap pulsating down the thin hallway. Vega pulled away from his touch. "A misunderstanding?" Her jaw dropped. "A misunderstanding?" Her voice grew shrill with each syllable. "What am I not understanding about finding your face between another woman's legs? Hmm? About finding out that you've been cheating on me for over a year? "

Chase's hand rested on his cheek, rubbing at the sting that was surely there. "Vega, lower your voice. People are listening."

She peeked over her shoulder and was surprised to see she felt no shame knowing there was an audience. Vega laughed, but the sound rang hollow. "Oh, am I supposed to try to protect your reputation?" She shook her head. "If you think for one second I care about your feelings right now or what anyone thinks of you, then you obviously don't know me as well as I thought." Vega ignored the look lining the faces of each fireman as she walked by and slammed the stairwell door shut.

Vega hoped some fresh air would do her good after hours of feeling like she might suffocate to death inside an elevator.

The rain still dripping from the clouds above was finally starting to come to an end, turning into a cold mist, but the horizon was dark with more rain. This time of the year tended to be rainy, but the dark sky in the distance seemed heftier than typical spring showers.

There was a storm coming.

Storms always seemed to follow her worst days, clouding her like a blanket. Vega should find it ominous, but strangely enough, it felt calming.

Vega shifted her eyes down to her feet as they shuffled down the sidewalk—her body knew exactly where she wanted to go.

The lake was about a twenty-minute walk, but the sound of the waves rolling to shore was exactly what she felt she needed to help drown out the buzzing in her head.

Vega took a seat, the wind whipping her hair around as the storm started to churn the lake up. This bench ought to have a Vega-sized butt imprint by now. She had been coming to this spot since she moved to Chicago. Whenever Vega needed to clear her head or when she needed a moment to herself, this was her spot.

Staring out into the lake, Vega let her mind wander .

There were a lot of missing pieces in her memory. Missing pieces? More like black holes.

Vega couldn't remember anything before high school—nothing. Her therapist told her it was her way of coping with trauma, but did that really mean she fully couldn't remember a single memory before her mom's cancer diagnosis?

When her mom was alive, Vega used to ask about her childhood, about where they lived when she was born, or when they'd moved to Washington State—the pieces of information she had about her life weren't her own. They were implanted from someone else spoon-feeding her the answers.

Her memories always failed her, but she could remember a home with a lake view, a bedroom high on the side of a mountain, stars so close it felt like she could reach out of her window and grab them in her hand—a place so familiar it felt wrong to believe it was nothing more than a dream.

Her mom chalked it up to having a big imagination, and that must still be true today if she was genuinely considering Arlet's story.

But Arlet had been the only person in her life, ever, to give her any kind of insight as to where she was from—about who she might be. The only person to tell her the dreams were real.

The more she thought about the girl, the more her scar nagged at her. Vega rubbed her wrist, avoiding digging her nails into her skin still crusted with dried blood.

The itch wouldn't stop, no matter how hard she tried to disregard it. Vega groaned heavily, standing from the bench.

The dark clouds coming out of the east were getting closer. The colors of the lake were no longer blue like the Caribbean but stained with darkness from the waves churning up the bottom. Vega needed to take cover somewhere, but she didn't want to go home—she couldn't go home.

That apartment was no longer the safe space it once was.

Her feet guided her back the way she'd come, but when she got to the crossroads at the corner of her apartment building, something was telling her to go left instead of right.

She gave in to the incessant need to scratch her wrist.

Her mind kept wandering. What would it mean if this life was a mirage to keep her from knowing who she truly was?

Vega didn't know where she was going. She thoughtlessly followed the feeling growing inside her, like a string was tugging at her heart and she needed to find the end of it.

Maybe the feeling would go away when the rain washed her out to the lake, never to return to this life that didn't want her.

Perhaps she would walk until she collapsed from exhaustion.

Vega would walk until her feet fell off if it meant she could rid herself of this hollow mood that was starting to consume her.

The string in her chest tugged harder as she stood outside of a restored motel she'd never been to. Vega gawked at the neon sign above her head. It looked out of place in this part of the city, the sign flashing Vacancy in the window.

Her heart pushed her forward.

She took the stairs one at a time, thunder rumbling in the distance. The tug in her chest stopped, the itch of her wrist gone when she approached room number 444. A buzzing in her body told her to knock.

Her fingers rapped against the metal door.

The door opened, and there stood Arlet, leaning against the frame. She didn't say anything, but her face held an ear-to-ear grin.

"How the hell did I find you?" Vega felt that wave of unconsciousness settle into her and knew what was coming next.

Her vision went black at the same time Arlet stepped forward to catch her.