34. Hunter

I'm numb as I enter my room. Turn on the light. Close the door.

Once I'm safely locked inside, I head straight to the French doors that lead out to the balcony and make sure they're locked, too.

Mindlessly, I walk into my closet next, pulling off clothing as I go. I rummage through sweatshirts and shift blouses and sweaters on their hangers. I don't even know what I'm seeking until I see it.

I settle on an oversized Oxford. It's ivory colored and made of the softest linen. It's so large I leave it buttoned and slip it over my head. Then I shake out my hair and pull on a pair of black leggings.

I locate my water bottle in the bathroom, fill it with lukewarm water from the sink, and then settle on the edge of my bed.

The urge to climb under the covers and stay hidden away will win out eventually—it's the safest coping mechanism in my arsenal—but for now, I fight it off.

There's one thing I need to do first.

Anxiety creeps up my neck and prickles under my skin.

The darkness buried deep is clawing its way to the surface, pulling me under inch by inch.

I'm tired of fighting. Of struggling to escape the past. Of willing the memories to die.

How long could I stay in this room until one of the guys forces their way in to find me?

My inclination is to run, but I'm so tired of running. For now, I want to burrow. I want to close my eyes and not worry about who will reappear in my life when I open them next. I want to disappear, if only for a little while. If only until this episode passes. Until she's gone. Until each breath doesn't take concentrated effort.

There's a knock at my door.

I ignore it.

A muffled voice calls out to me.

I ignore it, too.

Voices carry on in the hallway and the world keeps spinning without me. Just like it always does. Just like it always will.

My grasp on reality is slipping. Good.

If I sleep, I'll be safe.

If the darkness takes me and I can make it through the next several hours or even days in a state of unconsciousness, we'll all be better off.

It's easier if I'm not here.

There's peace in disappearing.

My lungs burn, forcing me to suck in a sharp breath, gasping on the inhale, then coughing on the exhale.

I wasn't purposely holding my breath.

To ensure I don't do it again, I take a long, slow breath in, then let it out.

Then I force myself to stand, to move, to make my way over to the nightstand on the left side of the bed.

I pop open the bottom drawer, then slip my hand under the lip of the latch, releasing the secret compartment.

Two phones tumble out from their hiding spot. Older models, both powered off.

I look from one to the other, then back again, waiting for my brain to catch up, then select the more expensive of the two, a deep sapphire blue device.

"Please, please, please." I hold down the power button, willing the phone to turn on. I don't remember when I charged it last. There's a good chance it's dead.

Thankfully, the backlight illuminates, and after a few moments, the device vibrates in my hand.

The SIM card isn't good in the States, so I connect to Wi-Fi and send off a message instead.

User 333221312: This is Hunter St. Clair. I need an emergency session as soon as possible. You can reach me via email or at this number. I will check messages as often as I can.

I hit Send and wait. It's unlikely that I'll get an immediate response, but I leave the phone on anyway.

While I wait, I focus on steadying my breathing and double-check that I took my meds this morning. Then I walk around the room. I tidy messes that don't exist and turn the lights off, then on again before deciding I prefer the dark.

Eventually, I give up waiting for a response I know won't come and power off the blue phone. Then I stick it back in its hiding spot. I tuck away the hot-pink phone, too.

Once the cabinet is closed and my actual phone is plugged in and switched to Do Not Disturb, I pull back the covers, slip into the cool sheets, and finally, mercifully, let myself cry.