6. Millie

6

MILLIE

THREE MONTHS LATER

I can't concentrate. I couldn't concentrate at work, at home, or even in the hospital when I got a cast on my broken wrist. The doctor said it was a clean break, but it should be able to heal after a few weeks. The doctor wanted to run blood work on me, but I refused. They wanted to do so much when I checked myself into the ER and did more unnecessary tests, but I declined.

I came up with the excuse I had fallen on my wrist and crushed it with my body weight when I went on a run in the middle of the night. I tripped over my own feet. It was totally unbelievable, but it got me through without any more questions asked.

My dad and friends asked me how I broke it, but how was I supposed to explain everything?

Should I start with, I got kidnapped by this non-human guy who broke my wrist when I tried to call the police ? Or maybe I got rescued by another villainous man who gave me bruises on my neck and threatened my life if I exposed their kind ?

Hayden Drago made it clear. I'm not allowed to tell the truth. He warned me before he disappeared that if I told anyone what truly happened to me, people like the blonde man would come back for me.

I haven't seen him in three months, and yet it feels like it's only been a day. His scent and voice are stained into me like scars that don't fade. Those eyes are images I can't forget. Those lips, the way he moved, and the way he looked at me. Those raw emotions aren't easy to decipher.

All of what I endured replays in my head every single day like a broken record player.

I hate Hayden. I hate that smug look he wears so perfectly. The way he laughed at my pain and pleas for mercy. He enjoyed it. Thankfully, he hasn't reappeared. He only appears in my dreams, and I swear I can hear his voice while I sleep.

I haven't encountered another vampire or alien. Whatever they are. He kept his word. As did I. I haven't spoken about what truly happened to me, and it's eating me alive. I'm terrified. My anxiety is on another level. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't do anything I enjoy anymore because I'm living in fear that they'll come back for me. Every time someone comes into the shop or when I walk from class to class on campus, I lose myself in my head while I look vigorously for any features that resemble the creatures from that night.

Like right now. My strange gaze penetrates the man before me as he gives me his order of an iced latte with vanilla creamer. He holds out cash for me to take over the pink counter, and I'm just waiting for him to snarl or open his mouth wider so I can verify if he has abnormally sharp canines.

"I'll take that for you, sir," Cole interrupts me at my side. He lifts an eyebrow at me curiously. He takes the customer's payment, and I clear my throat. The man looks me up and down dubiously, probably wondering if I'm on drugs. I shake my head and look away from him.

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else." I force my best corporate-friendly smile and turn around, embarrassed. I grip the counter where we make coffee and suck in breath after breath, desperate for some relief. Cole takes over for me, giving me a gentle hand squeeze, and I return the gesture.

I really need to get my shit together .

It's my favorite time of the year. Fall.

Our manager loves to join in on the holiday fun, so we do what we always do every year when the weather changes and October is near.

We decorate the coffee shop for Halloween.

I don't know what it is about it, but the spooky aesthetic, leaves changing color, and spending nights watching horror movies soothes my soul. And yet, this time around, the excitement has been stolen from me. Now that I know that the creatures I fantasize about and adore are real, it scares me . They're not romantic or fun. They're dangerous and horrifying. They're out for blood and murder.

Are they the ones responsible for the local animal attacks?

"Millie. I'm worried about you." Leah sits down next to me on my lunch break. Why wouldn't she be? I'm constantly messing up customer's orders and dropping the bakery goods we sell. The last straw for me today was when I messed up one of our frequent customers' coffee orders by mixing up the flavors. She had a whole fit and started screaming at me for everyone to hear because I gave her hazelnut instead of vanilla. Cole intervened and told me to take my lunch break earlier.

He's always so sweet to me.

I have a small decaf iced coffee in my hand, but I haven't taken a sip. Instead, it's the swaying trees in the distance that encapsulates my attention outside the window of the shop. I dismissed Leah's comment unintentionally. I'm so lost in my head, and I can't snap out of it. I scan the area for anyone suspicious. I watch the customers and families with children walk in and out of the shop. Cars are parking and leaving, but everything seems normal—no one has eyes that change colors.

Leah's hand suddenly waves in front of my face. It breaks me out of my thoughts.

"Millie, what's going on? What are you looking for?' Leah's eyebrows pull inward as she tracks my vision.

I sigh, ashamed. I bite my lip and tap my fingers on my coffee cup, shaking my head nervously.

"Nothing. I…nothing," I murmur as I pick up my coffee and finally take my first swig.

"Millie, you haven't been the same since you broke your wrist. You're losing weight, your under eyes can use some concealer, and you're always so jumpy." Leah looks at me with her brown, worried eyes, studying me hard. She's waiting for a reaction.

Well, damn, that was… honest . I take her bluntness with a grain of salt.

"I'm just not feeling well." It isn't a total lie. It's true. I'm always tired. I'm getting headaches often, and sadness creeps over me like a shadow most days. After what I went through, I'm pretty sure this is all normal behavior.

"Well, how about we look into a therapist?" Leah asks as she takes my hand in hers and gently squeezes it.

Her touch feels warm on my hand, and I appreciate Leah so much for trying to help. I've been avoiding most of our hangouts because I'm too afraid I'll get comfortable enough to tell her what I've gone through. I'm isolating myself from everybody, and it's affecting me. Depression starts to claw its way into my soul. The same type of depression that makes you feel lonely and numb. The kind that makes you do things you may regret. Living in fear isn't how I want to live, but I have to deal with the cards I've been dealt.

"Look... I appreciate that you're concerned, but I'm fine, really ." I lie. It hurts to lie. I always pride myself on honesty. I feel other sets of eyes burning into my left cheek.

People are staring .

I look over their shoulders to find Cole and Hayes talking to each other behind the register. They keep their voices low while their stressed gazes are pinned on me. Great, all my coworkers are judging me. They probably think I'm out of it.

Maybe I should quit. I've been thinking about it for the past few months. It's the end of summer, anyway, and school will start up again. I'm so close to earning my bachelor's degree in literature.

My fingers tighten around the glass as I fidget in my seat and stare at the coffee. The noise I've been blocking out is summoned like incoherent ghosts of whispers. I can feel the frustration building up and my heart reciprocates the harsh dwelling stress. It's all warm and hot in my chest.

I can't take this anymore .

I break.

I get up from the booth, remove my work barista uniform, and throw it on the table. I'm taking off early today. I don't care anymore.

I'm tired of all the glances this past summer. The worried looks from my coworkers wondering when I'm going to finally have a mental breakdown and fall apart in front of them. I refuse to give them, or anyone, that satisfaction.

"Millie, wait. Stop!" Leah pleads as she watches me walk away from her seat helplessly. She turns to our coworkers for assistance, but no one moves. Nothing and no one will stop me now. I've made up my mind. I storm towards the front door of the coffee shop, hearing Leah's footsteps behind me. It grows louder the closer I get to the exit.

Then I feel a hand pull me back.

"Let me go," I snap. I whip around to find Cole . Leah remains seated at the booth while I stare at handsome, sweet, sunny Cole. His tall frame towers over me as he holds my bicep tight but not harshly. The guilt from my sharp retort already settles in. He always wants to help, and he always wants to see me smile, yet I'm cold toward him. I can't help it these days, I'm wrecked.

"Millie, where are you going? Just talk. If not to Leah, then to me, maybe?" Cole begs softly. His dark eyes search through my brown ones. He's trying to get through to me. He knows that whenever we speak, our conversations flow so easily. He makes opening up about anything complex or controversial effortless .

My expression softens, and my facial muscles relax, but then the concerned whispers grow louder around us. I look around to see that we're attracting attention from customers. My eyes begin to blur, and there's that familiar sore rock at the base of my throat.

"I quit," I breathe only enough for Cole to hear.

Cole's eyes widen. "No…Millie. Don't say that, please," He begs as his grip loosens. I pull my arm back until I'm successfully out of his grasp.

I push open the door with force, and it swings open. I don't know what's gotten into me, but I need to be far away from everyone. Luckily, I've been cleared to drive just a few days ago.

I want to go home and never come out of my bedroom.

I stare up at the ceiling with my hands on my stomach. I'm thinking about Hayden's eyes again as the wings of my fan sway in circles. I'm obsessing over what happened to me. A small part of me wants to tell the world. Vampires, or whatever they are, are real . Monsters are real.

The way their clear, bright irises switched from blue to red. Then, the Blonde man who took me joins in on the infinite loop of dread in my mind. The way he broke my wrist so easily and fast. Grievous flashbacks of how they were all fighting, the sounds they were making, and blood everywhere. The walls, the floor …

Damn it. Why can't I stop thinking about all of this shit?

I cringe and shut my tired eyes tight.

How are these images still haunting me?

I concentrate and replay the events on a timeline of how it all began in my car; then it shifts to when the man woke me up with their discussion of "Valkyries." I almost forgot about it. One of the blonde men called me one.

What in the world did he mean by that? What is a Valkyrie ?

I shift onto my side, and the self-isolation catches up with me. I won't cry. I need to learn how to move on from that night. I tuck my hands under my cheek as I try to keep my eyes closed. Maybe I'll fall asleep and dream of normal things tonight.

All I want is my mother. I want her to make me a warm bowl of chicken soup. I need her to listen to me talk about quitting my job and ask for her guidance. I want her to accompany me to a bookstore on Friday nights as we talk about the latest celebrity gossip.

But things are different.

My mother and father separated when I was under five years old. They had my older brother and me a few years into their marriage. I still remember when they shut their door, but the walls were still not thick enough to block out their shouts when they argued. Or when my dad left again and again. Even as a child, I understood and felt their resentment toward each other. It lingered, so potent it tainted my brother and me. We knew they didn't love each other anymore, even when they did everything they could to hide it.

I felt it so hard.

My mother became a woman who always put herself first, no matter what. She had custody of us, but my brother and I chose to leave her when she morphed into someone we didn't know anymore.

She met an abusive man named Santiago and decided that he was her one true love. She fell hard and decided that he was the only thing that mattered.

She wasn't always bad. She tried when she wanted to and had some good days. But once Santiago came into the picture, he kept bringing out her worst qualities. Santiago doesn't have kids.

He hated that he couldn't have kids, so he didn't want my mom to enjoy being a parent to her children.

Still, memories like when I had a throat infection stick with me like gum under my shoe. No matter how much I want to take it off or get rid of the evidence, the residue will linger in the soles of my heart. I was sick with fever and throat pain, and I begged her to take me to the doctor's office. I wasn't getting better on Tylenol.

Santiago was so angry because she had to spend money on me for the co-pay her insurance didn't cover. As we waited for the nurses to call me in the doctor's office lobby, Santiago fidgeted, upset.

"I can't wait until she goes away for college, so you don't have to be taking her in whenever she gets a cough anymore," he snarled under his smelly breath.

My heart sank at his cruel words and my mother's tense silence. All I could do was stare at my feet. My worn-out green Converse tapped side to side as my anxiety crept in. Because if I tried to defend myself, I would get shut down, and she would get belittled if I tried.

Am I overreacting? Is it really just a cough? Self-doubt plagued me, and I felt bad for asking them to bring me here.

I turned my head in the other direction and focused on the television playing Rugrats. I silently hoped the doctor would help me the entire time I focused on the little TV in the corner. He had to tell them how sick I was, right?

Which he did after evaluating me. It felt good knowing the doctor justified my symptoms and suffering.

Well, Santiago got his wish. I was away at college now, out of their house. I'm away from him and her. I'm still in Texas, but now I live with my estranged father, and our relationship is going in a healthy direction. Nash left sooner than me, not being able to tolerate their toxic relationship and abuse.

Even though my relationship with my mother has always been troubled, I never want to give up on it.

I sit up and face the door to my room, where our phone is attached to the wall on the other side of it. I bite my lip as I swing my feet up and down pensively. Maybe I can trust her with this story. Maybe she can help me out of this mess, and if she can't, all I want is for her to be the ears to listen to me.

I leave my room, my pajama pants dragging against the cold tile with each step. I dial my mom's home phone number. I know it by memory. Four rings go by before she picks up, and a blip of hope twists in my heart. I haven't spoken to her in years. So when her familiar motherly voice says, "Hello," I stand up straight and twirl the white cord in my hand, in shock that she picked up.

"Mom." I grip the phone tighter.

"Millie, how are you? It's been years."

I rub my nose and dry my cheeks with my palms. My back hits the wall as I get more comfortable to have the most uncomfortable conversation with her.

"I'm not okay," I say flatly, holding back the monsoon of tears that want to fall again as Hayden and the blonde man with blue eyes flash into my head like a horror movie.

"Oh…" There's a slight pause in her impassive tone. It's like she's debating on hanging up.

But why?

"Mom…I?—"

I want to tell her about my broken wrist and word vomit about what happened to me. She lives farther away from my dad, so maybe there's none of those creatures near.

I trust her still. I trust her to keep whatever I tell her to herself. I can't open up to my father and brothers like this. I've never been able to. I can try again with my mother. I need her right now.

"Millie," she starts just as Santiago's cruel, unsettling voice booms in the background. My heart falls and shatters at his callous cadence.

"Get off the fucking phone! You have to make dinner!" He's still as ruthless and uncaring as the last time I saw him. Familiar fury builds up within me again at the fearless disrespect he gives her. I will never be the type of person to stand by and watch my mother get disrespected.

"Mom. Tell him you're on the phone with me. I need you right now." My voice breaks midway as I plead with her. She may not be able to do anything about my story. But all I want is her comforting maternal presence.

She doesn't say anything as he continues to hound her with cruel, malicious words.

"He knows, but he doesn't care," she whispers like she's trying to hide from him.

"Mom, please!"

"I can't. Try and talk to your father."

"Mom…" I croak out through the anxiety mounting in my vocal cords.

Is she really going to hang up?

"I'm sorry." I can barely hear her apology, but the remorse is evident in her tone and volume.

The phone clicks, and I'm left puzzled. I'm breathing heavily as I cry silently. A familiar pain of hopelessness resides in my heart like it's normal. Lately, these feelings of isolation and sadness have become my new routine. Every night, I fear one of the vampire men with bright blue irises will take me, but this time, they'll finish me off for good without a stranger with red eyes to save me.

Cooper senses my wary behavior and sneaks his snout underneath my hand like he's trying to distract me from my situation. He begs and pulls at my arm. I hang up the phone and ignore the dead tone that echoes in my ears. I give in and pet him as I let the reality sink in.

I'm on my own.

It's such a dreadful feeling to be unheard, unseen, unwanted .

Especially by your own family.

All I wanted was loving parents. My dad is more present, but we still have our issues. My brother Nash promised me I could live with him after he secured his job as a general surgeon, and that was coming up very soon. He's at the university in Austin, Texas.

I'm counting down the days.

I go back into my room with sore eyes, get back into the bed, and stare at the ceiling as if it's a form of entertainment.

I groan and blink my vexation away. I wish I never worked at the Nostalgia coffee shop. Maybe then, I wouldn't have been targeted or kidnapped or experienced the unimaginable trauma of monsters that walk our earth.

Finally, after I forget about my situation for a moment, I can feel myself finally giving in to rest. The night before, I hadn't slept at all. I only got three hours of sleep before my morning shift at work. My breathing evens out, and the pace turns into slow, deep ones. I close my eyes and give into my drained body that requires peace.

For an overall of what felt like five minutes, my eyes circle and burst open when the sounds of an intrusion break me out of my light sleep. It's coming from the upstairs guest bedroom. My breath hitches as I try to concentrate on the hiccups above me. Was it a dream?

But then my fears are verified once heavy footsteps thud above me a second later.

Dad ?

I could have sworn my father told me he was at a barbecue tonight with friends. My heart rate picks up, my lips tremble, and I grind my jaw as I think about the worst.

Oh no .