Sinclair

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Anxiety

Carla squeezes my shoulder one more time and promises to call, and Bruiser pats my shoulder on the way out.

The rain is coming down full force now. Cold early January weather plus rain equals whether akin to the deepest, coldest depths of Hell. Sonny slants the umbrella over me, keeping me covered even as rain patters on his shoulder and drenches his shirt.

Once Sonny makes sure I'm inside and he's crossing over to the driver's seat, I take a long look at the bar. We're in the rear of it, but I stare at it for a long time, as if it's going to disappear.

I feel like it will.

The first time it disappeared was because of me. Because of my fears and my actions. But this time, I thought it was going to be taken from me. I thought I'd never be able to see this place-my safe, happy space-again. Looking at it gives me as much relief as it does anxiety.

I can't help but wonder if the day will ever come when the bar, and the people I love inside of it, will disappear and never come back.

My house is exactly as it was left. All the lights are off and the room is saturated in the natural light from the afternoon rainstorm. My hands find the switch and I flick it on as I pass it, trudging over to my couch and slouching down on it. The tension in my body eases a little.

Sonny comes to stand over at me, looking at me worriedly. "Shouldn't you go to your room to sleep?"

His question is an innocent one, but I flinch. The memory of Sinclair telling me goodbye in there is still so hauntingly vivid.

I shake my head. "The couch is fine."

He watches as I kick off my shoes, sending them in different directions, and toss my coat-Sinclair's coat-haphazardly across the room. I lay down and curl up on the couch.

Relenting with a sigh, Sonny reaches over and grabs the throw blanket hanging over the back of the chair and places it over me.

When he starts to leave, panic seizes me and I grip his wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"To check around the house, make sure nothing's been planted in here or no one's hanging around. Sinclair's been sleeping here since you were...um, gone, but it can't hurt to check myself."

I try to swallow, but swallowing with a dry mouth is a difficult thing. "You'll come right back?"

Sonny's face softens and he pats my hand. "Of course, I'll come back, honey. I'm not gonna leave you here by yourself."

I loosen my grip on his wrist and watch as he walks through my front door and out into the rain. The minutes feel long while I wait, gripped with anxiety, for him to return. I listen to the raindrops to calm myself, and when that doesn't work, I recall those old myths Mom used to tell me and Odin about when we were younger. I recall her in my childhood kitchen-the shitty one we had before she got her good job when I turned ten-with its bright yellow seventies vibe and the thrifted table and chair set she'd been so proud of up until the day it fell apart and was unusable.

I recall Odin in his high chair in that abysmally yellow kitchen, throwing chicken nuggets at me.

My throat starts to close up and I have to breathe in deep to keep myself from crying. Because, shit, I came really close to dying. If Timothée hadn't been there, those guys would've sexually assaulted me. If Timothée hadn't helped me escape when he did, who knows what Sinclair's father would have done to me...

My mind is suddenly coming up with all these scenarios of things that would've and could've happened if I had been just a little more unlucky.

Thunder crashes off in the distance and I curl up, trying to keep my breaths even. There's no sense in panicking now, not after it's all done and over with, not after I escaped unscathed which isn't something a lot of women in my situation can say. But still, getting air in my lungs is such a struggle and takes so much of my concentration that I don't notice Sonny's back until he puts his hand on my shoulder.

"You okay, honey? You look like just saw a ghost."

Not a ghost, I want to say. I'm just now realizing I survived being kidnapped and I'm fucking terrified all of a sudden.

Of course, I don't say that, though. Because I'm big sister Freyja. I'm always having to be okay so Mom doesn't have to worry about me and Odin Freyja. I'm completely fearless on the outside but fucked up on the inside Freyja, so I swallow and do the breathing exercises the therapist taught me when I was young. Breathe in slow and deep through the nose, and exhale slowly from the mouth.

When I'm a little calmer, I croak out, "I'm fine. I just...I wasn't as okay with the whole kidnapping thing as I thought." I look over at him worriedly. "There was nothing out there, right?"

His face softens up with understanding. "There wasn't anything. Honestly, I was just being a little paranoid." I watch him as he hesitates, visibly weighing the words he'll say next. "You getting taken gave us all a scare, you know. Sinclair, especially. He's been really...not himself. Even worse off than when you left on your own."

I flinch a little at that. Leaving had been something that I thought was a good decision for both of us at the time and it wasn't a decision I necessarily regretted, even now. As I was, staying with Sinclair would have only brought more trauma for both of us. Still, there's a sliver of guilt that lances through me.

"So, me going around your house and checking for dangers is just my own paranoia," Sonny continues. He sits down on the floor near my feet, casually grabbing for the remote and turning on the TV. "So, don't worry. No one's gonna come anywhere near you while I'm here. Get some sleep."

I relax a little. Sonny flips through a few channels before he opts out of cable and instead goes to Netflix, mumbling something about catching up on the new episodes he's missed in the last few days.

The familiar glow of the TV, the comfort of being back in my own home, and the feeling of safety with Sonny's presence eventually are what lull me off into a relatively peaceful sleep.