18+ | Eva French relocates from sunny Florida to the gritty streets of Detroit, seeking a fresh start. But her new beginning takes a dark turn when she experiences a traumatic assault on her very first night in the city. Haunted by the incident, Eva...
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Vince Matthews
I was seeing a ghost. That must be it. There couldn't be any other explanation.
Every single hair on my body stood on end as sweat pooled at my back underneath my shirt, making the fabric cling uncomfortably to my skin. I waited with bated breath for something to break the oppressive silence. I found myself desperately wondering where all the crickets had gone, longing to hear their nocturnal chirps that I had been so annoyed with earlier.
It took many moments for me to realize that she did not know I was there. This realization injected a little bit of confidence in me, enough to motivate me to flex my legs, willing them to regain some feeling.
She remained oblivious to my presence, her posture hunched forward, elbows on her knees, fingers entwined in her brown hair as she cradled her head. With a few cautious steps, I approached her.
When she heard my footsteps, she lifted her head, though with great difficulty. The relief I felt was indescribable when I saw Eva's face. Like a vicious tidal wave, it crashed into my body, knocking the air out of my lungs.
"Hi, Vince," she murmured, her head lolling to the side. Leaning against the railing, she clutched onto the rusted bars with one hand, attempting to stand up. "What took you so long?"
I hurried over to help her up. She leaned on me heavily as I supported her weight, guiding her towards my door. After unlocking it, I kicked off my shoes and flicked on the lights as she stumbled over to my couch and sank down onto it.
"I feel sick," she mumbled. "The room is spinning."
The relief was slowly beginning to wear off now that she was here in the flesh and I knew she was safe. Hurt slowly replaced it. She had no fucking idea what she put me through in the past, what? Five hours now, since she first called me. I strode over to her and kneeled at the edge of the couch to help her take off her sandals. She lifted her foot compliantly as I did so, peering down at me quietly.
Her eyes trailed my movements lazily as I straightened up after removing her shoes, discarding them to the side with a frustrated toss. I plugged my phone into the charger so I could text Jay later, jabbing the cord in more aggressively than I should have, my irritation seeping through. I thought it was pretty fucking clear how pissed I was, but it was completely lost on her. I turned my head angrily to glare at her when I heard her snort at my exaggerated movements.
Illuminated by the cold, fluorescent light in my living room, the scene before me seemed like a cruel parody of everything that happened during that night. From the drunken call, to the hysterical worry I had felt when out searching for her, every twist and turn of this evening led me to this chilling conclusion.
Now, as I beheld her slumped form, mirroring the posture of my mother in her darkest moments, it felt as if the universe was playing a twisted game that it had created especially for me. As though it had orchestrated this moment to unravel my sanity thread by thread, each similarity between them a twist of the knife in my psyche. It was so uncanny, that I couldn't believe I hadn't realized it until now. The same brown hair, the same piercing baby blue eyes, and the red dress that clung to her frame in precisely the same way. Each detail seemed to mock me, as if taunting my senses with a cruel sense of déjà vu.
