“How about next weekend?” I suggested, and one corner of his mouth tilted up in a knowing smile.
“Is this you asking me out on a second date, Sparky?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I might just have to say yes,” he whispered.
He leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to my cheek before stepping back. The space he vacated now felt cold and empty, but I knew it was time to call it a night.
“Goodnight, Derek.”
“Goodnight, Sparky.”
After I went inside and closed the door, I secured the deadbolt and lowered the wooden bar. Habitually, I walked around the apartment and double-checked all the window locks. Confident everything was buttoned up tight, I yawned and headed to my bedroom to change into pajamas. It was fairly early to go to sleep, but the idea of crawling under the covers with a good book seemed appealing.
Once I was dressed, I tossed my clothes from the day into the hamper and went to the bathroom to wash up. As I was removing the makeup from my face, something felt off. I stopped moving and stood perfectly still, taking in the sounds. The dance club music was a given. I could also hear the sounds of a neighbor’s television that had obviously been turned up more than normal to be heard over the club music. Neither of those things was anything out of the ordinary.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I said aloud to the empty bathroom. Shaking off the feeling of unease, I resumed getting ready for bed. When I reached for the toothpaste, I froze. Icy fear snaked down my spine and goosebumps pebbled my skin. The toothpaste wasn’t on the counter, where I always left it. It was a thing I did—deliberately not putting it away as if I was somehow giving Ethan a big ‘fuck you’ every time I left it out.
A whimper escaped my lips as I wrenched open the bathroom’s vanity drawer. Resting in the drawer was the tube of mint paste. I shook my head. I didn’t believe I’d put it there. There was no way I did.
Running to the bedroom, I grabbed the wooden baseball bat next to the bed and slowly stalked through the apartment, opening every closet door, looking under furniture and behind curtains. My heart thrummed wildly in my ears. I contemplated calling 911, then thought better of it. What would I say? I think my husband moved my toothpaste? Whoever was working dispatch would think I was crazy.
When I opened the oven door and realized I had a very real fear Ethan would jump out, I forced myself to come back down to earth. Slamming the oven door closed, I gave myself a verbal scolding.
“The oven? Get it together before you really do go crazy. There’s nobody here.”
More than likely, I had probably put it in the drawer myself. After all—I’d been conditioned to never, ever leave it sitting out.
Climbing onto the bed, I slipped under the covers and grabbed the latest Gillian Flynn release from my nightstand. I opened the book to where I’d left off and took a few calming breaths. I had simply overreacted. Everything was fine.
Nevertheless, I slept with the light on and the wooden bat pressed to my side.
Sitting in the grass, I watch my mother dig in the dirt of our garden. The earth sifts through her fingers as she makes room for new life. She hands me a small, pointed shovel.
“Here, Gia. Take this and start digging a narrow row for the impatiens.”
“I still don’t know why you refuse to plant daisies. The pink ones are so pretty and come back every year,” I stubbornly argue.
“Daisies might be pretty, but they can’t be trusted to do as you’d like. They’ll be out of control within two years and take over the entire garden.”
“Well, I don’t care. When I have my own garden, I’m going to plant daisies.”
“That’s your prerogative. It’s up to you to decide if you want your flowers to have a shared space or if you want one flower to control everything around it.”
I look down at the tiny impatiens nestled in the dirt.
“Mom, do you think—” I freeze when I realize she’s no longer there. The air turns cold and my teeth start to chatter. I stand, wrap my arms around myself, and call out. “Mom! Where did you go?”
“She’s dead, Gia. You only have me now,” whispers a familiar male voice. The hushed words come from somewhere near my feet.
I look down to find the source of the voice but only see one lonely daisy. I think of my mother’s words about daisies taking over and wonder how it got there. I reach down to pluck it from the dirt, only for three more to push their way through the soil. I pick those as well, but at least thirty more appear. Moving as quickly as I can, I attempt to pull out the controlling flower before it’s too late. It’s to no avail. In a matter of moments, I’m surrounded by the suffocating plant growing taller and taller around me.
The flowers stretch on for as far as the eye can see, their stems and leaves intertwining through my arms and legs. I struggle to break free and hear the male whisper again.
“You can’t get away. I’ll just keep coming back.”
I recognize the voice now and I’m frozen in time, unable to move as a flower angles toward me. Instead of seeing the sticky bulb of the stigma, I see a face—his face—twisted in rage and hurling volatile obscenities at me.
“You bitch! You’ll never get away from me!”
“Let me go! Let me go!” I scream as loud as I can, tugging at the powerful stems holding me in place.
I bolted upright and fought against the restraints as tears streamed down my face, overcome by pure, unadulterated panic. It took me a solid two minutes to realize I’d only had a dream—or more accurately, a nightmare.
What I thought were flower stems wrapping around me was actually just my body tangled up in my own bedsheets. Flopping back down against the pillows, I took several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. Tears slipped over my cheeks, and I swiped them away in annoyance. Seeing my mother again—healthy and vibrant in her garden—was jarring.
“What the hell was that?” I yelled to the empty bedroom. Why was I dreaming about her now—especially in that context? Then there was the other part of the dream. It wasn’t difficult recognizing the symbolism—the daisy, a controlling, overbearing flower, and Ethan, a controlling, overbearing husband. I loathed daisies now. They were never a way for Ethan to tell me he was looking out for me—it was a way to remind me he was always watching me.
It was just a dream. I’m in my own apartment. Ethan is not here.
Still, a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, and I knew I’d never get back to sleep. Wide awake, I stared at the ceiling, clutching the baseball bat until the sun finally began to rise.
26
Val (Gianna)
Feeling sluggish from lack of sleep, I took my time making breakfast. I kept it simple—a toasted bagel with cream cheese and a bowl of mixed berries. Sitting at the kitchen table, I thumbed through a magazine as I ate, hoping the mindless content of the pages would be a distraction from the crazy dream I had.
It didn’t work, so I decided to head over The Mill and jump on one of the ellipticals. The gym would be quiet this time of the day. The early risers would be gone, ensuring an elliptical would be available for me to use. Derek usually took Sundays off, which would allow me a bit of solitude during my workout. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him, I just hoped a good, sweat-drenching routine without any distractions would help clear my head.