False Security by Angie Martin Page B

for one night of uninterrupted sleep with no nightmares. No bird, no
door, no damn piano.
    Unable to hear rain outside, she
decided she needed fresh air. She picked up the gun from her bed, ready to
begin her nightly ritual.
    Her face hardened at the sight
of the gun. She detested everything it reminded her of, everything it
represented. She didn’t want to sit outside in the backyard anymore and ponder
the night away with the gun acting as her sole source of sanity.
    She returned the gun to her
bedside table and left her room. In the kitchen, she cleaned up the forgotten
broken glass and used a sponge to mop up the milk. All evidence of her panic
attack erased, she opened the refrigerator door in hopes of something to eat. A
half empty carton of skim milk, a tub of butter, a bottle of ketchup, and three
cheese slices stared back at her.
    She shut the door. Sleep was out
of the question and there was nothing to eat. She desired Danielle’s company
and conversation to take her into the early morning hours, but it could be
several hours before she waltzed through the front door.
    Rachel sat at the kitchen table
and stared at the roses. If only she was strong like Danielle who survived the
unthinkable, yet still had the courage to go out into the world and let go of
the past. Rachel was unable to forget the things haunting her.
    In some respects, she was
getting better because she had let someone into her life for the first time in
three years. Any change in her, no matter how small, was only because of Mark.
With Mark, she had no past. There were no panic attacks, no fading nightmares.
With Mark, life was bearable, livable, wonderful. With Mark...
    A voice in the back of Rachel’s
head nagged, telling her what to do.
    Unwilling to put up a fight with
her smarter side, she withdrew a pad of paper and pen from the kitchen drawer.
She scribbled a quick note to Danielle and threw it on the table. She grabbed
her keys from the couch, set the alarm, and made sure each of the deadbolts
were secure.

  Chapter Seventeen
    Concern flashed
across Mark’s face when he opened the front door and saw Rachel standing on his
front porch. “Is everything okay?”
    Rachel hesitated and took in his
image. He was barefoot and dressed in a pair of navy pajama bottoms. She let
out a nervous laugh. “I just realized how stupid this is. I’m sorry I woke
you.” She turned to leave.
    “Wait,” he said, and he grabbed
her hand.
    She bit her bottom lip and faced
him.
    “You didn’t wake me. Come on
in.”
    Rachel followed him down the
hall into the living room, and inhaled the familiar scent of citrus
multi-purpose cleaners. As usual, his house was spotless. Two bookshelves held
books lined up and categorized by author. The glass coffee table was free of
fingerprints, and there was not a hint of dust on any surface. Chaos had no
place in his world, and his perfect, organized life had no room for her.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting
on the couch.
    She sank into the couch cushions
and crossed her arms. “Nothing’s wrong. I couldn’t sleep.” She laughed at
herself. “I’m not quite sure why I’m here.”
    “It’s okay. I was still awake,
paying bills. That’s enough to keep anyone up at night, sweating profusely,
unable to stop shaking in terror.”
    She laughed again, and tucked
some stray stands of hair behind her ear.
    “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
    Her smile lingered despite the
changing tone of her voice. “You know I never meant for this to happen with us.
All I wanted was a cup of coffee.” It was a rare moment of truth for her.
    He drew her head down on his
shoulder, and kissed the top of her head. “That makes two of us.”
    She closed her eyes, and he
stroked the back of her head. Tension flowed from her body and the last
remnants of the dream disappeared. For the first time in years, she felt
protected.
    Safe.
    Rachel sensed him move, and she
opened her eyes.
    “You fell asleep,” he said.
    “I