Among the Echoes (Wrecked and Ruined #2.5)(12)

I sit on the far corner of the couch, leaving plenty of room for her to sit on the other end. It’s odd being here. I don’t know this woman at all, but I do know that she needs someone. I’m reasonably sure she doesn’t recognize me. So I can at least take comfort in my anonymity.

"You want something to drink?" she asks, but her voice is filled with distraction.

"Are you okay?" I stand to follow her to the small kitchen area.

She spins to face me and backs away a few steps as I approach. Her reaction immediately halts me.

"Yeah. I’m good. I just have a lot on my mind tonight. Drink?" she asks again, never taking her eyes off me.

"Beer?"

"Oh, sorry. No beer. I think I have a pop or something though."

"A pop would be great," I say enthusiastically, trying to alleviate her tension, but if her weak lie of a smile is any indication, it doesn’t help at all.

I head back to the couch, settling in the corner again. I try to find a comfortable spot for myself in this ridiculously uncomfortable situation. What the hell am I doing here? I should be asleep right now, but instead, I’m entertaining a frightened woman who barely even looks me in the eye. On second thought, maybe I’m right where I should be after all.

"So how long have you been living here?" she asks, settling down on the opposite side of the couch and handing me a pop.

"I come and go, but I would consider this place my home," I answer honestly, careful not to expose too much. "What about you?"

"Just a few days," she says absently, looking down at her phone.

She turns around to face the TV, effectively ending the small talk.

We sit in silence as the movie begins. We both stare at the screen, but what I’m really watching is her as she anxiously dials someone every five minutes on her cell phone. My curiosity is piqued, but I don’t dare ask her about it. I have a feeling she wouldn’t tell me anyway.

"You don’t have to stay," she says quietly. A hair slips from her ponytail as her eyes slide to mine.

"I know, but I’m going to anyway."

She nods emotionlessly and drags her eyes back to the TV. A few minutes pass before she whispers, "Thank you."

I don't respond because I have nothing to say. She doesn't need to thank me. I'm doing this just as much for myself as I am for her.

For the next hour, she continues her mission on the phone, alternating between dialing and texting. She finally gives up and curls into a ball, quietly sniffling to herself. There isn’t much I can do for this damaged woman, but I can make sure she isn’t alone.

Not five minutes later, her eyes close and her breathing evens out. I take a moment to really look at her. Her skin is creamy white and flawless. And her mousy hair has the slightest blonde roots peeking through. I still can’t get over her eyes or figure out why anyone would want to cover them with brown contacts. But really, nothing about this woman makes sense. She’s wearing fitted, black yoga pants and a plain, long-sleeved T-shirt that covers her completely. Jesus, what the hell is she hiding? She was terrified of me tonight yet so desperate for help that she was willing to momentarily trust me.

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from reaching out and brushing the hair away from her face. She releases a small gasp but only stirs for a second before falling right back to sleep.

I should really go. I could lock the door behind myself and leave her to sleep on her own. She doesn’t need me anymore. But instead, I lean my head back, becoming lost in the sounds of her peaceful breaths mingling with the music of John Waite’s "Change" coming from the TV.

It’s not long before I follow her out of reality and into the darkness.





I startle awake with a creak from the front door. I scrub my hands over my face, trying to get my bearings. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. I immediately glance to the woman sleeping soundly at the other end of the couch. When my eyes swing back around to figure out what woke me, I come face to face with the barrel of a gun.

"Don’t f*cking move," I hear a man growl, but in the darkness, I can’t see his face.

I should lift my hands in submission. People always tell you not to fight, and if I were alone, I probably wouldn’t. But the fact remains that I’m not alone and my fierce need to protect the woman next to me erases all rational thinking. I won’t allow her to be scared again.

As fast as I can possibly move, I push the gun aside with one hand and land the other with a hard fist against his temple. He falls back with a grunt and the gun goes flying. We both jump toward it, fighting as we tangle on the ground. He rolls me to my back and lands a few punches to my face. I guard myself as much as possible, but I’m useless on the ground. I shove him to the side, knocking his head hard into the end table.

In the distance, Riley begins to scream, and the sound of her fear only fuels my fire. I land a punch to the gunman’s face that dazes him, but I don’t let up. This isn’t a match where the ref is going to stop me; this is a fight for survival. Pound after pound, my fists land against his skull until his body eventually goes limp under me.

I need to find Riley and get us both the f*ck out of here. I don’t know who that was, but it’s clear that she has more than enough reason to be afraid.

"Don’t move," I hear her demand from the corner.