Tears leaked out of her eyes.
“Are you going to make this right and take back what you said to the police?”
She nodded, willing to do just about anything to get him away. Right. Now.
He pressed his nose to the curve of her neck and inhaled deeply. “Mmm, that’s my smart girl. I knew we could talk this out.”
She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to recoil. He needed to think she was calm and in agreement if she had any shot of him letting her go.
“What time is that bitch Leesha getting back?” he asked, still nuzzling her neck. “Because now that we’re back on the same page, I want to show you how much I’ve missed you.”
His erection pushed against her backside and a wave of nausea slammed into her. She shook her head.
“Come on, I know you’ve missed me, too. That limp-dick Mexican can’t be doing much for you.”
He tilted her head to the side and pressed his mouth to her neck, his tongue touching her skin. Georgia began to shake, her gaze darting around the kitchen to see what she could use against him. The knife block was a good possibility, but she’d have to break free for a few seconds to make the two steps to reach it.
She raised her elbow, ready to jab, but a sound from the front of the house made her pause. A door clicked shut. “Georgia, you still home?”
Georgia had never been happier to hear another human being.
Phillip swore and pressed his mouth against her ear. “Say a word about this to anyone and you’ll regret it. Don’t test me, Georgia.”
With that, he released his hold on her and hustled out the back door, leaving her in a sobbing heap on the floor.
Leesha had found her there, and they’d gone straight to the police. Georgia had told the cops everything but had no hard evidence to back it up. She couldn’t prove he’d been the one who’d attacked her at Leesha’s. He had an alibi and she’d admitted she hadn’t seen the intruder’s face. They had put Phillip in jail for a few nights, but they were no match for his legal maneuvering. They didn’t have enough to hold him.
And soon after he’d gotten out, he’d made good on his threats.
Two weeks later, she’d been standing at her sister’s grave site. Suicide.
Sure, it was.
Georgia’s eyes snapped open, clothes clinging to her and her heart pounding in her throat. Sunlight streamed through her kitchen window, but the shadowed corners from her flashback were still assaulting her. She pressed her hands to the floor and took a few big gulps of air, trying to push away the memory of that day in Leesha’s kitchen. She could still feel Phillip’s hands on her, the threat and intention in his voice. That had been the day she’d gone from worried to terrified. The breaking point. Nothing had been safe or good since.
After a few moments, she lifted her hands and realized her left hand had been braced on a broken piece of the mug. She watched her bloodied hand tremble in front of her. Goddammit. She rose to her feet and grabbed a dish towel to press to her palm and paced, trying to purge all the adrenaline coursing through her, but it was no use. Her entire system felt zapped.
She reached for her cell phone, which she’d left charging on the counter. Keats was due to come over for work in half an hour, and she needed to call him off. She wasn’t in the right headspace to handle much of anything right now, much less other people. She felt strung out and . . . off. Flashbacks were rare, but she knew what that meant for the day. That overwhelming wallop of adrenaline and anxiety short-circuited her for hours. Her panic attacks would come more easily, and any little thing would set her off. She’d have to take an extra pill just to get through.
Maybe she’d gotten too cocky about her progress. Maybe she’d been kidding herself.
These were the days she didn’t just feel frustrated; she felt crazy.
She typed a text to Keats.
Change of plans. Take the day off. Not up to working today.
Then she sent another to Colby because he’d called and left a message first thing this morning about getting together for lunch.
Today’s not good. Let’s talk later.
With that taken care of, she forced herself upstairs and into the shower. Maybe she could wash off the bad memories, watch them swirl down the drain and disappear. Ha. If only.
After her shower, she bandaged the small cut on her hand and went downstairs to make some toast so that she could take her meds. She also needed to clean up the mess she’d left behind. But before the toast popped up, there was a knock at her door. She groaned, knowing all too well who it probably was.
She could ignore it, but regardless of which neighbor it was, she knew neither Colby nor Keats would walk away that easily. With a sigh, she headed to the front of the house and checked the peephole. Fantastic. Double-teamed. She swung the door open. “Yes?”
“We got your texts,” Colby said, his gaze sweeping over her.