Safe Haven

Me working at The Poisoned Pen was a fluke thing.

Before I moved to Seattle for those eleven blurred months, before I had to see psychologists on a regular basis and before my parents felt the need to keep me under their watchful eyes at all times, I used to spend my days searching the gently used book store for good reads. I occupied the sofas and the narrow aisles as I studied in peace and quiet for my college classes.

It’d been my niche, my hideaway from the world when I needed to be by myself. The worn sofa, the antique rugs and the water stained tables brought me a sense of comfort when nothing else could. Not even Ravenrot’s mysterious and mystical space could provide with me the feeling that The Poisoned Pen did.

So when a worker who recognized me even with the amount of time I’d been away asked if I was interested in having a summer job from behind the counter, I couldn’t say anything other than, “Yes.”

Ariel “Ray” Lancaster needed a pair of second hands to help while the owner was trapped on bed-rest for the remainder of her pregnancy, and I had little to complain about when it came to helping. I got out of the house for a while, I had time to breathe, and, even if only temporary, I was mostly distracted from the issues that were slowly putting more and more of a strain on my family.

“Laurel’s coming in today,” Ray stated with a pleasant smile tacked to her face. She was a nice girl, a bit blunt at times, but still very personable. That’s what made her such a great person for the job.

We balanced each other out. After learning how to help with bookwork, I was placed in charge of that, stocking shelves and taking inventory while she worked on the customer end of the job. Whether Ariel just didn’t like being more hands-on or whether or not she picked up on my slight case of social anxiety, I wasn’t sure.

Laurel was the owner, and despite what her worrisome husband and her doctors advised, she made the two block travel over to check on us and the shop once a week. When that happened, most of the time I was free to leave for the afternoon as she looked over all that I’d done in the books.

I nodded, gripping the cuffs of my sweatshirt in my palms before rising from the floor where I’d been organizing the bottom shelf of novels. That was Ariel’s way of telling me that I was free to, “get the hell outta here”.

Dusting the seat of my jeans off, I glanced around the shop, looking for anything else to do before I returned to my parents’ home where my mother would probably force me to help cook with her. Family dinners were suddenly a requirement for everyone in the house.

Most nights Sebastian and Anita – my older brother and his long-term girlfriend – dropped by to join us around the large oak table to eat. Most nights, my father tried pretending that nothing was wrong by telling stories of his hilarious new coworker. Most nights, my kid brother Ryder shoveled his food under the table to the dog my parents had invested in: a tiny French bulldog named Florence. Most nights, I destroyed the meal before me so I wouldn’t lash out on Anita as she tried prying into my life.

I once got along well with her. I once admired her majoring in psychology, for wanting to help people, but now I sort of resented her and her soon-to-be-finished degree.

“You’ve sorted through nearly every shelf in the place, polished the furniture and, oh, let’s not forget you dusting everything in the building. Leave, before I have to kick you out,” Ariel stated, bumping her hip into mine as she walked by with a large box cradled in her arms. She flashed me a smile before she disappeared through the door leading to the back storage room.

After actually getting to know her, I felt like she could have easily been one of my friends in the past. She was smart, she was nice – most of the time – and she had personality, not to mention that she was drop dead gorgeous. It was a miracle that she was still single.

Defeated, I walked out to my car – the car that I was only supposed to use to go to work and back until I was “back on more stable ground” as my father stated when he handed me the keys.

As I sat behind the wheel and contemplated going straight home, I came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to stray from the rules and guidelines put in place for me just once. No one would know. So it wasn’t all that surprising when I found myself parking near the jogging path that would eventually lead to Fort Ravenrot. But I was surprised when I somehow found the strength within myself to walk by Ravenrot, to the unmarked woods that weren’t officially open to the public.

With slightly shaky knees, I forced myself to continue, back to the place where I knew – if my memory was accurate – that my bracelet had fallen off.

As I knelt in the dirt, after scanning the area a few times, I heard it: the fireworks in the distance and the hum of the radio streaming straight out of my memory into what easily could have been reality. I didn’t even get a chance to look through the leaves and unpacked dirt before that feeling hit me: the one that had me in fear of vomiting or breaking down into hysterics.

Neither were situations I wanted to face.

So I did what I seemed to do best: I ran.

Without looking back, without bothering to survey the area to make sure no one could see me in the state I was in, and without bothering to mind traffic speed limits until my car reached my street. It was a miracle that I didn’t get pulled over or have witnesses to call the cops on a reckless driver speeding through Tempe.

My mother stepped out on the porch as soon as I got out of the car with a smile on her face and a bright pink dish towel in her hands. Her smile didn’t last long though.

“What happened to you?” she asked, taking in the dirt smudged knees of my jeans and my probably pale face.

I decided to play the nonchalant card. “Nothing. Ray had me redo the window boxes today and I spilled some soil.”

I was surprised by just how easily it was for me to lie straight to my mother’s face. I once told her everything: mostly because she always could read me like a book, so it was kind of pointless for me to lie. That, and because I never had anything to hide from her.

She studied my face for a moment before forcing a smile. “I see. Would you like to help me make dinner? Anita and Sebastian are stopping by again…”

Life was on repeat.

She held the door open for me, just like she used to when I was a child after spending the day fighting with my friends over Fort Ravenrot.

As I stepped inside, I couldn't help my curiosity and, apparently neither could my mother, because the two of us looked toward the road when we heard the recognizable sound of a car driving by.

My eyes met the familiar hazel ones that belonged to the one and only Kennedy Brock as he sat in the passenger seat of an even more all too familiar car. I could only assume that our expressions mirrored each other: mouth dropped open, eyes wide, brow slightly furrowed in confusion, unsure if we could really believe what we were seeing.

And in the passenger seat sat one of my biggest personal demons that I had yet to face: John.

We'd once been so close, but I was more than certain that he hadn't forgiven me for leaving without explanation. He cared about people passionately, but he held grudges when he was truly betrayed even more so. And I was sure, even with the six year relationship under my belt, that I would be no exception to John's disapproval.

“Is that…?” my mother trailed off as Kennedy whipped around to face the one person that I really didn’t want to see.

“Yeah,” I stated, forcing a calm tone, void of all emotion. I didn’t bother to wait to see his reaction, or my mother's for that matter.

I walked inside to where Florence was begging for attention and decided that life being on repeat was all that bad if I didn't have to face the people I'd left behind.