Thank God. People can look at me and see me, not the bruises or split lip left by someone who was meant to love me.
Rhys and I have been arguing over every. Little. Thing.
I don’t get ready quick enough in the mornings.
He drank all the coffee.
I left my boots in the walkway.
He gets annoyed every time I say no to working with him.
I don’t leave him any hot water.
He was breathing.
All standard things.
Because of the storm, we don’t have to be up and working at the crack of dawn today. So, I lay in bed watching the sun slowly light up my room.
I want to be mad about Rhys getting me to work, but honestly, it has been a nice change of pace. Kept my mind busy and all the physical work I’ve done is helping me sleep. I haven’t had a nightmare since that time I stayed at the homestead.
I stay in bed until I smell the coffee being made. And like a zombie being summoned from its grave, I get up and walk to the kitchen.
“Coffee.”
“For fuck sake, Morgan, put some fucking clothes on.”
He says it with conviction, but the way his eyes rake over my body says something else.
“I am wearing clothes.”
“A t-shirt that barely covers your ass, is not clothes.”
“Then don’t look.”
He rolls his eyes and goes outside.
With my warm cup of coffee and the feeling of satisfaction because I’ve already annoyed him, I skip back to my room.
Yes, skip.
Rhys connected me to the homestead internet so I’m able to do some social media stalking. But I haven’t been on for a while, and everything I see feels like a time jump.
The first person to come up on my feed is Tatum Collins—all her posts are rugby fields and her Sydney life. I continue to scroll, nothing interesting; ads and some popstar announcing a tour. That is until Noah Sterling—he was into super cars and by looking at this photo and the rest of his page, he is still into them, even racing them. Well, that’s enough social media for today. Just as I go to close the app, I see Dorothy Willmot. She has a photo of a blank canvas and when I swipe to see the next photo, it’s the start of a tree.
Her page leads me to Arrianna Woods, daughter of Kerry-Anne Woods—the woman Shane found comfort in when Charlotte vanished.
Arrianna and I weren’t close, but we’d still say hi and chat in class. But when I accidentally caught Shane and her mother in the back of his patrol car, I couldn’t look at her. Maybe I should have told her, but I was fifteen when I caught Shane and Kerry-Anne, I didn’t know any better. Not to mention I was worried Damon would find out and beat the fuck out of my brother. He was the one person who was always in my corner. I couldn’t do that to him.
I don’t want to see any more of my old classmates living their best lives, while I’m stuck here, in bum fuck Western Australia, putting my life back together. But I’m a sucker for punishment, so I quickly look at Sadie Cooper’s profile. Her dad is the Chief of Police for Barrenridge, and apparently as corrupt as they come. She doesn’t appear to post much, and a part of me is relieved, but another part wonders why.
My finger hovers over one more name, but I decide against it. I heard Nash Stone was playing basketball in America, but I don’t look at his profile. I don’t want to risk seeing anything to do with Paige. My high school best friend and Nash’s half-brother's wife. When I moved to the city with Ethan, he slowly cut me off from her. I didn’t notice until I felt like it was too late. And by then, he had startedhitting me which added even more phone checks, so for the sake of both of us I never tried.
I’m free now though. I can reach out and apologise. Reconnect.God, don’t be a wuss, just look her up, message her.
But I don’t. Instead, I look up the station. See if they have a website or social media. They should. Showcase everything they have here. The caravan park and great fishing spots, according to Ron, the man who stitched me. He is a sweet man. Taking his time, not moving too fast so I suspect someone told him “I’m jumpy”. Maybe it was Brent. He has been kind enough to let me stay, even after freaking Molly out.
She’s so sweet. Telling me her Daddy scares away the monsters in her nightmares. And that’s how I found myself jealous of a five-year-old. For having someone fighting her monsters, let alone it being her dad.
