Escaping Reality

this direction.
    Your new boss?
    My brows dip. Yes. My new boss.
    Interesting. I can’t wait to hear all about him.
    Avoidance mode kicks into gear. What time will you be here?
    Around six or seven. Headed into a meeting and I’m not sure how
    long it will take.
    I glance at the clock. It’s three. How did it get to be three? See you
    soon then.
    Not soon enough.
    My chest burns with what could be nothing more than a flirty
    message, but it feels like more. He feels like more. The very more I have
    ached for deep in my soul. Which is exactly why I have to walk away. I will
    trust him. I will pull him into my hell. And then one or both of us will crash
    and burn.

    ***
    After two hours of searching the internet for clues about my new
    boss to no avail, I left a message for Meg about changing the locks on my
    apartment since the office was already closed.
    Trying to clear my head to think straight, I decided to shower and
    freshen up. For the time being, I put my shorts back on, but I will change to
    meet Liam. Or not. I don’t know. I shouldn’t change. It will send the wrong
    message. Seeing him again might too, but it’s a risk I have to take to return
    the phone. I considered just dropping it off, but I feel I know enough about
    Liam to know he will just march to my door. If I am ending this, I need to
    really end it. If. No if. I am ending it. I will meet Liam at the hotel bar, nice
    and public, and then be on my way.
    Feeling jittery, I decide to run to the store to grab a few staples,
    hoping it will work off my nerves. It doesn’t work. Thirty minutes later, I
    return from the quick trip, and while I felt better while on my little
    excursion, I am right back where I started the instant I step into my “fake”
    apartment and more jittery than ever. I decide I probably need food and
    should force myself to eat to see if it will help, though I fear it will not sit
    well on my stomach. It’s not like I have to worry about ruining my dinner I
    am not having with Liam.
    Deciding on a can of soup, I pull out one of my new pans from a bag
    and then grimace at my newfound, should-have-been-obvious problem. I
    have no can opener or bowls. Paper plates are not going to cut it. Brilliant
    move. Just brilliant. My list has failed me and I eagerly jump on another
    excuse to get out of this cage I’m supposed to call home. The very idea that
    it will ever be that is laughable. This place is not home. Home is in Texas,
    where I can never return.
    Considering it’s already five o’clock, and Liam should be calling soon,
    I quickly find my way to the street. The instant I step off the elevator I know
    this trip is different from the last.
    Unease prickles through me and the hair at my nape lifts. The
    sensation of being watched I’d had walking to the bank earlier is back, and
    it is powerful. Each step I take seems to magnify the feeling. I speed up
    more and more, until I am all but running as I cross the main street to the
    grocery store.
    At the door, I glance behind me, searching for the source of my
    discomfort, but finding no one obvious. If I could flippantly call this
    paranoia I would gladly do so, but I’ve seen death and heartache. I am not
    hiding from no one and for no reason. Desperately, I wish for some sign
    from my handler that I am safe in this new location with this new identity,
    but even this is troubling. I am blind to the colors around me, trapped in a
    world that is only black and white.
    Run or be caught. Hide or die. My throat thickens. Like everyone else
    I loved has died.
    Inside the store, I begin to shop, and momentarily I am relieved. I am
    in a public place. I am safe and the sensation of being watched is gone, but I
    am deeply troubled by the idea of being watched, even by my handler. He
    saved my life , I remind myself. He is trustworthy. No one else can be
    trusted. But Liam. I play that idea over and over in my head and in every
    version of how and I think of all the good ways that might end. And the
    bad. I think of him being in danger. I think of me being in danger.
    Quickly, I fill my basket, grabbing my staple bargain box of popcorn, a
    few bowls and a cheap can opener before I head to the checkout line. I
    grimace down at my basket. My popcorn requires a microwave. Craigslist or
    Walmart here I come and soon, I decide. Popcorn and TV dinners are this
    single girl’s staples. I’m about to remove the popcorn from my basket to
    save my pennies for later, when my phone, or