Kent doesn’t wait for me to climb the steps up to the house. Instead, he goes in ahead of me, leaving me to follow dutifully behind.
I feel my stomach turn over for the second time today, though this time for totally different reasons. I would feel better, frankly – understand it more – if Kent were freaking out at me. Yelling at me, losing his temper, giving me commands.
But this Kent? The quiet, controlled, considered Kent?
He’s the one I’m afraid of.
I look down at my feet as I climb the steps, feeling every bit the naughty schoolgirl about to get yelled at for breaking the rules. The pleasant buzz that the tequila built in my mind gets wiped away by my anxiety, my adrenaline. It’s as if my body knows that I have to be focused right now to face him.
When I walk into the house I se
