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*** Karis' POV***

The dull ache behind my eyes is a loud reminder that stress has been my companion for too long. The sun stings as it rises, letting it's warmth take over my exposed skin. Blinking repeatedly, I attempt to focus beyond the bright light to see the gorgeous blue sky outside of my home. My house has become a sanctuary in the past few weeks. 

The coffee I sip at sends an exquisite tingle over my tongue. A dark breakfast roast seems to warm my soul as I gulp down the first few sips without compassion for my taste buds. As I take a seat on my front porch, I awaken my phone from it's evening slumber. The 'do not disturb' feature is my favorite aspect of these phones. It makes ignoring unwanted messages easy. 

Looking to the upper right corner of my screen I see the bold indication of several emails. I am not impressed nor am I encouraged to breech that reminder today. It is Sunday. Whatever awaits, can continue waiting. I desperately need a break.

My text messages are far fewer than the email notifications. The simple number of three is neither threatening nor urgent. I slowly move my screen through Facebook, pretending that there are more important avenues to venture towards than messages. A small giggle leaves my lips as my eyes scan the adorable monkey in the meme. I always call it a meme that is pronounced as (meem). However, thinking about it, I remember a former employee always said (mim). I think I'm correct. Who knows...

When my feed excises a yawn from my lips, I begrudgingly close my app so that I can move on to more pressing matters. A swipe of my finger exposes the senders of my text alerts. Rex carefully checks in on me with the sad face emoji and a question mark. Knowing all too well how much I miss my friend, I send a short reply to let him know that I am thinking of him but, I am unable to give him an ETA on when I will be out of my current state of mind.

To my surprise Vance nor Christopher have sent me anything. The former makes me ache for contact with him. I miss Vance desperately. Unfortunately, I have such a tangled ball of emotions within, any conversation between Vance and I would not be productive. Christopher's absence does nothing to sadden me. I am actually comforted by the fact that he has chosen to stay quiet. Silence is a blessing when the general theme of mine and Christopher's conversations seems to do nothing more than irritate me.

A gentle hugging emoji from Dylan lets me know that he is in my corner. We both have today off. I know I need it. I imagine that Dylan is exhausted as well. I am not certain that we have ever been this busy. The steady flow of customers is incredibly kind to my wallet yet, it is a major strain on our understaffed company.

Deleting the text that announces male enhancement drugs, I sigh. I absolutely loathe how easy it is to be bombarded by advertisements. You would think the companies could at least nail their target audience. I do not see myself in need of a penis enhancement anytime in the near future. The last time I checked, I was glad that I do not have the appendage.

As I am finding myself over the phone completely, another text comes straight through. The delivered message shows me a preview. The few sentences I can read have me scrambling to open the full message quicker than I am prepared for.

Vance: I know better than anyone not to push you. This is not a nudge in any direction. I just wanted to remind you that I am here for you. Whenever you are ready, sweet girl, I am waiting.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as if to reply. The two overwhelming feelings within fight for dominance. I struggle not to sway towards the idea of answering his message. Vance does not expect me too. However, I want to. I want so badly to just bury the seeds of my past. I want to go back to pretending that nothing is wrong; pretending that I am okay.

The irresponsible part of me gives me a hundred excuses not to maturely take back my life. The irrational way that my body responds to seeing Vance's name is a strong warning that I could easily slip back into hiding the depth of my scars. Yet, the truth of how deeply that trauma has affected me is apparent. The warring feelings that have started to constrict my chest scream out that it is far past time for me to face my demons. I need closure. I need healing. It is unfair to myself and everyone in my circle for me to remain so broken.

The dimming of my phone screen tells me that I have let enough time pass. I am off of the hook. If Vance did not receive a response, he does not and will not expect one. I still want to message him back. For now, I will let the screen stay black. I have to put myself first even if that means depriving myself of wants while tending to my own needs.

The few moments that all of this thinking feel like, turns out to be an hour. Having woken up late, nearly ten-thirty, I see that the clock is close to noon. If I do not get in gear, I will have accomplished nothing on this day. I quickly throw my phone down as I pass my bed. My clothes slip off of my body, puddling to the floor. The swoosh of the fabric as it settles near my feet bring tingles dancing across my skin. Methodically, almost robotically, my mind enters into the memories of Vance's fingertips skimming over my curves. I ache in places that I cannot give relief to.

His eyes wonder up and down my form giving me warmth inside of my veins. My hands tremble, ghosting over every inch that his hands and eyes have traced. My memories are so vibrant that I struggle to remain in reality. Every reminder of Vance's touch cause a deepening desire to lay bare before the man.

As the demand for pleasure becomes overbearing, I snap back to the present. I smile embarrassingly when I notice that I have completed my shower without having to force myself. The time has lapsed with me going through my usual routine without even coercing my mind to play along. It is always funny to me when I notice how our conscious efforts are wasted because our brains will takeover when we are unable to play an active role in our survival.

Getting dressed is a simple task. I throw my hair in a bun, brush my teeth and slip on my faithful yoga pants with a t-shirt. Feeling much better about the amount I have accomplished thus far, I move towards the laundry room with my dirty clothes in hand. 

A quick command to Alexa fills my home with music labeled under chores. The 90's hip hop mix is a bi-polar collaboration of party anthems and sex filled ballads. I sing along while moving through my mental to-do list. The house smells of cleaners, candles and the slight breeze from the windows that are now open.

My dining room table catches my eye. I stare at the grains of the wooden farmhouse style top. The table is surprisingly clear. Generally, that table stands in as a catch all drawer. Most people keep junk drawers in the kitchen. I tend to fall short of over stuffing a cabinet drawer with the most useless of things. Instead, the junk mail, my purse and even my take-out plates rarely make it past the large table that takes up most of my dining room. 

I cannot remember when I cleaned that spot. I just stare at the table as if a miracle has occurred. Or, I am hoping that a miracle just may happen.

Drawn to the place where I do my bills, I sit down on my bench and grab my checkbook from my purse. I glance through my entries wondering why I suddenly feel the urge to need to be in this space. A couple of passes over my balance, the names of utility companies and my credit card payments leaves me even more confused. I see nothing that is unpaid. I do not feel as if I have left anything to be taken care of.

I sigh as I settle into my seat hoping that a moment of deja vu has led me astray. The feeling of forgetting something or neglecting it altogether keeps my anxiety stirring. I attempt to focus on Let's Get Married by Jagged Edge. The song sends an irritating memory to the forefront of my thought. Christopher once ragged on the band for being losers because they wanted marriage when they were already famous. I had spent over an hour of my valuable time trying to convince my then husband that romance and fame were not mutually exclusive.

The memory is just another reminder of how many red flags I missed while trying to see the good in someone that didn't feel a need to be good. All of my wasted energy feels even more precious when I could have been feeding into myself. Had I done that, I would not be where I am at this moment. Instead, I could have been basking in the beauty of Vance's adoration for me.

A hmph comes from me. The way my arms angsty fold across my chest is comical. No one can even see the gesture, yet I feel the need to be petulant. It is annoying how we have to go through the motions just to feel better. My defiance is apparent. I loathe how much I gave away with too little having been returned.

The anger that stirs inside of me tells me that I need to do something about my feelings. Maybe I should go back to seeing a therapist. The thought irks me. I have been there, done that and have the t-shirt. Literally, I have a t-shirt from my last therapist. I just wanted a free t-shirt. They just wanted free advertising.

I stand abruptly, wondering if a drive may help my current mood. Maybe I need to drive back to my previous home and just see what it is I left behind. I need a change of scenery. I start thinking of past friendships and all of those people who I used to feel were a connective life line. I haven't seen much of anyone outside of my employees, Vance and his employees. I think that a possible reconnection may be just what the doctor ordered.

My car welcomes me with blaring music as soon as I turn it on. I check all of my mirrors carefully backing out of my driveway into the busy open road. The birds chirp loudly while my car catches up to the speed limit. The wind through my hair is an instant anxiety serum.

Every red light seems personally offensive as I make my way down familiar roads. I find myself slowing down past the small corner store that I spent so many days running to for midnight re-stocks on alcohol that I had no hand in drinking. I glare towards the local fast food chain, remembering the long lines that wasted my weekends while I did everything I could to be a good wife. The reminders of everything I changed about myself make me ill. A sickening feeling settles at the pit of my stomach. How did I go so long without seeing that I gave so much of myself away to someone who could care less that I existed? It is a blunt smack from reality that I haven't been kind to myself.

My next turn gives me dual feelings. Relief washes over me as the house that I used to occupy comes into my view. Christopher isn't home so there will no evidence that I was here. The feeling of pain overwhelms the relief. Just the exterior reminds me of what those walls hold. The flashing memories are perfectly painted, giving me details of moments that were happy, sad, terrifying but mostly, just draining. Tears warm my cheeks before cooling down to tighten the skin beneath their trails. A sorrow too deep to comfort drags a wail from my lips. With blurry eyes, I purposefully press the gas a little too hard. The bark of my tires jerks me from my wandering mind and alerts me to just fucking drive.

I know what I need to do. I know why I need to do it. Every thing that I thought that I couldn't figure out is so blatantly obvious. I have to contact Christopher. This one last time, I have to finally breech the silence and have a voice.