"Are you alright?" the man with the mysterious eyes asked. 

He sat on the front steps of the porch, a newspaper in his left hand. His hair was short and wavy, sitting nicely atop and around his thin face. He was wearing nice clothes for such a casual day, a collared white shirt and a long black coat with thin white stripes that went down to his knees. His pants were a dark grey, and his shoes were large and black. He had a long orange scarf wrapped around his neck and was the same color as a tiger's fur.

"Not really," Annika confessed, "I had a bad day at school."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the strange man frowned and looked troubled at her response, "what happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Some bullies broke my glasses..." Annika wasn't sure if she should be talking to a stranger, but for some reason, she felt like she could trust him, though she wasn't sure why. 

"Well, if you wait here a minute, I'll see what I can do." 

In a flash, the man disappeared behind the door and into the unfinished house. Annika looked up and realized there wasn't even a roof over the boards that had been placed standing upright. Before she could ponder how strange that was, the door flung open and the man came down the stairs with a new pair of glasses and handed them to her.

"This should be what you need." 

Annika accepted the gift and looked it over with raised eyebrows. The glasses didn't look like anything out of the ordinary,  just rectangular,  black and thick rimmed. 

"Try it on," coaxed the man gently.

Not only did they fit perfectly, but she could see though them without her eyes hurting. 

"Th-thank you!" she stammered, amazed at how well they suited her, "thank you so much!"

"Anytime ma'am," the man bowed and flashed her a white smile, "your world will become much more clear with that pair." 

"I'm sorry, what is your name?" Annika asked. She couldn't quite remember if they had even had a proper introduction or not. 

"I'm just called, the Professor." He said nonchalantly. 

"Well then, thank you, Professor!" Annika smiled, "I have to go home now, or my parents will worry about me." 

He nodded understandingly. "Get home safe. Please let me know if you need anything else." 

"I will. Good bye!" Annika waved and continued walking down the street. She was grateful for the strange man's kindness and wanted to bring him a gift as thanks for the next time she saw him. 

* * * * *

I heaved a sigh and saved my word document. I was imagining solutions to my problems again. My family had all but forbidden me from going to anyone outside of them for advice. I was extremely tempted to, but I was also afraid of enduring their wrath for stepping a toe out of line. 

I turned my thoughts to my hobby of writing. I enjoyed it so much even though I wasn't the greatest at it. My dream was to become a published author and illustrator, but I felt too embarrassed about sharing my writings publicly. 

I had shared my story ideas with Steven shortly after we had gotten married, but he put them down and told me to help him with his story ideas instead. 

My husband's idea of "helping" was just having me complete any and all ideas he had for him. It was no different from being a maid, having me clean up any and all of his messes for him just so he could go create more.

It was difficult for me to imagine that we had been married for six years. I still remembered when we had first started talking to each other online. He had sent me his story ideas, and I showed him my artwork, which he claimed to have fallen in love with.

"You're so talented!"

"You're beautiful."

"We should create stories together!"

All of his flattering remarks had ceased after the wedding vows. I thought I had been marrying someone who actually loved me and who wanted to pursue similar goals, but it turned out that he just wanted to get close to my Dad, who was at the time, and still is, a Pastor and a carpenter. 

My father was a great craftsmen and artist. He helped build and design several churches in addition to refurbishing various homes across different states. My husband had tried sucking up to him in order to ride on his coat tails. 

"I've always wanted to do some good in the community," Steven had said to my father as he begged to be hired to work as his assistant.

"Go take classes in carpentry, and then come back and talk to me after you know what you're doing," Dad had replied while giving him a stack of books to read.

Steven had moped around for a few days after that and claimed to be depressed. In an effort to cheer Steven up and give him some motivation, I had put together a list of videos from the internet for us to watch together so he could start learning. 

That plan only worked for a few days before Steven started getting upset at me.

"Cheyenne, quit nagging me."

"Stop telling me what to do."

"You're not my Mom."

Despite all of my efforts, Steven gave up on becoming a carpenter and blamed me as being the reason why he had not completed the tasks given to him.

So now, I had entirely stopped helping Steven with any harebrained scheme he came up with. Instead, I wrote and drew for my own ideas as often as I could while Steven was at work and when Oliver was either at preschool or content entertaining himself with his legos and stuffed animals.

Somehow, everything is always my fault...  

Ping.

I glanced down at my phone. Steven had given it back to me earlier that morning before he left for work. I knew he had read all my messages, and he had given it back because he hadn't found anything suspicious. I quickly scrolled to the message my phone had received and saw that my friend from where I had used to work, Amber, was reaching out to me.

"Hey girl! My hubby and I just moved into town. Do you want to come over and help me paint the house? I'll buy you lunch if you do."

I quickly glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty in the morning. My son wouldn't be out of preschool until two, and Steven wouldn't be home until five in the evening. I had time to kill.

"Yeah. I'll be right over. What's the address?" I messaged back.

"1788 Cherry Street."

I looked up the address online. It was only five minutes away from our house.

"Thank you!" I messaged back before saving the word document on my computer and running down the stairs to the bedroom.

I need to look presentable.

I threw on some shorts and a t-shirt to look casual. I ran over to the bathroom mirror and looked at myself. My brownish blond hair was long and wavy, but a bit scraggly from not being brushed that morning. I quickly dug into one of the drawers beneath the bathroom sink, plucked out a large brush, and attacked the knots in my hair with it. 

After a few minutes of untangling the rats nest in my hair, I looked back in the mirror. It looked slightly better than before. 

It'll have to do.  

Makeup was a mystery to me, so I didn't own any. There were bad memories attached with it, which is why I didn't bother learning how to put it on.

"Shy, if you want guys to ever like you, you need to stuff your bra and stop smiling so much," Kirsten's voice from back in eighth grade floated through my mind.

Even though thirteen years had passed since I had been friends with that girl, some of the things she had said and done still affected me in negative ways. I was well aware of this, but was unsure of how to deal with it in a healthy way.

A therapist was out of the question. Asking for outside help from the family was forbidden. I was always pressured to ask my parents and siblings for help with anything personal, and that law was cracked down even more on me since I was supposed to look to my husband for guidance...

I laughed in the mirror like a crazy person. 

Look to Steven for guidance? What a joke! 

And yet, it was expected of me, and what was worse, I was too afraid of experiencing the wrath of God and my family if I dared to step a toe out of line.

I mentally switched tracks and focused on getting to Amber's house. I flung on my socks and shoes, threw the strap of my purse on over my shoulder, shoved my phone into my pocket, and headed out the side door of the house towards the garage where the car was.

After making sure the side door was locked, I slid into the driver seat and started the car. As I pulled the car out of the driveway and onto the street, I suddenly couldn't remember if I had locked the door of the house or not. I quickly hopped out of the car and double checked the doorknob and pressed in. I had locked it.

Why do I second guess myself on everything? I asked myself as I drove to Amber's new home.

The house on Cherry Street was a dark green with painted white windows and door frames. There were fantasy themed lawn ornaments strewn about, half buried and broken, making it look like a fairy graveyard. A lit lamppost on the front lawn stuck out of the ground with long thin vines wrapped around it. The bright light illuminating from it gave it a "Narnia" like feel, as if I had just crossed over into an other world. 

I approached the front porch, walked up the steps and knocked timidly on the door and texted Amber "here" in case she hadn't hear me. I could hear faint footsteps approaching in addition to muffled creaking floorboards. With a loud squeak from the hinges, the door swung open.

"Hey, Shy," Amber smiled, her brown eyes sparkling, "thanks for coming over." 

I glanced down and noticed she was dressed in sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. Her long, wavy brown hair fell gracefully over both shoulders.

I overdressed just a bit...

"No problem," I said, following her in and closing the door behind me, "what would you like me to do?" I asked as I gazed around the interior. 

Cardboard boxes and trash littered the floor, and what patches I could see of the actual floorboards were scarred and scuffed up. The room faintly smelled like cigars and the walls were half blue, half yellow. I resisted plugging up my nose as I noticed empty bottles of liquor randomly placed on countertops, shelves and under the couch. 

This is going to be a large project...

"Just paint the walls and ceiling in the bedroom," Amber said, pointing at pails splashed with paint and rollers on sticks barely sitting on newspapers that were strewn all over the wooden floor.

I couldn't understand how her skin wasn't crawling by being surrounded in utter chaos. At a very young age, my mom had beaten cleanliness into me. My older brother, younger sister, and I would dread "Rally Days," where our mother would come into our rooms and tear down out all of our clothes from the closets, pour out each and every drawer, and dump everything from our shelves down onto our floors before handing us each two empty bags; one was for trash, and the other was for donations. 

We hadn't been allowed to leave our rooms until both bags were full and everything was put nicely away. If we dared to leave, even to use the bathroom, Mom would proceed to dish out more chores on top of us having to finish cleaning our rooms. Because of that, anytime I saw piles in my own home I would panic and kiss the rest of my day goodbye before rolling up my sleeves to clean it up.

"Shy, are you coming?"

"Yes, sorry," I snapped back to the present and followed Amber to the bedroom. The ceiling was half painted in a light peach color. All the furniture had been moved to the sides of the room, but they still had paint stains on them.

"If you could finish this room that would be perfect." 

Nodding, I bent down and picked up the roller and dipped it into the off white colored paint before lifting it above my head, pressing it firmly against the ceiling and rolling it back and forth.

"Thanks Shy," Amber said before whipping out her phone and surfing Facebook's home feed.

I was surprised that Amber wasn't working on cleaning up anything around the house while I was working, but I felt bad about saying anything, so I kept painting.

"Shy, remember when you told Salvador and I about how Steven's abusive?"

I turned and looked over at Amber. "Yes, I do."

While Oliver and I had been staying with my parents for three months, I had gone to lunch with Amber and her husband, Salvador, and explained to them how Steven would blame me for everything, how he would take away my phone and keep me in the house, and how he would throw things at me and threaten to burn my belongings and artwork if I didn't obey him. They listened politely, but I hadn't thought they believed me, and understandably so. My accusations seemed to come from nowhere. 

I was so used to pretending things were fine and keeping my problems to myself, that I probably came across as a liar or as someone who just wanted revenge on my husband.

"Well..." Amber leaned in and said lowly, "Salvador is abusive to me."

"What?" 

I nearly dropped the roller paintbrush. Ever since I had met Amber, all she had ever talked about was how amazing Salvador was and how much she loved him. Every day when we used to work together at the bakery on the south side of town, Salvador was all she ever talked about to me. It made no sense that suddenly, her husband was abusive. 

"How so?" I asked, keeping my voice calm. I didn't want to jump to conclusions or pick sides based only on what Amber said, but I needed to hear her out.

"Salvador didn't want me buying this house. He doesn't want me to be near my friends, he just wants me to drive an hour out of town to and from work every day even though I've fallen asleep at the wheel several times and crashed the car once because of how exhausted I was. He just wants me to work and do everything for him all the time, and he's just so controlling... and he's thrown things at me."

It was difficult for me to digest. 

Is Amber in the same boat as me? Is she, like me, pretending things were okay when really, she was scared to be with her husband?

"Are you okay?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowed together, "is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, I'll be okay. Do you want pizza?" Amber said calmly.

I was suspicious of how Amber could switch from such a serious topic to a random trivial one in just a split second.

"Sure... that sounds good..." 

I decided not to question her further. Something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Amber sent some messages on her Facebook before ordering us lunch. "Is a gluten free pizza okay? I'm allergic to gluten."

"That's fine," I said, "thank you for getting me food."

Amber kept typing on her phone and just nodded in reply.

"I finished painting the ceiling. I can work on something else while we're waiting," I offered.

"No, you did enough."

I looked around at the mess surrounding us and frowned. We had barely made a dent in the amount of work that it would take to make Amber's home even begin to look like a decent place to live.

"Are you sure? I have a bit more time before my son comes home from preschool."

"Nah, I want to make Salvador get off his lazy ass and do something to help out."

"Okay..." 

I wasn't sure how else to respond to that comment, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked my messages on facebook. I hadn't received anything new. I then searched for Salvador's profile and saw his picture on Facebook. He was tall and thin with midnight black hair and deep green sea eyes. I wanted to reach out to him and try to hear his side in a roundabout way, but I hesitated. 

Maybe I shouldn't get involved or rock the boat, but then again, what if she's telling the truth, or... what if she was lying? 

I had gone to them both for help while I was separated from Steven for three months, and they both had listened to me, so I did feel obligated to both of them.

"Hey Salvador," I typed, my keyboard clacking under my fingertips, "I'm with Amber. I helped with painting the ceiling in your new bedroom. Let me know if you'd like me to help out with anything else, I have time Mondays - Fridays from 11 am - 2 pm. It looks like there's a lot of work that needs to be done."

I sent that to him. It was a harmless conversation starter. I decided it was best to wait with the information Amber had given me. I didn't want to cause a fight between Salvador and Amber. In the meantime, I would just help them both with whatever they needed.

The doorbell rang, causing both Amber and I to look up from our phones.

"That must be the pizza," Amber said. She waltzed over to the front door and opened it. The smell of hot pepperoni and melted cheese wafted it's way into the living room, making my mouth begin to water. I was definitely grateful for the free meal, I hadn't eaten anything yet that morning.

Within minutes, Amber and I were both sitting on the couch in the living room eating pizza slices together.

"Thank you again for lunch," I said after taking a few bites.

"You're welcome," She replied mid-bite. We ate together in silence.

"Are you positive you don't need me to do anything else for you?" I asked again.

"Yes."

"Just making sure." 

I glanced down at my phone. I had about another hour to kill before needing to be home in time for the school bus to arrive with Oliver. If I went home in the next few minutes, I would have time to get some drawings done before spending the rest of the afternoon with my son. 

"Well, I wish you luck with everything," I stated awkwardly as I rose from the couch and carefully made my way to the kitchen to toss my napkins into the trash can. I gazed at the floor the whole time to make sure I didn't step on or break anything since there were so many knickknacks and opened boxes scattered everywhere.

"You can just toss that on the floor," Amber smirked as she half glanced my way, "Salvador can clean it up, he hasn't done anything to help."

I frowned and instead tossed it into the proper receptacle before treading back through the maze on the floor. "Sorry, Amber, I just don't want to cause any trouble."

"Okay, fine, whatever," she sighed before going back to clicking away at the tiny keyboard on her screen.

"I'll see you later then..." I waved awkwardly before stooping down to put on my shoes.

"Okay..." she replied in a monotone voice, her face glued to her screen.

"Bye..." I said one last time before disappearing out the front door. It was odd just leaving when there was so much work that clearly needed to be done, but it wasn't my house, so I couldn't judge.

 Is Salvador really as abusive as she's claiming? 

I pushed the thought away. I had my own prison to return to, so all I could do was wait to hear back from Amber's husband to hear his side of the story.

I slid into my car, which was warm from sitting in the sun, and placed the key in the ignition. Once it roared to life, I carefully backed out of Amber and Salvador's long driveway and drove myself home, wondering all the way if their situation was anything like mine or not. 

* * * * * 

*This song, "Take Me There," is by the band, Dawson Hallow. The Cherry Street House became my sanctuary.