"We often engage the defense mechanism of tunnel vision, just to keep ourselves focused on our daily lives. This makes us terribly jaded in our perception of what is really around us."

Vera Nazarian

AVERY

My phone's continuous ringing pulls me from the same repetitive nightmare of the scene that's plagued me these last three years. Except this time, Mr. Trien sees me, and his cruel grin turns predatory as he eats up the space between us with three long strides. His massive form hovers above me.
The scene disappears, and I'm looking at my white speckled ceiling. fumbling for the phone, I answer with a groggy

"hello?"

It's my boss. He's calling to discuss my last article. Mr. Rembly's impressed with my work and would like to talk to me about expanding my coverage. I'm not sure what that exactly entails, but my imagination goes wild with the possibilities. He tells me to come in tomorrow to discuss the opportunity further.

I let out a loud "woot woot" and my neighbor stomps on the floor, letting me know I've disturbed him. It doesn't phase me today. I hop out of bed with an extra spring in my step. Maybe now my boss will finally look at some of my investigative pieces. I'm elated after countless attempts. He's finally noticed me.

After a hot shower, I half-ass dry my hair and twist the long curling length in a loose bun quickly rifling through my drawers looking for leggings, but there're only jeans left. Making a mental note. I remind myself to do the laundry today as I glare at the overflowing basket. I was going to work on my column, but I think I'll wait to see what tomorrow holds. Rushing out, I grab a coffee at the local shop accost the street, choosing the outside table that overlooks my balcony, I glance up. Thankfully, my plants are still thriving. Shit, I left a light on. These last couple of weeks have been busy. Fixing the biggest mistake of my life has taken all of my energy. I take a deep, relaxing breath. Halfway through my coffee, I realize this is the relief I was waiting for. I finally have my life back.

As if on queue, in lieu of my positivity. I remember the weird twist to my recurring dream. My anxiety decides to kick up. I discreetly slip a pill under my tongue before it can take hold of my good mood.

"Ugh, day by day," I mutter under my breath. This has been my mantra for the past three years. Last night, I slept better than I have in a long time, even with the pills. That is an improvement, I won't view it any other way. In time, I won't need the stupid pills.

I spend an arm and a leg on groceries; it serves me right shopping hungry. I'm picking up my latest guilty pleasure; a trashy romance book. I sip a fresh Pina colada and let out a sigh, laying back on the lounger.

The sun hasn't set, and the air is still humid. Condensation drips off my cup to my bare legs, and at the same time, a crisp breeze brushes past me. It gives my skin gooseflesh. As I look past the balcony rails to the sky. I see it turn pink before my eyes. The scene is so dreamy. My body turns into a relaxed puddle of goo on my balcony.

Hours later, I wake up to what sounds like a door closing. My door. I jump awake, it's dark now, and my lights are off. I fumble for the switch and grab my umbrella it's the closest to a weapon I can find. When I turn the lights on, no one is there. My door is shut and locked. I stop holding the umbrella like it's a baseball bat and hang it up on its hook. I wonder if maybe I had another nightmare that put me on edge.

Suddenly famished, I make an omelet for dinner, skipping the news to listen to music. As I dance around my kitchen to some random pop song, my neighbor stomps again. I debate turning it up. Instead, I roll my eyes and do the opposite, but not before sending him a double middle finger. With an eye roll, I switch on the news and hit the restart button, watching while I eat cross-legged on the couch. When it gets boring, I browse through the channels, stopping at a steamy scene. My jaw drops when I get full frontal shots of a woman being slammed from behind while a burly man pulls her hair. I hit the info button to make sure I didn't accidentally order porn.
"Wholly Hanna!"

She seems to be enjoying herself immensely. My eyes go half mass, and I catch myself reaching in my shorts. I quickly change the channel, feeling totally seedy. What has gotten into me lately, sheesh. I haven't been intimate with myself since I was a teenager. It's midnight and I'm tired, I've got a big day tomorrow I tell myself,

"Go. To. Bed."

When I get up, the meeting is the only thing on my mind. I choose black pleated slacks and blazer. Underneath, I opt for a pop of color, in a pink silky camisole. I tie my hair in a ponytail, sweeping my bangs to the side and observe myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. The dark circles under my eyes have disappeared. That's the second full night of sleep I've gotten in years. I cross my fingers and hope things continue in the positive direction they're going.

My phone rings as I'm putting on my shoes. I debate ignoring it, but it rarely get a call. So I slip my shoes off and pick it up on the third ring.

"Hello, dad," my voice displays my annoyance.

"To what do I owe the great honor of your attention?"

He's quiet for a long stretch. I can already tell I've pissed him off. Surprise. It's not very hard. I usually do that just by existing. He asks if I've had any unusual visitors or if anyone has been poking around? Cryptic much? What the serious freck is that about?

"No, why would I?... What did you do now, dad?" He's so quiet, I check to see if the line is dead. Dad tells me Luke Trien is out, that he's somehow been released. I dry swallow, making a choking noise in the process and muster up my most surprised voice, botching it with awkward stutters.

"Who g_. Let him out -. Er, how did he get out?"

My father ignores this telling me, they dropped the charges, they even paid him hush money, and that that doesn't matter. What does the fact that he's out at all?

I'm relieved when I realize he has no idea that it was me and he's not too concerned with the how.

"When did you find out?" I ask, genuinely curious. He told me yesterday. Wow! I must be so important, not!

"You waited nearly twenty-four hours before telling your daughter the man she put away to rot has been released? Wow, dad! Nice to know I'm your top priority!"

He makes a scoffing noise and asks if I'd like one of his watchdogs to stake out my place. Ugh, no thanks! The last time I was assigned a walking sidekick was in high school. There was an anonymous bomb threat to our home. He followed me around everywhere. It made my friends so uncomfortable; I was forced to eat lunch alone for weeks.

"Is there any reason I need protection?"

When he grows silent, I begin to worry.

"Does he know! Did Ray talk?"

My shrill voice brings him out of his silence. He assures me there's no way Ray would put himself in jeopardy. Mr. Trien doesn't know, nor will he, but I'm not completely convinced. I check my watch,

"I've got to go, see you at Christmas." I snap, hanging up before he can respond.

The phone call was just the tip of the iceberg that was about to crash into my newfound optimism. After the meeting with my boss. I seriously contemplate quitting. He so graciously expanded the word count on my column from a thousand to twenty-five hundred words. Whoop-Dee-freaking- do! He then proceeds to excitedly tell me to write a column about this week's trends, sports, or another dreaded political standpoint.

I use my foot to refresh the scalding water. A half a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates later I'm ready to wretch. That's it! I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and go out for a walk.
It's probably one of the last few warm nights. The fall passes quickly in New York. The park is abnormally empty. Yet, I somehow feel like I'm being watched. It's so dark I can't see anything. Scoffing, I blame my paranoia on the conversation with my dad and the fact I'm feeling a little tipsy. It's funny. Normally, that would spike my anxiety, but tonight, I enjoy the slight dulling of my senses.