Page 3 of Run to Me

Robyn

I’ve gone through my entire life feeling unseen. I’ve remained invisible. I was the good daughter that my parents didn’t have to worry about—not like my brother—instead, remaining in the background.

I was the straight A student who teachers didn’t have to worry about. The student who never caused a fuss or got into trouble.

I was the quiet girlfriend who wasn’t high maintenance and didn’t feel the need to know my boyfriend’s every move—resulting in him thinking he could walk all over me and sleep with anyone he desired.

I was the push-over sister, who allowed my brother to use me however he liked, staying quiet as he blamed me for breaking things he had broken when we were younger, until it progressed and progressed until he would scheme his was through life, using me as a scapegoat, using me for money, usingme.

I was an invisible friend. The friend that was present more often than not but wouldn’t be thought of unless I was in their line of sight. I’d be excluded from shopping trips, parties, dinners. Not on purpose, no, it was just that if I wasn’t there I wouldn’t be on their mind. I wasn’t given a second, third or even fourth thought.

The only time throughout my life that I didn’t feel invisible, was when I was reading. Reading brought me calm; it helped me escape the anxiety inside my mind and made me feel safe. Reading was the thing that was mine, it was there when I needed it, always.

So, at the age of twenty-two—after finishing college with a degree in business—I opened my bookstore,One Last Chapter.

I used the inheritance I received from my parents’ deaths to open my own little patch of heaven, cut off the friends that barely knew I existed half of the time, distanced myself from my brother and moved onto a new chapter in my life.

The only part of my old life that I kept was Lia, my best friend. We met in college, instantly clicking and basically became inseparable. She is the only light I’ve had for most of my life, the only person who has ever reallyseenme. She saved me time and time again, and I’ll be forever thankful for the role she played in helping me love myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I still like to keep to myself. I’m still the quiet girl I have always been, but now I own it, now I don’t let that define me, and now I don’t let the people who are supposed to love me walk all over me. I’d like to think I’m stronger now, I still speak to my brother Jeremy from time to time, but I don’t let him control my life the way he would like to if I gave him the chance.

Yet I still feel like something is missing, like there’s a part of myself out there that I can’t quite reach, and I’ll never be whole until I find it.

Iwalk down the sidewalk, my steps hurried as I make my way home from Lia’s. Lia only lives two blocks away from me, so I usually walk rather than taking an Uber.

I’ve lived in the apartment above my store since I started renting the space two years ago. It’s the first place I’ve lived that ever really felt like home.

Sure, I felt at home when I lived with my parents, but I always felt like I needed to tip-toe around the house.

My parents died when I was sixteen in a car accident. They were hit by a drunk driver, causing them to veer off a bridge and resulting in them both drowning before help could arrive. Since then, my childhood home felt even emptier than it did before, and my college dorm felt the same.

But as soon as I saw the tiny one-bedroom apartment above the bookstore, I fell in love.

Since it’s almost one in the morning, there aren’t exactly many people around. Not like there would be during the day. I’m only a few minutes away when I get the sense that I’m being watched.

This has been happening more and more lately. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as a bolt ofsomethingruns throughmy veins. I don’t know why the hell anyone would be following me. What would anyone want with me?

Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

Or maybe I’m drunker than I thought.

I look around to see if I can see the culprit. But as usual, there’s nothing out of the ordinary that catches my eye. I quicken my steps and do my best to remain calm as I finally make it to the door on the side of the building since my apartment has a different entrance to the store.

I shakily pull my keys from my pocket and unlock the door before rushing inside and slamming it behind me. I quickly turn the deadbolt and rush up the stairs that lead to my apartment.

I stumble towards the window and look down at the street below me, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, something,anything,so that I can try to convince myself that I’m not going totally insane. But, as usual, there’s nothing to see. There’s nothing that stands out as different.

Anyone else would probably call the cops, file a report, or tell someone about the feeling they keep having. I don’t know why I don’t do it; I don’t know whether it could be because there’s a high possibility of it being part of my imagination or because the feeling doesn’t incite fear inside me like it should.

No—instead of feeling scared like any other person would—the feeling I get when I feel that gaze following me makes me feel safe, like I’m being protected.

How messed up is that?

Maybe I should just check myself into a psychiatric unit and call it a day.

Chapter Two

Enzo