My mom leaves on Wednesday, very apropos, after my insistence that I’ll be fine on my own, especially now that I have a bodyguard and Violet’s been stopping by on a daily basis. I love my mom, but she gets antsy staying in one place for more than a few days at a time, and she’s driving me crazy. Besides, I’m not keen on rehashing all the memories from The Ranch or hearing again how sorry she is that Frank found us on account of her audition. It’s not like she could’ve known that Frank had finally jumped into the twenty-first century by getting a laptop and a Facebook account.

I don’t even feel like I know myself anymore, and trying to explain that is difficult. My mom thinks the answer is to get out of Chicago and travel with her. The idea of running certainly has it’s appeal, but then what would I have? I don’t want to leave behind all the people I care about, the family I created for myself in Violet and the girls, and even Darren.

I don’t know what to do about him, either. I’ve made such a mess of things.

He calls several times a day, but I can’t answer. I’m afraid to. I know what he was going to tell me. But I can’t decide if it was coming from a place of honesty, or if he was simply trying to give me a balm that would somehow soothe me, erase the pain and fear and uncertainty of everything that made me who I am. And I’m unsure who that even is anymore.

I want too much to let him love me.

But admitting it won’t prevent him from being traded. Loving him won’t stop him from moving halfway across the country. And if he goes, he takes half my heart with him.

He will regardless. So I don’t know why the words scare me so much.

Maybe because all the love I’ve known has been tied up in so much weirdness and instability. Maybe I think as soon as it’s real, it will fall apart. And if he stays, I have to acknowledge all the ways I’ve kept us in this constant state of stasis.

I spend all of Thursday watching terrible reality TV, trying to feel better about my shitstorm of a life. I don’t know how to unbreak myself enough to be able to love the way I want to. I mentally unpack my childhood at The Ranch, followed by the freak show that was my teenage years, until I stumbled upon Violet in my first year of college. And in doing so, I see all the pieces of myself and how they fit together in a jagged-edged puzzle of crazy.

I’m sheltered but not. I created normal where there wasn’t. I made a family so I wasn’t alone. And then I found Darren, the man who molded himself into what I needed, who changed as I required, who kept his emotions locked down to protect me from myself, who never once put the lid on my jar. In a lot of ways we were safe for each other, until it all came crashing down, as happens when emotions are given room to breathe and grow.

I can’t allow things to continue like this, with him constantly altering his needs to suit mine. But now that I see things clearly, I realize that how I operate is exactly what he’s used to. I put restrictions on us, and he abided by them.

If I keep doing this, I’m just as bad as the people who raised him. And that’s not what I want to be. Because I love him, and as scared as I am of what’s coming, I don’t want to lose him.

By Friday I’m restless. I’ve binge watched every terrible reality TV show available. After six straight hours of Garage Wars, I clean my house from top to bottom and fall asleep at four o’clock in the morning, only to have nightmares about being trapped at The Ranch again. Except there’s no way out anymore because instead of a razor-wire-topped fence, the perimeter is lined twenty feet deep with recycled junk, and every time I try to climb to the top, the stacks fall and bury me.

I decide to switch to game shows after that for a few hours. Every time I nod off I have another nightmare, though, so I consume a pile of my candies, hoping to find some calm. I miss Darren. All I want is to curl up in his arms and let him protect me. But I worry as soon as I do, he’ll turn into another Frank, and then I’ll be trapped for the rest of my life.

It’s not rational. It might not even be sane, but the fear takes hold and roots itself in my brain.

Around noon my stomach rumbles, and I make my bleary way to the fridge. The box of wine my mom left for me has probably turned into vinegar by now, and I’ve eaten all the food Violet left me yesterday. She’s supposed to stop by after work with fresh donuts, which is all I want to consume right now, but that’s still hours away.

There’s a convenience store down the street. They’ll have Twinkies and Ho-Hos. I can make it there and back in less than twenty minutes, especially if I drive. Nothing bad will happen.

I get a load of my reflection in the mirror. I look like I’ve been on a serious bender. My eyes are bloodshot, and my pajamas are a wrinkled mess. I end up taking a very long shower and changing into a pair of leggings and a shirt Darren bought for me. I brush and braid my hair, because drying it would take too much effort. Then I grab my purse, phone, and keys and open the door.

I’ve forgotten about the security detail—don’t ask me how, he’s there all day every day—and I suck in a sharp breath and grab for my pearls. But of course they’re not there because they broke, again, all because of crazy fucking Frank.

“Miss Charlene, I apologize if I’ve startled you. Do you need something? A ride to Mr. Westinghouse’s perhaps?” he asks, polite and formal.

I consider it for half a second as I glance around at the wide open space and all the potential for danger. All the worst possible scenarios bounce around in my head, such as Frank popping out from behind some bushes with a chloroform rag and dragging me back to the RV with the help of all the co-op women.

“No. No, I’m fine.” I back up and slam the door closed, fixing the lock with shaking hands. I’m sweaty, and my mouth is dry. I pop one of my candies, even though I’m not sure they’re effective at keeping me calm anymore.

The soft knock at the door makes me scream.

“Miss Charlene? I apologize again for startling you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“How do I know you’re not part of Frank’s RV gang?” I shout through the door.

“I’ve been hired by Mr. Westinghouse to ensure your safety, Miss Charlene.”

I know he’s telling the truth. He’s been standing outside my door all week. Also, Darren texted me his picture and his personal details.

“Prove it!” I yell. My voice is super pitchy. Clearly I’m losing it. Again.

Less than a minute later, there’s another knock on the door. “Miss Charlene, I’m going to slide my phone through the mail slot. Mr. Westinghouse is on the line and he’d like to confirm that I am indeed here for your safety.”

I catch his phone before it hits the floor and stare at the screen. Shit, Darren Facetimed. I take a few deep breaths, wishing I was more put together and that my hands would stop shaking.

“Charlene?”

I keep the phone pointed at the ceiling and drop to the floor. “One second.” I put my head between my knees because I feel dizzy. I haven’t spoken to Darren since my birthday, although he calls and leaves messages on a daily basis to make sure I’m okay.

“Firefly?”

The nickname makes me want to cry because I finally understand what it means. I’m his firefly. The one he wants to catch and keep, but can’t.

“Just another moment.”

“You’re worrying me.”

I lift my head and tilt the phone down until his face comes into view. I’m unprepared for the rush of emotion that comes with seeing him. I want to reach through the screen and touch him. I want the safety of his arms and the warmth of his lips against my skin.

“Hi.” My voice is raspy and tremulous, like the rest of me.

He scans my face, assessing, his icy eyes dark and lips turned down. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

I have so many things I want to say to him. Questions, admissions, fears I want to unload so he can assuage them. But all of those get stuck in my throat, and I go with stupidity instead. “I . . . no. I need groceries.”

Relief is followed by a wash of sadness. “What do you need? I can pick it up and bring it over.” He pauses and clears his throat. “Or have it sent if you’d prefer. You can order online if that’s easier and use the credit card I gave you to pay for it.”

I don’t know why I didn’t think about ordering groceries. Maybe because my mom was here until a couple of days ago, and between her and Violet, they’ve been taking care of feeding me. Not that I felt like eating much. Donuts are my go to. I want Doritos with onion dip, but they remind me too much of Darren.

“I have my own credit card.”

I look down, away from his sad eyes and the lost look on his face.

“I know this is difficult for you, Charlene, and I understand your need for space, but when you’re ready to talk, know I’m here, waiting for you. In the meantime, whatever you need, please don’t hesitate to ask either myself or Luther.”

“Luther?”

“It’s his phone you’re holding.”

“Oh. Right.” I feel bad that I didn’t even remember his name.

After a few more moments of quiet he finally asks, “Are you okay?”

“I . . . no.”

His voice hardens. “Has Frank tried to make contact?”

“No.” But I don’t trust he won’t try again. He’s too crazy not to. I’m sure he’s laying low, biding his time, waiting until I let my guard down.

“Okay, that’s good. If he does, will you call me? Or at least tell Luther?”