Hunting Human - Amanda E. Alvarez [5]
Chapter Two
Two Years Later
Tears burned in the corners of Beth’s eyes. Her muscles flinched and jerked, and her pulse hammered in her head. The cold tile of her bathroom floor wasn’t enough to stop the cold and greasy perspiration sliding down her back. Heaving herself to her knees, she managed to brace herself over the toilet as the retching started again.
Minutes passed like hours, until finally, her muscles relaxed their stranglehold on her body and her heart rate began its slow descent toward normal. Her hands continued to shake with fine tremors as she pulled her fingers through her hair. The shaking would plague her through the morning.
Get up. Get going. Put it behind you and get on with the day.
Beth hoisted herself up. The bathroom mirror reflected the alarm clock next to her bed—still early, not even six yet. Enough time for a hot shower to soothe the residual cramping and then a strong cup of tea.
By the time she dried off, her hands were steady enough to hold a mug and the nausea had passed. But the damage was done. She barely recognized her reflection in the mirror. The fluorescent lighting made her slim face appear gaunt. It accented her pale complexion and the dark circles beneath her eyes.
You look like a zombie movie extra.
Resigned, she reached for her makeup bag, dreading the battle with concealer. She didn’t have a magic hand with makeup—that had always been Rachel’s department. Beth frowned, ruthlessly cutting off that train of thought.
Forward not backward. Right.
She pulled open the medicine cabinet and chased a couple of ibuprofen with the last of her tea, carefully ignoring the neat row of sleeping pills, antidepressants and antianxiety meds. They only made things worse. She could do without the heavy limbs and groggy head the sleeping pills always left behind. A few hours at the gym after work and she’d be so exhausted she probably wouldn’t miss them. She’d stopped taking the other medications months ago. They hadn’t helped.
Beth slammed the cabinet shut and flipped off the light. Grabbing her gym bag from the floor, she tossed her purse and cell phone inside and snatched her keys off the counter. She double-checked that the door was locked and then stepped into the murky Portland morning.
Cool spring air, moist from the night, fogged her windshield as she maneuvered her Jeep onto the road. She’d been in Portland nearly five months, the longest she’d remained anywhere in more than a year and a half. She was toying with the idea of staying longer. She was tired of moving, starting over, learning new names, new streets, finding new jobs. And she liked it here, liked the forests that surrounded and threaded through the city. She felt less antsy, less restless. Maybe she’d stay long enough to purchase some furniture, hang a few pictures, make her tiny apartment a home.
Fifteen minutes later, Beth pulled into the downtown lot a few blocks from the café where she worked. Purple, pink and fiery orange streaked the horizon, slicing through the gray, heralding the sun’s return. Maybe she’d dig her camera out sometime soon, catch the sunrise through her photographer’s eye. A warm thrill flooded her—it had been too long since she’d held the comforting weight of a camera in her hands.
The Morning Grind sat on the northern edge of downtown, within walking distance of the Pearl District. Because of the location, the small coffee shop and café saw a variety of customers. Most this early would be office workers, but as the morning progressed, the suits and secretaries would give way to the bustle of students, artists, friends and regulars.
Beth entered through the service entrance off the back alley. The smell of freshly ground espresso beans and the owner’s voice screaming into the phone greeted her.
“Morning, Angie.”
Angie slammed the phone down and glanced at her tiny wristwatch, face pinched in agitation. “You’re late.”
“I’m on time,” Beth corrected with a grin.
“Same thing.