two.

BELLINA

A yawn overcomes Bellina as she finishes locking the cafe up for the night. She worked a twelve hour day so that she can take the time off tomorrow for Campbell. Their appointments are usually an hour or so long but she always feels behind after. Just thinking about wearing something nice tomorrow and actually putting makeup on makes her sigh. She starts the Jeep but places her forehead on the steeling wheel.

When she decided to leave the city all those years ago and hide away in this quaint little mountain town, Bellina actually believed her past would stay behind. She should've known better. Then again, she was only 19 when her parents died. How could she have known that the past would continue to haunt her? Youth shouldn't know these things.

She picks her head up and sucks in a quivering breath. "I'm fine," she tells herself.

The Jeep jerks into drive and Bellina pulls away from the cafe. She hardly admires the decorated lamp posts guiding her out of town like she usually does. Her joy for the day has been robbed. Every time she sees Campbell she gets like this.

On the way home, she stops by the local BBQ joint, Mac's, and picks up a pulled pork plate with green beans and macaroni. Before she can leave with her to-go box, Mac, the restaurant owner, steps out of his office.

"I thought I heard Miss Belle," he says with twinkling eyes. His overgrown, wiry mustache conceals most of his lippy grin. "How are you, darlin'?"

Bellina smiles but the gesture is filled with fatigue. "Just been busy with work," she tells him. "How are you? Things been good around here?"

"Yes, ma'am, they have." He props his beefy arm on the door threshold. "Say, what are you up to tomorrow? Got any plans after closing time?"

Normally she can devise a reasonable excuse to get out of Mac's forwardness, but tonight she's out of luck.

"Not that I know of," she says with a tight smile. Her feet are aching to get home and plop on the couch.

"Would you like to come this thing with me?" Mac asks, shifting between his cowboy boots nervously. "My neighbor is having a party. A bonfire and everything. You know. Well, I guess maybe you don't, but—"

"Sure." She smiles when his brows shoot up in surprise. Even she is surprised that she accepted his date ploy. In all honesty, she's just ready to get home and scarf down her dinner. "Where and when?"

He wets his lips with a sweaty, shy grin. "I'll text it to you?"

Bellina tells him her number and he saves it in his phone. Already, she is wondering why she finally accepted his advances. What has come over her?

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mac," she tells him.

"Yes, ma'am." Mac dips his head at her and watches as she turns and sashays her ample figure out of his establishment.

By the time Bellina parks in front of her modest, single-story cabin, her food is cold and she feels miserably tired. She lugs her things to the door and fumbles with the key for a moment, her eyes heavy and unfocused.

"There you are," she groans and separates the right key from the others.

Before she slides it into the lock, the bushes beside her porch stir as if disturbed by an animal. A feeling of unease sinks into her. She turns back to the door and lets herself inside. Slamming the door shut behind her, Bellina presses her forehead to the cool wood and calms her breathing. She peeks through the peep hole. Nothing. Her brows draw down. Why is she so paranoid? She can't shake the mental fog and fatigue dogging her.

Bellina tries to coax herself into relaxing with dinner. She heats up her barbecue and sits at the dining table. The food smells delicious. Although she really just wants to curl up in bed and pass out, she takes her time eating and flipping through the newspaper. She leaves her dirty dishes in the sink and stumbles to her bedroom.

Even though she desperately wants to jump straight into the bed, she knows she can't without a shower. She strips off her clothes on her journey to the bathroom, leaving them strewn across the old wooden floor. The shower water bursts from the rickety shower head at impressive speed. She shifts between her feet on the cold tile while she waits for the water to warm up. Once it's tolerable, she steps into the tub and douses herself in the stream. She makes quick work of washing her hair and body. She nearly gets out without shaving before she remembers her plans with Mac tomorrow. Groaning, she uncaps her unused razor and rushes through doing her armpits and legs. She touches up her bikini line, even though she has no intention of going that far with Mac. While she's grimacing at the thought of Mac seeing her downstairs, her razor catches on her skin and slices a small, half-inch cut between her mound and the inside of her thigh. She hisses and places the razor aside.

That's what I get for trying to manicure down there, she thinks with an eye roll. She rinses the shaving cream off and gets out of the shower. After moisturizing and deodorizing everything, Bellina shuffles out to her bedroom. She shivers as a cool draft rushes over her wet body. Her eyes flicker up to the window beside her bed. It's open. Bellina's stomach plummets to her feet.

A sharp gasp pulls between her parted lips as she darts across the room and slams the window down. Without even taking a second thought, she tears open the drawer in her nightstand and pulls out her revolver. She always intended it for emergencies, like a bear charging her in the driveway, but she never really expected to use it on a burglar. What could anyone want from her little place? She has no valuables or riches.

Clutching the gun in one hand and holding up her towel with the other, Bellina pads slowly out of the bedroom. She surveys the entire rest of her house in one glance. She sees absolutely nothing. Nothing is out of place and none of the other doors or windows are open. She moves back into her bedroom to check under the bed and in the closet. Nothing.

Maybe they broke in and left when they realized that there's nothing worth taking. Bellina shivers. Someone was in her house, though. The window was open. Wasn't it locked? She checks the latch and finds it slightly bent but not busted. Frowning, she tries to open the window with the lock on, but it's way too difficult. How could anyone have done this without breaking the window or the lock?

She draws the curtains over the window and sits on her bed, cradling the revolver in her lap. Her skin feels like cacti bristles against her tissue. All traces of fatigue have vanished. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and pulls up the dial pad. Although she types in 911, she can't bring herself to call them. By the time they would get to her house, she'd be exhausted again and not want to deal with filing a report. After all, what evidence did she really have for a break-in? If someone wanted to hurt her, wouldn't they have already made their move while she was in the shower?

Bellina forced herself off the bed to change into her favorite set of flannel pajamas. Their warmth and softness bring her some comfort. She checks the house one more time, ensuring the windows and doors are all locked, before crawling into bed. Her eyelids feel heavy again. She leaves her bedside lamp on and places the revolver under her pillow. After some time, her fatigue wins out over her fear and she drifts off into a deep slumber.