Several hours later, I pull up in front of his brownstone, the old run-down car squeaking as I come to a stop. The rain has let up, but the ground is still slick from the downpour. Taj’s blinds are open, and I can see straight inside. After being taunted and chased down by a car, one would think that you’d secure yourself inside, including making sure whoever the culprit is unable to watch you.
I huff. The people in this town are so lackadaisical with their safety.
I shut off the engine and glance around the neighborhood. It’s quiet, but it’s like this every night. Aside from Taj, most of the residents are small to mid-size families who are way too invested in their own lives to be worried about anyone else. The couple next door with their brand-new baby spend more time arguing than watching their surroundings. And the family across the street has their hands full with extracurricular activities, with the mom running herself ragged escorting the kids to and from soccer and ballet while the dad is busy doing someone other than his wife.
You learn a lot about a person by the things they try so hard not to say out loud. And in the week that I’ve been watching Taj, I’ve seen enough to tell me that the people in this community are just as pitiful as the fake existence Siân’s coined for herself.
Clearing my mind, I focus on Taj. He’s on the phone, his face twisted up in a mixture of emotions. I really rattled him tonight. Good. He disappears somewhere in the house, and I hop out of the Chevy, being sure not to let the door close too hard.
I pull my hood down over my head, so low that the only part visible of my face is my mouth and chin. Unlike Siân, Taj has one of those doorbell cameras that records everything in front of it. Slipping around the side where his car is parked, I duck out of the way, hopping on the porch when the motion sensor light above his driveway flickers to life. Dressed in all black, I blend in with the darkness and press myself against the wall of the house. Peering into the window, I notice him peeking out of the side window, the phone still pressed firmly to his ear.
“No. No. It’s okay. My side light just came on. Must have been a stray animal or something,” he says to whoever is on the phone.
The window is cracked. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to hear him. By the perplexed look on his face, my guess is he’s been explaining the events of the night.
“No, Kyla. Don’t you think if I knew who it was, I would have called the police by now?”
My blood boils at the mention of her name. “Motherfucker,” I blurt out.
Taj snaps his gaze to the window, and I have to jerk my head away to keep from being seen. His shadow grows as he approaches and glares out into the night. I push myself deeper into the siding of the home, staying as still as possible, only catching the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding until Taj finally retreats.
He’s walking toward the back of his house when I peer through the window again, my rage still getting the best of me. Siân is at home, fighting with herself over what’s been happening, and he’s entertaining that slut. They have to go—both of them.
Siân deserves better than for the two people she cares about the most to be constantly betraying her. She’s perfect, a goddess, and he’s choosing trash over the queen that she is. Had it been a one-time thing, maybe I could have forgotten it. But it hasn’t only been once. In fact, in the past two weeks alone, he’s fucked that bitch Kyla more than he has Siân. Is that why he’s shit when it comes to pleasing her? Is he so distracted with fucking her best friend that he’s forgotten how to fuck her? And he has the fucking audacity to dictate who she’s friends with—and by that, I mean me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I remove it to see a message coming in through the cloning app.
Siân: I think we need to talk…
I pull my shoulders back and look through the window again. Taj is in the entryway of his kitchen, carrying a water bottle.
“Hold on,” he says to Kyla and holds the device out in front of him, then brings the phone up to his mouth. “Siân’s texting me.” He sets the bottle on the dining table, then punches in a message.
I watch the three little dots dance across my screen before his note finally comes through.
Taj: Hey, baby. Sorry I didn’t call you after my run.