Chapter Fifteen
All I wanted was to go home. I wanted to be the person who was strong enough to turn around, to crawl back to my bed, to let this thing end like it was supposed to. I wanted to be the person who deserved her, and instead, I was just the thing that broke her. I was sitting outside her house again, parked down the block like I promised I’d never be.
You’re pathetic.
For an entire week, I wasalmostwhat she wanted me to be. I’d been so good at coming home to an empty house, to scrubbing her memory off my wall, to drinking away the ghosts she left. I’d been able to pretend it didn’t matter for an entire week, as though I could just go back to the way things were before I ever knew her. When that stopped working, I pretended I could go back to the way things were last month. I pretended that I’d be okay to watch her from a distance again, that there was no harm in this thing if she didn’t know I was still there. Now that I was here, now that I stopped, the truth gnawed at the back of my mind.
Nothing would ever be enough.
Not anymore.
Just turn around.
My snarl filled the dark. The one reason I had been able to convince myself to stay away from her in the first place was because Omar hadpromisedthat he’d be around to watch the house. He swore to me that there would be a cop car parked outside her house during the day, an unmarked car down the block all night. She was supposed to be protected. Now that I’d finally fallen far enough to come back to her, the darkness twisted me.
No one was watching the house.
No one was keeping her safe.
I knew it was wrong when I turned over the engine. She didn’t want this— she’d made that perfectly clear. But I couldn’t stop myself from seeing her, from speaking to her, from throwing myself at the feet of a goddess. I needed to know that she was still okay, and if she didn’t spit in my face, I’d sink a little lower. If she didn’t pale at the sight of me, I’d ask her if I could stay a little longer. I wouldn’t let myself pause for anything— not to lock the car, not to check for traffic, not to call Omar like I should have. If I paused, I’d have to remember the promise I was breaking. If I paused, I might never have found the courage to knock on her door.
That’s when I noticed it.
My intuition didn’t come with the same tender kindness Birdie’s did. There was no whisper in the right direction, no soft push against my skin. When danger came, it came with a scream of panic. Standing in front of her door, I felt the same wave of nausea as when I heard the twisting of metal in the dark. I wouldn’t have seen the damn thing if the sickness hadn’t bowed my head, and once I laid eyes on the card beneath my boot, I wouldn’t look away. I picked the paper up, flipping the cardstock between my fingers as I read it once, twice.
“Been missing you.
Been needing you.”
The card was unsigned, but the floral scent was enough to recognize it. The beast in my bones told me I was overreacting. If someone had left her flowers, it was just as likely it was an asshole from work or the old lady she lived beside. Omar would tell me that it could have been anyone, but I knew better than that. When that panic took hold, I knew better than that. I ignored the curse in the back of my head as I hopped over her stone railing and let myself into her fenced yard. As I made my way to the back door, as I stooped to find her spare key, I promised myself that I’d never breathe again— not if it’s not her perfume.
Something was wrong.
Something was wrong and I fuckingknewit.
When I was met with the dark, confusion dulled my senses. Her car was in the driveway, but with no lights on, it was hard to believe anyone was even home. Intuition screamed again as I surveyed the empty halls. Silent steps brought me over to the kitchen table, a soft touch confirming that her favourite mug was still lukewarm. A sound came from within the house, and my body dropped lower. I didn’t recognize the stranger who left her bedroom, who shut the door behind himself before making his way to the front of the house. The figure glanced out the peephole for only a moment, and before they could turn to see me in the kitchen, I straightened myself. Whatever this was, I wouldn’t run away from it— my gut wouldn’t let me. From the dark, the figure looked back out at me, and I prayed for the only thing Birdie had ever taught me.
I prayed for breath.
When the kid stepped forward, it took another moment to recognize him. The switch of the overhead light brought forth the eyes I would never forget. The last time we met, the dark hid my features. I’d memorized him from that afternoon in the café, but judging from the annoyance on his face, the kid didn’t remember me. He was anxious, but the prick wasn’t scared— he was too deluded for that.
“How’d you get in?”
“You’re Tristan?” I swallowed my satisfaction when I watched a prickle dance over his skin. His eyes wouldn’t leave mine. “Birdie around?”
“Bridget ran to the store.”
When the beast snarled, it was Bridget’s ghost that soothed me. All I wanted to do was point out the only truth I knew: that if Bridget had run out and left her friend home, that friend wouldn’t be waiting for her in the dark. A killer instinct forced my shoulders down my back, and a rough hand over my face brought a look of relaxation. At least, as close to relaxed I could get without her beside me.
“I’ll wait then.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Through gritted teeth, I hissed again. “I’ll wait.”
“She was just in an accident,” Tristan choked. “She’s not supposed to be around too many people.” My scoff only seemed to push him further, and the kid recoiled. Through a sneer, he bit back the accusation sitting on the tip of my tongue. “She wants me here to help out. She asked me to stay.”
Then why would she go to the store alone?