Proud of myself for practicing self-care, I sashay into my kitchen and put the kettle on. Having a kettle is really important to my whole posh tea-time scenario, plus it heats up so much faster than you’d expect.
Out my kitchen window, the trees sway in a light breeze, a few stubborn leaves clinging to the maples and oaks. With how dry it’s been, they should crunch nicely under my feet; I should take a walk soon. The kettle starts bubbling, but it’s quickly followed by tires crunching on my gravel again.
What in the world? I definitely shouldnothave any packages today. When I checked yesterday, the rest of my orders were a few days out. Please don’t tell me Tom is back to shovel my driveway. There’s no need for it, but that hasn’t stopped him yet.
“Computer, lights off!” I call, and huddle behind the counter.
Thankfully it's notTom, but the package guy. He stomps onto my deck and leaves something… again. For a few tense seconds, I wait, muscles taut, as he drives away. The second he’s around the bend of my driveway, I creep through my house and snatch the package off my welcome mat.
The plastic envelope rips easily along the perforation, and I don’t even have the door shut when I fish around inside. Did they ship one ribbon separately, and I just missed it?
Inside, there’s a book, but what’s more… there’s a note, like you can do when you send gifts.
“Remember when you used to read? You used to love it.”
Sleepy Ada is going for the jugular, I see, because she’s reading me for filth. It’s true, Ihaven’tread in a bit. Nothing that I normally read has felt like a good idea with as stressed as I’ve been.
Ah yes, the perfect read for a girl who has debilitating panic attacks is a stalker romance—yeah, right. Sleepy Ada must disagree though, because that’s exactly what I pull out.
On the front of the book is a masked, shirtless guy.
This is a horrible idea. What the hell is Sleepy Ada thinking?
The hair of the dog, I guess…
I set the book down on my side table and curl up on the couch with my laptop to get back to work. Henry abandons the fireplace to curl up next to me, and I run my hands through his fur, telling myself that this is totally normal.
The entire time though, the book is just sitting there… taunting me.
After all, Ididhave that sexy dream and whatever the hell that fever dream this morning was…
And I used tolovebooks like this.
And it’s worth a shot… right?
My hands shake when I pick it up, and my stomach feels like it’s trying to exit my body through any means necessary. Will it be vomit? Will it be diarrhea? Stay tuned and find out this week, because your guess is as good as mine.
The second I start reading, though, my living room fades away and I’m transported into the book.
Hours pass, and I finally come up for air when my stomach growls. It’s dark, and I should have eaten hours ago, but the book has me in its grip. I smile, because I haven’t thought about my own worries or anxieties for hours. Sure, I’ve been anxious for the FMC in the book—I want to wring her neck because she has no idea that her hot neighbor is watching her all the time—but Ihaven’tbeen thinking about my own pervasive worries.
Maybe Sleepy Ada is on to something. I read until late in the night and catch myself nodding off, but each time I shake my head to plow through. After all, only nightmares await me in my dreams, and this is so much better.
CHAPTER
SIX
Awareness makes my throat tight and my skin prickle as I stand before the heavy wooden door. Something has changed.
Her presence still pulls me toward her, beckoning me to open the door and find what horrors I’ll enact tonight. And yet, as my fingers close around the doorknob, there’s a flicker of excitement inside me instead of the usual dread.
Am I that far gone already? Has she twisted me so well, molding my very essence to suit her needs, that I enjoy my new role? Maybe that would be a mercy.
Or, is it possible that my efforts are taking hold?
That flicker of hope is what sets me back into motion, letting the door slam against the wall with a loud thud as I yank it open with too much force.
There’s a muffled gasp from the bottom of the dark stairs, and a responding pulse of heat low in my stomach. I want to race down to the bottom and find out what awaits me, my impatience to see what’s in store almost unbearable.
