Or, you know, making food for himself so he doesn’t fuckingstarve.
Sighing and rolling my eyes, I mentally prepare myself for the hell I'm about to walk into. I grab Lunchbox and carry him downstairs so he can run around in the backyard while I make dinner. The yard is fenced-in, and I can see him perfectly through both the back door window and the smaller one above the sink.
“There’s nothing to eat in this fucking kitchen,” he snaps, whirling to face me after I close the back door. His light blue eyes are like chips of ice, and his blonde hair is disheveled. By the looks of it, he’s been losing the video game he’s been playing the past few days. “Do you plan on making dinner any time soon?”He asks the question as if I don’t have anything better to do with my time than cater to his every need.
You’re a grown ass man, learn to cook for your damn self, is what Iwantto say, but instead I plaster a saccharine smile on my face and nod. “Sure do, babe.”
He works overnight from six in the evening until two in the morning as a patrol officer, so we typically eat dinner earlier than most households. He should be asleep right now instead of bothering me, but here we are.
The dull ache moves to the left side of my head, and I rub my temples to try to soothe the pain, but Evan starts slamming things around again and the dull ache turns into a sharp, shooting pain.
Dealing with him is so hard. It’s like he’s angry at the world for the way his life ended up. Coming from a family of doctors, he was supposed to go to college to become one too, but he couldn’t—ratherwouldn’t—put down the bottle long enough to get his studies done. So now he makes eighteen dollars an hour working as a security guard, which is still commendable work, but he doesn’t see it that way.
I sigh tiredly and open the fridge. Yes, it’s a little bare in here, but there’s enough to keep us from completely starving until Tuesday. Unfortunately, both Evan’s and my paydays fall on the same days, so we won’t be able to buy groceries until then.
It’s only Saturday, so it’ll be a while.
Seeming pleased now that I’m starting on dinner, Evan reaches past me to pull a can of beer out of the fridge and goes back into the living room to continue gaming. Of course, he doesn’t thank me for cooking. I don’t know why I keep expecting him to.
Would the masked man thank me?
At the thought of him, a slew of questions floods my mind, like: What is he like? What does he want? Why does he want towatchme, of all people? Does he watch anyone else? Exactly how long has he been watching me?
Oh yeah, and:Who the hell is he?
It’s the not knowing that’s absolutelykillingme.
I should be concerned. I mean, any sane person who’s spotted a strange man in a mask watching them through their window almost every day and night would have called the police, right? To be fair, Ididtry, but he basically threatened me.
And the thing about me is: I’m not sane.
I have dark desires that I want to be brought to life, adeviancethat no man has ever been able to satisfy, so I have to do it myself. Which is fine with me; I can have plenty of pleasure on my own, but I would feel so much more fulfilled with strong hands wrapped around my throat, choking me until I’m on the verge of passing out, or digging his fingernails so hard into my skin that he draws blood.
Could he do that for me? Would the masked man be willing to indulge my fantasies and bring them to life? If he’s willing to wear a mask in public, he must be into some kinky stuff.
I take a deep breath. Why am I even thinking about something like that? I have a boyfriend?—
A boyfriend who would rather scream at me for every little thing, who has started to put his hands on me within the last month or so and makes me fear what he’ll be capable of in the future. Yes, the pain feels good to me, but knowing that he’s not inflicting it out of love or lust doesn’t make it enjoyable.
My mind once again drifts back to the masked man…
Is it weird that I want to know who he is? That I want to lift the mask to reveal the true identity hidden beneath?
Will curiosity kill the cat?
CHAPTER 4
HIM
I settlein the front seat of my truck and watch as my little flower makes dinner for that asshole she calls a boyfriend.
I’m glad I was finally able to slip in and get the cameras set up last night, because now I can really see what goes on when I’m not around. Evan’s been putting his hands on my flower, and I have a problem with that. I don’t know how long he’s been doing it, but watching him pull Essence’s hair and get in her face to intimidate her almost had me crashing through the downstairs window to get to him.
Patience.
I just need to stay patient. Soon, Evan will be nothing more than a nonfactor.
CHAPTER 5
