Another day away.
Are you avoiding coming home?
Or are you scared I might be waiting?
My jaw tightens, teeth clamping on the edge of my tongue.
Should I be scared of you?
That depends on you.
Do you want to be scared of me?
I consider the question, completely zoned out and staring at a speck in the granite countertop.
Do I want to be scared?
Yes.
I’ll be waiting in your nightmares then.
I don’t know if she’s being literal.
I’ve already sensed her in my room at night… hotels, my apartment. I swear, I even felt her here at the studio once. My heartbeat quickens at the thought. Shit, I’ll never be able to sleep tonight.
And I don’t know why I suddenly want to go home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GEMMA
I don’t even knowwhat “waiting in your nightmares” means, but it sounded poetic, so I’m trying not to think too hard about it.
The same lemon scent from Bonnie’s apartment hits me the moment I open the door to my own space. It’s a detail I’ve clung to at every apartment that I’ve lived in over the years so I’m constantly reminded of my why—not that I really need reminding. I barely go a single second without thinking of her. It’s a little pathetic, yet I’ve no intentions of seeking any cure other than whatever fucked up relationship this might turn into.
My keys hit the ceramic green bowl on the counter, shoes shrugging off before I can get too far inside. The apartment is bare—little more than a television, plushy chair, and purple rug in the living room. Clean. Simple. Easy to pack up or throw away if I’m ever in a hurry. There’s only one personal detail to be found: a photo of my parents and me when I was a child.
However, the bedroom… The bedroom is a different beast.
Because in the bedroom is a wall of monitors, each displaying a different camera I have around my place and Bonnie’s. The only area I haven’t placed a camera is in her hallway. Publicspaces and all… It seemed invasive at the time when Kade was placing these.
However, now that I’m in the thick of this, I might reconsider.
I grab a bottle of water out of the bare fridge and take the clip out of my hair as I stand in front of the monitors. The moment I touch the loose ringlets, I groan.
I really need to make time for some curl therapy—by a professional, not just adding a little extra love during my weekly routine. I don’t think I’ve gone to the salon since taking this job a couple of months back.
I take my phone out and tap over to the salon’s website, trying to find a date that works with Young Decay’s schedule, and as I make the appointment, I get a text from Kade.
KADE
Do you want me to pick up food or are you getting it delivered?
Ordering delivery now.
Just come over.
The end of the king size bed hits the backs of my knees, and I sit to make our food order.Italian… burgers… pho… Chinese…
