I open the door and gesture for her to go. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I have a maniac who is obsessed with me, and I don’t have the time for my sister’s bullshit.
She juts out her chin and walks past me. I slam the door and lock it behind her, not that it will protect me from him.
I stand at the end of the driveway with the fakest smile on my face and wave my parents off. Dad surprised Mom and took her to Atlantic City for the weekend. They won’t be back until Monday afternoon, which means I have the use of Mom’s car for the weekend.
I woke up early, and Mom made breakfast before leaving. Cori and Selene are also gone all weekend to a family member’s wedding out of state. This means I have the weekend to myself, and right now, I need to attend to business.
It’s been three days since he showed up at my job, and he’s sent roses every day. They weren’t delivered by him, though, and the bouquet he sent yesterday had a message.
You are mine.
Three words that infuriated me more than they should have.
Today is the day I get to dump shit on his doorstep. Today is the day I will deliver the message that no one owns me.
Whatever this is, it is about to come to an abrupt end.
I stay in the driveway for a few minutes. Mom is notorious for forgetting something and needing to return home. When I don’t see them, I fly up the stairs to my apartment and shower.
Instead of my usual five-minute shower, I take my time, shaving my legs and using the good-smelling body wash I stole from my parents’ bathroom. Half an hour later, I take the three dozen roses.
I back out of the driveway like I just escaped hell and take the fifteen-minute drive to the edge of Shadow Cove. The houses are sparse where he lives. There’s only one other house on his street. It’s on the opposite end from Rip’s, and it sits empty.
The black gate is as intimidating as it always was, but it swings open before I have a chance to get out and hit it. I drive the car through for the first time.
I close the car door, but I don’t lock it. I need to get out fast, so I don’t need to take time unlocking it.
Idiot. What if he locks the gate and you’re stuck here? Anyone who would look for you is out of town for the next two days.
As soon as that thought leaves my head, the gates close behind me. They’ve never closed before. I run to it and try to push it open, but it’s locked.
“Fuck,” I hiss. There’s no way I can climb it. There’s barbed wire at the top, and there’s nothing but thick forest behind the house. The entire property is gated, but since he’s always watching, I’m sure he’ll have to open the gate for me to leave.
He might not let you leave, dummy.
Since I’ve come this far, I stand up straight, jut out my chin, and climb the steps. The plastic bag slips through my fingers, but I pick it up and continue.
I turn it upside down and drop the contents on the porch. I was going to bring back his Tupperware, too, but I decided to keep it because it’s too nice to give back. If he wants it, he’ll have to break into my house and get it.
I stomp on the roses and kick some toward his door. And because I know he can’t stand mess, I dump trash out of the bag on his porch. It’s a mess of banana peels, napkins, an empty box of tampons, and an old peanut butter jar. I slam my foot on the plastic jar, breaking it.
“Take that, asshole.” The words are barely out of my mouth when the double wooden doors swing open.
It’s like the portal to hell has opened to welcome me in. I stand there for what could be seconds, minutes, or maybe even hours. I don’t think I blink or breathe. I expect to hear his familiar heavy footsteps, but he never appears. Other than the sound of a bird squawking overhead, I’m met with only deafening silence.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I stick my head through the doors. All I see is a long hallway. There’s nothing on the walls, but the hardwood floors are so pristine, they shine. As if I have no control over my legs, I walk inside. The doors close behind me, and I hear the latching of the lock. I pull the doorknob, but I’m trapped inside.
“You fucking idiot,” I whisper to myself. This man set a trap for me, and I fell into it.
I continue my fool’s errand and walk down the long hallway. I finally reach a staircase, and right across from it is a large living room.
“Wow,” I whisper. The room looks like it could be on the cover of a magazine. It’s painted in warm earth tones. There’s a long sectional with about a dozen throw pillows. A matching loveseat sits opposite the sofa. There’s a large flatscreen television that’s on, but muted. There’s a movie I’m not familiar with playing.
There’s still no sign of him. Other than the furniture and television, there’s no evidence that anyone is home. There’s nota thing out of place. I don’t even see a pair of shoes or a jacket anywhere.
I turn around to leave, collide with his chest, and fall on my ass. He looks down at me, and I lose my senses at the sight of him. I’ve never seen him this way before, and I don’t think I’ll ever recover. He’s shirtless, and I assumed his tattoos would cover every inch of his body, but I’m wrong. They stop at the top of his ribcage, leaving his taut stomach bare. His long hair is loose and free, and I lick my lips. It’s a glossy chestnut color that hangs while he looks down at me.
His face is expressionless, and I’m unable to read him. He offers me his hand, and like an idiot, I take it. He hoists me up as if I’m a ragdoll.
