I leave the office and move down the hallway, straight for the exit.
I need to get out of here.
Nine at night. The files Rourke gave me lie spread across my bed, pages overlapping in careless stacks. The dim light barely reaches them, shadows swallowing most of the text. I can hardly make out what’s written, but I don’t move to fix it. My eyes burn anyway.
Daisy fell asleep curled at the foot of her bed in the living room, full from the oversized portion of food I gave her earlier.
I should be asleep, too.
I’m wrapped in a white towel, still damp from the shower. Water clings to my skin, my hair dripping onto my shoulders and soaking into the towel. I open the small closet beside the bed and stare inside, scanning for something soft, something that will let me disappear into sleep.
The night is silent.
Just Daisy and me.
Still, the feeling won’t leave. That prickle at the back of my neck. Like someone is watching.
The window stands open, a cold breeze slipping inside and brushing against my bare skin. Goosebumps rise along my arms.
I pull the towel tighter around myself, but it doesn’t help.
This is my second shower today, and his touch is still there. Like it’s burned into me, like he left a mark I can’t scrub away, no matter how hot the water gets.
I bite my lip and reach for a folded shirt.
The door slams shut.
A sharp gasp tears out of me before the floor creaks.
Wood is groaning under someone’s weight.
My heart stutters, then races. My body locks in place, breath caught halfway in my chest.
I can’t move.
I’m frozen.
Someone is behind me. I can feel him. I feel his breath against my neck. I swallow the lump forming in my throat, telling myself this is just my imagination.
It has to be.
Then a hand brushes the edge of mine, barely there at first, before sliding fully into my palm. Fingers wrap around mine.
Is this real?
“Shh,” a voice whispers as his other hand pulls the towel away, leaving me naked.
The towel slips from my body and lands on the floor.
“I came to finish what I started.” The voice said, freezing me in space.
He can’t be here. This can’t be happening.
“This isn’t real,” I manage to say, blinking, trying to turn and see him. He only chuckles.
“It’s just a dream, Freckles,” he says, guiding my hand from my belly button downward, slowly, until my fingers reach my lower lips.
I swallow hard as my fingertips brush the edge of my sensitive skin.
