To put it bluntly, I’m fucking bored.
Over these past few weeks, I have watched every episode of Vikings, Breaking Bad, and Sons of Anarchy. I’ve started about twenty different books, only to get half a page in and promptly put them down. I’ve attempted to learn how to crochet, and after today’s attempt at starting a veggie garden, only to run away screaming when I dug straight into a hornet’s nest, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I am simply incapable of occupying myself.
It’s official. I’m a needy child.
On the bright side, while these past few weeks have killed my mojo, I’m physically doing a million times better. I’ve bounced back from the attack like a slice of cheese pizza that’s fallen right-side-up on the ground, only to be saved by the five-second rule. My injuries have healed flawlessly, and while I’ll be dealing with an angry scar for a while, it will eventually fade until it’s no longer the first thing I see when I look in the mirror.
As for everything else, my healing process is just about the only good news I’ve had.
When it comes to tracking down the asshole who decided to dress up as my imaginary stalker and stab me in an empty parking garage, all leads have gone cold. From what I can tell, it seems that Detective Gray is ready to call it quits on the investigation, and if it weren’t for Knight constantly pushing for results, I’m positive that Gray would have already filed the case away.
I won’t lie, I’m more than disappointed. Every single lead took us directly to a dead end, leaving me with more questions than answers, and the longer this goes on, the more I wonder if I’d somehow imagined the whole thing. Did I even get stabbed, orwas this just some twisted dream that I’m insisting was real? Surely there should be something by now. Though I suppose that’s partially on me. I haven’t been completely honest about my attacker.
When I spoke to Detective Gray and initially gave him my statement, I told him everything I could, except for the part where this guy was dressed as my stalker, mask and all. I could have told Gray how he had told me that getting the notes from my therapist was all too easy, and Gray could have followed the breadcrumbs. He could have searched the hospital surveillance and figured out who had been in Dr. Carzy’s office that didn’t belong, but instead, I kept my mouth shut, and that decision has torn me to shreds.
I’ve never felt this kind of guilt over a decision before, but I suppose the decisions I make no longer affect only me. I’m in a relationship now, and every step I take, every decision I make directly affects Knight. However, despite the undeniable guilt coursing through my veins, I still can’t bring myself to speak up.
I can’t have him doubt me. I can’t have him tell me that I’m going crazy again. I can’t see the pity creep into his eyes, thinking that I’m losing my mind, thinking that I’m sick, and assuming that I’d somehow managed to stab myself in that damn parking garage. Because, despite the risk I take in not identifying this guy, not having Knight’s complete faith in me would kill me so much faster than any stalker ever could.
I know I’m wrong. I know I’m risking putting myself in danger, and I know that when he eventually finds out that I hid this from him . . . fuck. I’m going to see a whole new side of Knight that I’ve never seen before, but I know that after sitting with it for a while and allowing me the chance to explain myself, he’ll eventually understand why I did this. He won’t necessarily agree with it, but he’ll understand . . . in theory.
Shit. Maybe I’m screwed.
Maybe I’m fucking up a really good thing and should just come clean. Whether I tell Knight and Gray the whole story or not, it doesn’t change the fact that this guy still hasn’t been caught, and I still have a target on my back. He’s going to come looking for me sooner or later, and while I’ve been lucky these past few weeks, I don’t doubt that my luck will run out eventually. And when it does, I want to be prepared.
I’ve spent the last ten or so years focused on my career and neglecting everything else. And while I consider myself to be in pretty good physical shape, there’s a lot I don’t know about defending myself. I run and go to Pilates every now and then, but when it comes to defending myself against a six-foot-something masked lunatic who clearly gets off on stabbing women in parking garages, I’ve got nothing.
Now that I’m doing better and my guts aren’t falling out of a gaping wound in my abdomen, perhaps it’s time that I ask Knight to teach me a few things. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to get his hands all over me and throw me around on a sparring mat, but it’s more than that. I need to get stronger. I need to be able to fight someone off just long enough for help to come, and I’m sure that had I known stuff like this, I could have saved myself a lot of pain. Put a weapon in my hand, and I would know exactly where to strike to cause maximum damage. The question is whether I have the speed, strength, and guts to follow through.
Sitting cross-legged on the couch, I search the darkest corners of every last streaming service that Knight and I collectively subscribe to, and despite flicking through at least thousands of options, I don’t find a single show or movie to occupy my attention. Then just as I go to drown myself in pity, my phone lights up on the coffee table, silently buzzing with an incoming call.
“Oh, thank God,” I mutter to myself, all but pouncing on my phone like a little tiger cub, desperate for any kind of attention it can get, even if it means having what’s most likely going to be an awkward conversation with my brother.
“Hello,” I say, immediately answering the call and putting it on speakerphone so I can relax on the couch with my feet up, the phone sitting on the armrest.
“Uhhhhh . . . Don’t hate me.”
“Huh? What are you talking ab—” I cut myself off as another call comes through on my phone, the word Mom appearing on the screen, making my blood run cold. My stomach all but falls right out of my ass as I sit up faster than lightning, my eyes wide and heart racing as I grab my phone.
“Jonah,” I say in a warning tone, clutching my phone as though I could somehow use it as a weapon. “What the hell did you do? Why is Mom calling me?”
“Uhhhh . . . fuck. She’s fast, huh?”
“JONAH!”
My mind runs at a million miles per hour trying to figure out what the hell he did, but Knight is the only thing that comes to mind. “Tell me you didn’t tell her about my relationship with Knight?”
“No, I . . . wait. Relationship?” he grunts as I struggle to tear my eyes away from my mother’s incoming call, terrified that she’ll somehow crawl right through it, only to bitch-slap me for ignoring her call. “The fuck are you talking about? I thought you guys were maybe just . . . I don’t know. Doing a little inappropriate fondling. I didn’t realize you were in a relationship with the guy. You know Mom is going to literally kill you when she finds out. He’s your uncle, for fuck’s sake.”
“Step-uncle.”
“Oh sure, because that makes it so much better.”
“It does,” I insist, letting out a heavy sigh as Mom finally gets the hint and drops the call. “Now tell me what the hell you said to the wicked witch of the west. And more importantly, tell me what the fuck you were doing talking to her in the first place. I thought you were Team Harper now.”
“I am Team Harper, which actually reminds me, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about, but as for Mom. I don’t know. I’m not like you. I’m not a grudge holder, and while you’ve always had a shitty relationship with her, I haven’t. The resentment I have for her doesn’t burn nearly as bright as the resentment you hold on to. So when she calls . . .”
“You turn into a soft little bitch and go running.”
