Maybe it was triggered by Logan nearly drowning me. But as soon as my mind tries to wrap itself around that theory, I realize it’s false. Logan didn’t trigger anything. It was the intrusive thoughts afterward that are responsible for these bad dreams.
Damien didn’t know. Or did he?
I just can’t seem to shake the fear.
I look up at the clock and gasp when I realize it’s five minutes to eight. I spent a whole day waiting, and now I’m going to be late. I hurry to the bathroom, try to comb my hair in a way that doesn’t undo the curls Damien seems to like, wash my face and pinch my cheeks to look a little alive.
I rush to the closet and search for a dress. He didn’t tell mewhat he wanted me to wear today, so I look for one that doesn’t scream, “I expect you to take me out to the restaurant,” but that also wouldn’t look out of place if thatiswhat he’s planning.
All my doubts melt under the thrilling anticipation. I’m going to have dinner with him. Like a date. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. But maybe itisa date. Like the ones I’ve seen other people on. The kind where you say how many brothers and sisters you have, and pets, and what your favorite subject was in school.
I try to calm my excited breathing. I hope he doesn’t pry too much, because I know my answers might scare him. But I want him to pry just a little. I want him to be interested in me.
And I don’t know the first thing about him. Well, he’s thirty-seven. The CEO of Devil. Not quite as clean-cut as he looks. But what about his interests? His family? His… favorite color?
Is that really something people ask each other on first dates?
Finally, I choose a short black dress. I look good in it—well, as good as I can look. It wouldn’t be out of place in a restaurant. But if we stay in, it might give him other ideas. I hope.
I finish getting ready and go sit down on the couch, my body tense with nervous anticipation. It’s already 8:10. I’m glad he’s running a little late. It gave me time to get ready.
8:15. He’s more than a little late. But maybe work ran over.
8:20. I chew on my lower lip, nervously glancing at the clock. Where is he?
The hands of the clock keep ticking. 8:25. 8:30. 8:40.
By now, I feel sick to my stomach. Was this all a cruel joke? Is he laughing as he watches the camera feed? Does he want to punish me for being so needy?
By the time the clock shows 9 p.m., I’m sitting crisply on the couch, staring at my favorite part of the wall. Only now, betweenthe pitch blackness outside and the lamplight within, stark shadows dance upon it. When I tilt my head just a bit, I can imagine I see a polar bear. A warm, furry bear with a heart of ice. It can sink its claws into the enemy, chew off its head. Crush the bones between its teeth and drink its warm blood as the enemy stares in horror, its lifeforce seeping into the frozen ground.
I’ve all but given up on seeing Damien tonight when there’s a sudden knock on the door.
I inhale sharply. That’s not like him. He just unlocks the door when he comes to see me. But maybe he wants to be more formal for our date.
Still, a chill runs down my spine. Something’s not right.
Whoever it is doesn’t wait to be invited in. The knocking was just out of courtesy. The key in the lock turns, and I stare at it, my heart hammering.
Then the door opens, revealing Logan.
I stifle a gasp, then jump up and edge toward the bedroom door, my hand grasping for the knob. But he doesn’t come near.
He enters the living room, carrying a tray of food. I stare at it in confusion.
“Lucy’s been… detained,” he says, keeping his eyes averted. “Here’s your food.”
He sets it down on the table.
I lick my dry lips. “I’m not supposed to get a tray tonight. Damien… Damien is eating with me.”
He lifts an eyebrow, registering slight surprise. “Damien had to leave on a business trip. He won’t be here for a few days.”
I find myself shaking my head. “No, that’s not true. He promised me he’d eat with me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says curtly, still avoiding my gaze.
“Stop lying to me,” I say again, my voice louder. “You’re lying! He promised! Liar!”
