“I need you to be safe.”
I roll my eyes.I’ll be safe at my house too.“You’ve been hovering since this started, and I get it—you promised Dad you’d watch out for me. But it’smylife. I need to have some semblance of control here.”
The silence fills the truck cab. He doesn’t look at me. I can’t tell if he’s considering it or has closed the door on the idea altogether. My gaze stays locked on him, trying to gauge if we’re going to have a bigger fight about this, because there’s no way I’m backing down. I need him to respect my wishes.
“Fine,” he mutters. Though his tone tells me he’s not at all happy about it. “You can stay at your place. For tonight.” He glances over at me briefly. “You take Odin with you. Don’t go anywhere without him. Keep the doors locked and answer my calls—if you don’t, I’ll come over and drag you back.”
This was supposed to feel like solitude, but here I am side-eyeing every creaky floorboard and having staring contests with the shadow behind a door.All because I “value my space.”
I hold my breath while opening my Instagram app and clicking my DM requests to see if any new messages have sprung up. “Please be nothing, please be nothing,” I whisper while fully expecting another fake account giving me the same recycled, creepy line.
Odin snores soundly next to me, taking up half the bed.
Being home alone adds to my unease. Every groaning pipe and settling beam has me jumping. I’ve double-checked the locks twice and closed all my blinds, something I never used to care much about. It took me far too long to decide whether to keep the lights on. It might make people think I’m awake, but it will also let someone know I’m home. It’s a double-edged sword. I shimmy deeper under my covers.
There are five new messages, all of them asking about my rates and when I’m opening my books again. I breathe a sigh ofrelief. I used to be able to ignore those messages so much easier. Ever since that physical note, it’s been on my mind, taking up space and infiltrating my thoughts. I’m suspicious of every person who walks into the shop or past my house. Any one of them could be my stalker. It’s a shitty way to live. I half hope itisJason, at least then I know who to watch out for.
I tap out replies to each of the messages and commence my doomscroll, and then a new story pops up from Logan. It’s not often he posts, so I click on it. It’s a photo of him setting up his canvas to begin painting, and I can’t help but smile. I wish I were there right now. I wouldn’t be scared at his house.
Sleep evades me, trapping me with my paranoid thoughts and pounding pulse. Branches blow in the breeze outside my window, casting shadows onto my walls that resemble outstretched arms—reaching for me.
I considered taking a sleeping pill, but I don’t want to sleep so soundly that I don’t hear an intruder. It’s the same reason I’m too afraid to turn on music or my TV. I need to be aware of my surroundings. Unfortunately, it makes all the ambient noises seem more threatening. I double-check that the baseball bat under my pillow is still there.
I told Logan we should spend a couple nights apart so we don’t get sick of each other. There were some things I had to take care of around my house, like mowing the backyard, collecting my mail, and bringing home all the clothes he washed and folded for me.
After spending the weekend with him in Bozeman and another night at his place, I didn’t want either of us to feel smothered. Our friendship and our work situation make our circumstance unique since we already spend a lot of time together. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.
However, I’ve gotten used to his company at nighttime, but now the darkness feeds into my anxiety and worry. Suddenly,I don’t like being home alone. Maybe I could just stop by his place and watch him paint for a little while. I won’t stay the night. When I’m tired, I’ll come back here and fall asleep. I’ll maintain that boundary, I convince myself while typing out a text message.
How is the painting going?
After a couple minutes, my phone dings with a reply. I’m filled with a sense of relief and instantly feel less vulnerable in my house.
Logan
Good evening, Chaos. Miss me already?
Is your studio open to spectators tonight?
Logan
Depends.
On?
Logan
If you plan on distracting me.
Never. I was thinking I’d come over . . . sit real quiet . . . watch you paint . . . I won’t disturb your work.
Logan
Aww. We both know you’re not quiet.
I promise to behave. I’ll sit on my hands.
Logan
