Roxy
When I finally make it home, my apartment is swallowed in darkness.
Iris left with her parents about three hours ago after crying herself raw.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since this morning. But that would mean cooking, and the only "food" in my fridge has enough mold to qualify for a biology exhibit.
I flick on the little lamp by the armchair in the living room, planning to read a few more chapters of the thriller I started,The Inmateby Freida McFadden. I reach for it on the coffee table and freeze.
It's on the couch.
I frown. I know I left it on the table last night.
Years of devouring thrillers have trained me to notice things. Small, seemingly irrelevant details that screamwrong. So I start mentally checking off everything I've observed since walking in.
The door was double-locked. Just how I always leave it.
My slippers were still in their corner, but they weren't pressed flush against the wall.
And now, this book.
Other than that, nothing else catches my eye. Until it does.
On the narrow console table, among my usual odds and ends, there's a flower.
No. Not just any flower.
A dahlia.
A goddamn dahlia.
My bottom lip trembles before I force myself to pull it together.
I reach out, brush the petals with my fingertips, then jerk my hand back as if burned.
It's real.
A maroon dahlia. Which means he's coming for me. The same way he came for my mother twenty-two years ago.
My vision blurs. I don't bother stopping the tears.
The sharp ding of an incoming text snaps me out of it. Without thinking, I grab my phone, but I don't take my eyes off that cursed flower. As if it might sprout legs and walk toward me.
The number isn't saved, but it only takes a glance at the message to know exactly who sent it.
Damien.
And even though he drives me insane most days, right now the only thing I don't want to be is alone. Not when my body is locking up, this creeping paralysis starting at my toes and crawling all the way to my skull. My chest feels heavy. My skin prickles.
This is what happens when fear owns you. It traps you inside your own body. And no matter how tough I pretend to be, the truth is I'm a fraud.
That's why I text him back.
A second later, I add another message.
God, I'm pathetic.
This man has followed me before. He's dangerous, maybe even more dangerous than whoever left me that flower. But Damien doesn't make my chest seize. He doesn't make my vision tunnel with panic.
