I’m not sure why that’s the name I went with, but it felt right. I am a shadow. Her shadow. And that will never change.
The bathroom is so small I can hardly shut the door once I’m inside. I have to turn and lean partly into the shower to get it closed.
Who the fuck lives like this?
The sink is behind the door, and I open the medicine cabinet, pull out the medicine case that Sam uses, and look over the bottles on the shelf.
Some men’s multi-vitamin—which is exactly what I need. Then two orange pill bottles. I grab them both. Lamictal and lorazepam, but the latter is as-needed. No idea what the first one is, so I pull out my phone to look it up.
Seizures or bipolar? I’m not trying to kill him. If I wanted him dead, he’d already be gone. This will only keep him asleep long enough…
I open a new search tab on my phone and search up lorazepam, which I am more familiar with, but not enough to deduce what the fuck he has.
Okay, so that’s what I thought. I guess I can’t be sure, but I’m going with bipolar and anxiety rather than a seizure disorder. Though, I guess it doesn’t matter either way, because that multi-vitamin is coming out and these sleeping pills are going in. I’m sure he’ll be fine.
I work quickly, removing the pills from the little squares and adding in the replacements.
I’ve watched him fill this enough times that I was able to figure out the vitamin from the video and get a sleeping pill that looks just like it. He doesn’t inspect the pills before he takes them—because who expects someone to break in and swap them out?—so I should be good. He’ll be knocked on his ass, and I’ll be in the other room, fucking my girl.
When the meds are switched, I put everything back the way I found it and leave the bathroom. I should leave the apartment now. I have no idea how long they’re going to be gone together, but I need to do something first. I turn into the bedroom on the left and am immediately assaulted by the sweet scent of my girl. It calms my nerves. I haven’t felt this good in weeks.
I fucking miss her.
I go to the tall dresser against the far wall, the one Sam emptied for her to use. I pull the top drawer open and grin when I find exactly what I’m looking for.
The silk and lace is soft against my fingers as I run them along the fabric, deciding on a black lace pair. I shove them into my pocket, close the drawer, and make a quick stop in the kitchen to dig through the junk drawer and help myself to the spare key Sam shoved in here weeks ago. He’d made two, giving one to Sailor and tossing the other in here.
I step into the hallway, and turn to close the door, giving the handle a turn to make sure it’s locked.
“Who the hell are you?”
I blink, then turn slowly to face some Karen who’s looking at me like I’m covered in blood and holding a murder weapon.
“Management,” I state.
“Since when does management dress like that?” she snaps.
I so badly want to snap right back at her, but I hold my tongue.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” I ask, taking a step towards her. “I don’t recall your face.”
“Because I’ve never met you.”
“We have files on every tenant in the building, and you are not one of them.”
It’s true. Though the locks are easy to pick and the apartments are small, the landlord does keep files on his tenants for safety purposes. If only his database wasn’t so easy to hack into…
Her eyes go wide. “Youwhat?”
“Your name, ma’am?” I ask, stepping forward.
Her jaw drops, then flops open and closed a few times.
“Should I call the police?” I question, tilting my head to the side just slightly.
She scoffs, stomping her foot. “Of course not! I’m just bringing soup for my son who is sick. He lives upstairs.” She points to the ceiling.
“And you have a key to this building? Because that is against policy. Unless your name is on the lease, which I know it is not.”
