Chapter 49
Jansen
If the guys knew how often I was sexting with Clara, they probably wouldn’t approve. But what they don’t know can’t hurt them.
And staying solo in a big ‘ol house with only a cat for company isn’t helping with my already fragile mental state, even if Walker is diligent about checking in on me. So, sexting it is. And for all the times I don’t get a reply, rubbing one out with nothing but memories and imagination, at least as often Clara’s there, teasing me, controlling me, taking the reins and guiding me to some of the best solo orgasms I’ve ever had.
Is it what I want? No-sirree-bob. But it was better than nothing.
And when her end of our chat goes silent, leaving me with a big fat nothing? It’s like I’m on a high wire, but my safety net is chopped to bits beneath me.
It’s not what it was this fall, not at all, but I can feel the unsteadiness, especially with the way the guys still won’t let me bear my fair share of the workload.
So instead, I focus on what I can do. The house is almost ready for tenants, and after we get some new appliances and plop on a final coat of paint on the trim upstairs, there will be nothing left for me to do. Already prepping for that reality, I pulled some of my money from the big pile of it I’ve been ignoring for the last four years to not break my cover and called in plumbers and mold remediators for the other property down the street.
It’s not the work I want to be doing, but it’s not bad in and of itself. At least at the end of the day I can see what I’ve accomplished. And that feels pretty darn awesome.
Not breaking and entering awesome, but the variety of fun matters, too. And if the drugs have had any other side effects besides my exhaustion, it’s that I don’tneedto steal all the time.
I still want to. It still sounds like a blast. I’m still pretty damn good at it.
But it’s a choice now.
And that’s objectively a good thing, even if I don’t quite feel like myself.
Tonight, though, I need to feel like myself. The good and the bad.
My cough is nearly gone, and I’m glad. Delaying treatment was dumb, but at least my body seems to have done one thing right.
Driving across town, flurries drifting under streetlights, I force myself to calm, but my usual meditations aren’t working.By the time I park, I worry I’m making a mistake, that this was a bad idea.
But I need this. I feel it in my bones. Closure. A fear vanquished the night before we get to work for real.
Trudging up the hill, I wonder if I should feel worse about missing Christmas. I don’t. I needed the distance from Evie. After that run-in at the hardware store, I fell into one hell of a funk, and I’m not sure I can keep myself stable when she’s right there in front of me.
I need more time. And she needs to give it to me.
I feel bad about my mom getting caught in the middle, though.
The snick of the first lock makes my heart rate spike; the second lock leaves the beat of it thundering in my ears.
Climbing the winding staircase, the wind temporarily blocked by the thick stone walls, I focus on my breathing. By the time I get to the top, though, I’m dizzy.
It’s not from the height—it’s fear.
Of myself.
I inch across the stone floor to the arched windows of the Witch’s Hat, the sparkling lights of the city below me, the drifts of snow making it look like a snow globe instead of reality. When I get to the edge, I peer down, wondering what was going on in my head the last time I was here.
It’s hazy, but my body obviously remembers if the thunder through my veins means anything. I swallow, running my bare fingers over the stone, needing to feel it, needing to understand.
A few tears trickle down my cheeks, but I ignore them. What led me here? Then, before, and now?
I walk to the western side of the tower, gazing toward where Clara is, wishing she were here with me.
But that doesn’t feel right, as much as I miss her.
No, this has to be me. Just me.
