I wait until I see her back in the kitchen before I retrieve the food, then carry it to the desk the way I always do. But this time, instead of switching off the monitor, I leave it on, watching her as I eat.
Waiting for what I know is coming.
She doesn’t make me wait long.
“So is this just how it’s going to be?” Light brown eyes fuse to the camera. “We live in the same house and never see each other?” She snorts, rolling her eyes as she drinks a little of her tea. “Because I hope you know how fucking ridiculous that is.”
The anger in her tone has me sitting straighter almost as much as her choice of sentence amplifiers. Mariah started talking to me the morning after I covered her up with the blanket, but it’s always been general chatter. Occasionally lecturing me about the state of my house. She’s mentioned how unimpressed with me her best friend Janie is so far. That she can’t believe I have the view I do and still kept my curtains and blinds closed— a situation she rectified immediately upon moving in.
Technically, not a lot of it was flattering, but it was always said in a relatively indifferent tone. Nothing like the sharp delivery I’m getting now.
“I really didn’t want to have to do this.” Mariah shakes her head, one brow angling as her eyes meet mine. “But you haven’t really given me a choice.”
Shit. She’s coming up here.
My reaction isn’t at all what it should be. I’m not panicked or anxious about the fallout that will result from us meeting face-to-face.
Instead I’m… Excited.
Eager to see her again without the distortion of a camera between us.
And I can’t be. Eager or excited. For a myriad of reasons—including the possibility that she could be pregnant.
Because in general, women don’t get pregnant on their own. Which means there must be another man in her life.
I freeze. What the fuck.Anotherman?
I rake one hand through my hair before scrubbing it down my face. I thought I was fine living the way I do. That isolation didn’t affect me. But I’m a week into having Mariah under my roof and already considering myself a man in her life. I haven’t even spoken to her, yet her face is the one I look forward to seeing every day. I’ve never touched her, but the soft scent of her skin imprinted itself on my brain the night I covered her up and now follows me everywhere I go.
I swallow hard, warring with myself over what I’ll do when she knocks on my door.
But Mariah doesn’t knock on my door. She doesn’t come upstairs. She doesn’t try to force me to meet her the way I expect.
She does something much worse.
One by one, she goes through the house, covering each of my cameras. Cutting me off.
“No.” I shake my head. “She can’t do that.” Those are my cameras. This is my house. She can’t just?—
Her voice carries through the black screen. “If I don’t get to see you, you don’t get to see me. You want your cameras back, you can uncover them yourself.”
I hold my breath, waiting for another word from her. Another hit of a drug I didn’t know I was abusing.
But Mariah goes silent, stealing every bit of herself from me.
Leaving me alone.
“Fine.” I switch off the monitor, rocking my head from side to side in an attempt to ease the tension already building up the sides of my neck. “If that’s how she wants this to be, that’s fine.” I shrug. “I don’t care.”
A few hours later, it is undeniable that I very much do care.
I’m jittery. Unable to focus. Unable to sit down.
And for some reason, it’s hilarious to me. I laugh at myself as I pace from one side of my office to the other, because why should this even matter? It’s not like we're friends. Not like we actually know each other.
I shouldn’t give a shit that I can’t watch her. That she isn’t talking to me. That she hasn’t made me another cake since the night I covered her up and stole the one she tried to use as bait.
All that should matter is she’s still doing what I pay her to do. My meals keep coming like clockwork. Breakfast at seven. Lunch at noon. Dinner at six.
