For the better part of the last two weeks, I dreaded returning to normal life. Facing the people who knew I was leaving to get married but showing up to work this morning, single and scorned.
Except, I can’t really convince myself that I care now. Feeling Jensen’s body against mine and being showered with uninhibited adoration healed something deep inside of me.
I’ve wanted that part of him for so long that nothing else seems to matter. All I want is more of it.
I slip on my heels before fluffing my hair in the mirror when I hear the wrap tap tap on my front door. It’s a little early, but he’s probably just as eager to see me as I am him.
Swinging the door open, my smile is ready on my face, preparing to see him, but instead, I come face to face with a man I’ve never seen before.
He’s young, but he’s big. He’s at least a head taller than me and almost fills the width of the doorway.
My smile drops.
He doesn’t say anything, staring at me with wide eyes as I stare at him, waiting for him to murder me.
He shoves a bouquet forward, uttering. “Delivery.”
Over the bloom of roses and daisies, I see his brown collared shirt and name tag, and his white delivery van in the driveway.
I don’t touch the flowers, forcing him to hold them out awkwardly. “Who are they from?”
“Oh. Um, I don’t know. I just deliver them, I don’t read the notes.”
“Read it for me.” I clear my throat. “Please.”
He tucks the vase under his arm, pulling the card from the clip in the middle of the bundle, and I watch his face attempt to rival the color of the flowers. “I can’t read this.”
“Read it,” I demand, making him gulp.
“His hands touched you when it should have been me. I dream of slicing the skin away and keeping it for myself,” he stutters through the last of it, shoving the card back into the depths of the flowers.
His gaze stays averted as I stare at him, processing what I just heard.
“So, do you want the flow–” His voice cuts out suddenly, and my vision tunnels as everything around me goes black.
* * *
“Who the fuck are you?”
Hayes.
“Liv!”He touches my face, and I try to focus on feeling his warm fingers on my skin.
“Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”
He’s angry. Why is he yelling?
“I didn’t do it.”Oh. The delivery boy.
I hope he doesn’t hurt him.
“If you did, I’ll fucking kill you,” he threatens, and I hear a crash. “Call 911, ask for Malec. And, don’t fucking leave my sight.”
As hard as I try, I can’t open my eyes.
“Wake up, Olive,” he murmurs, stroking my cheeks again. “It’s me, open your eyes.”
I hear crinkling.
