First, groceries. I saw a little market around the corner.
I take the key and the codes the realtor left on the counter and head out.
At the market, I grab the basics. Shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, a comb, a toothbrush.
Bread, milk, butter, cheese, a few frozen meals.
On the way back, the sun’s setting. The building lights are on, casting a soft glow against the brown bricks. The two trees out front sway slightly, and for a second, the whole place looks like something from a dream.
I punch in the code and pause when I see a small red light above the door, it’s a camera.
I shrug and keep walking, but I notice two more on the way up, it makes me feel safer, because I didn’t tell anyone, but my gut’s been screaming the same thing since that night, that the fire wasn’t random, it was meant for me.
He saw the paper in the window. He didn’t like being called out; maybe he had had enough and wanted to kill me.
A chill runs down my spine at the thought of all those lives that could’ve been lost because of me.
The door closes behind me, and I lock it, turning on the alarm.
I never had one before. I should’ve.
I open the oven and slide in the frozen lasagna. Thirty minutes. That’s what the box says.
The bathroom’s small but clean. I place the new items where they belong: shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush in a cup by the sink. I turn on the shower and wait for the steam to fill the space.
No bathtub in this one, but I don’t care. The warm water feels like heaven. I stand under the spray and close my eyes, and of course, my thoughts betray me.
Flynn.
I haven’t seen him since the hospital.
After the hotel, I was sure that was it, that I’d pushed too far, that he was done with me, but he came.
That look in his eyes when I woke up…
The way he held me down, like I’d run if he let go.
Jesus Christ. Why does that man live in my head rent-free?
I picked him because he has that bad boy that fucks like a God, and because I thought he’d be easy to forget once the thrill passed. I thought he was a one-time thing.
He’s not. His hands, his voice and that low growl when he pushed inside me—
“Shit.” I snap my eyes open. “No. Stop.”
The ding from the oven saves me.
I finish washing my hair, dry off, throw on a pair of soft sweats and a top. My skin’s still warm from the shower as I pull the lasagna out.
It smells better than it probably tastes, but I don’t care. I sit on the couch, plate on my lap, phone in hand, and start making a list of everything I’ll need.
The kitchen has everything. Plates, glasses, even pans. It’s the little things I’m missing. Cleaning supplies, towels, a lamp for the bedroom and tea. I’ll get what I can tomorrow.
After I finish eating, I clean up quickly and check the door again. Locked. Alarm on.
The apartment is quiet, still. I grab the codes the realtor left and head to the bedroom. The walls look darker at night, the green deeper under the low light. I shut the curtains, then pause. Should I open them again? Would it be worse to let someone see in… or to not see them if they’re out there?
I leave them half open.
