He didn’t leave.He followed me.
He’s sleeping on the floor outside my bedroom.
Has he been inside my apartment since I locked myself in after the jewelry store?Time doesn’t make sense anymore.Did Cathy speak such vicious words to me only two days ago?
Exhausted from her voice replaying in my head, I lean my ear toward the crack in the door.
Sebastian’s deep, even breathing assures me he’s still asleep.Anxiety and grief pulse through me.
I hurt him.He shouldn’t be here.
All I have to do is hide in my room until he leaves.No matter what promises he made me, his infatuation will fade and he’ll forget about me again.I don’t belong with him anymore than I do the family I grew up with.
After listening for a few more minutes, I open the door again and stare down at his massive frame.With only the light from the kitchen appliances illuminating the space, his features remain in shadows.My heart yearns to see him clearly, but I know it’s for the best.I adjust my bag on my shoulder, take a firmer grasp on my shoelaces, and tiptoe around him.
Using the wall for balance, I close my door and sidestep between his long legs and the baseboard.When I finally clear his feet, the selfish urge to drop my stuff and throw myself down on top of him grips me.I squeeze my eyes closed, grit my teeth, and breathe through my nose as waves of emotion barrel through me.
After endless hours of numbness, the barrage is excruciating.A single drop of warm liquid escapes my lashes, pools around my dermal teardrop piercing, and rolls down my cheek.I pull in a shaky breath and turn just enough to catch Sebastian’s frame in my periphery.The tear drips off my chin.
On silent feet, I rush to the front door, open it with a skill born of practice, and slip into the hall without making a sound.
I don’t stop to put on my shoes until the elevator doors close.
When the pain in my heart spreads outward to infect the rest of my chest, I wish the numbness would return.The elevator walls close in on me.My lungs refuse to work.An elephant sits on my chest.
I run all the way to Mr.Carter’s gym with my bag tucked under my arm and silent tears streaming down my face.
No one dares stop the tiny woman with crazy eyes and more piercings than they can count as she flashes by them.She’s not the first insane person they’ve seen on the street.They’ve never met her before.She doesn’t belong to them, so why should they care?
Acid scorches the inside of my throat, broken glass fills my lungs, and fire burns in my thighs when I yank open the door to the old two-story brick building.The familiar sound of the little bell ringing above the door and the warring smells of bleach and old rubber welcome me as I step onto the cracked linoleum.
I freeze at the sight in front of me.The elevator no longer has an out-of-order sign on it.The metal gleams from a fresh polish, but the dents and deep scratches along the bottom edges assure me it’s the same elevator as before.
I swipe at my tears and blink as a mixture of horror and confusion buzzes through me.
For all the years I’ve attended this gym, Mr.Carter, the owner, has never allowed outsiders to help him with maintenance.The old veteran—I searched him up online and found a brilliant record of military service—never speaks about himself, but his actions reveal everything I need to know about him.
Dread curdles my bones when the sounds of lifting weights filter through the building from the main room in the back.
I check the time and scowl.Not only am I much earlier than normal since I ran the entire way, but the brand new clock above the mail slots doubles my apprehension.
After several choppy breaths, I inch toward the front office.
“Mr.Carter?”I quietly call out, not wanting to disturb the men using the gym.
He doesn’t answer.Fear tightens my throat.
I peek into his office.
He isn’t there, but half a dozen screens cover the wall.Even though they’re off, the change is enough to solidify the worst of my thoughts.
Mr.Carter would never buy all those monitors.I once thought about offering him a custom security system, but he proved time and again he didn’t need it.His gym is one of the few places outside my apartment where I feel safe.He’s the only reason I would trek through the city at night for self-defense classes.
The upgrades must mean Mr.Carter sold the gym.Sorrow spears into my heart.
I slink backward toward the front door.The elevator dings.Panic rips through me, and I spin toward the front door only to trip on my own foot.I close my eyes as the ground rushes up to greet me.
A feminine voice calls out my name half a second before I slam into the linoleum.Although my bag softens my torso’s landing, my chin and knees smack into the floor.Blinding pain streaks through my skull and spasms run up and down my overworked legs.
