His door opens. Shit. “Yes! I’ll take it. I have to go now, but can I call you tomorrow for details?” He’s getting closer to the door. “Thank you so much for the opportunity. You have no idea what this means to me.”
“Uh, yeah, no problem. Is everything okay?”
“I’m just out right now. I will call you in the morning so we can talk details. As soon as I can. I’m ready to start.” I’ll move in tomorrow if I can.
“Sounds great. I’ll look forward to hearing from you tomorrow. Have a great day.”
“You too.” I wipe my sweaty hands, delete the call log, and block her number for now. Just in case. I’ve memorized her number, so I don’t need it anyway.
When I saw the ad online for this job, I jumped on it. It’s just the break I’ve been looking for. Have I ever been a caregiver? Not officially. Have I lived the last eight years of my life in fear caring for Steven? Yes.
Well, no, I guess not the entire eight years. There was a time when he was my world, and I thought I was his.
Little did I know my world was about to fill with nightmares.
I’m not even sure who I’m looking after. Alyssa hasn’t told me yet. She had to do an extensive background check, and I’llhave to sign an NDA before I start. I’d sign my life away to leave this place. I don’t care. She needs someone to take care of a sick family member, that’s all I know.
I’ll be the best damn caregiver that ever was.
I already have my stuff packed. Well, some stuff. I have a duffel bag full of clothing outside hiding in the bushes—I had to drop it out the living room window to avoid the cameras—and I can get whatever else I need later on.
The door handle rattles on the kitchen door before he steps in, and my lungs squeeze making my side ache. It’s such a sharp pain that it startles me. I never know what version of him I’ll get. It’s a game he’s constantly changing the rules to. When we first started living together, I’d greet him at the door with a kiss. I was excited for him to come back home to me.
That was the first year.
Our routine slowly withered and died with the rest of what I felt for him. “Hey.” He eyes me, his gaze flicking down to my stomach. Right where he hit me yesterday. Then he kicked me when I doubled over in pain.
“Hi.” I stretch on a smile. “How was your day?” I almost prefer when he has graveyard shifts. He’ll sleep until about three in the afternoon, and I get to sleep alone. I have more time to myself then, even if I have to be silent. That’s okay, though. I like the quiet. It clears my mind.
He eyes me; I hate it. It’s like he’s trying to search for something to complain about. “Fine. What did you do today?”
Lay in bed in agony trying to find the strength to get up, because if I didn’t get my chores and dinner done, I’d be in twice as much pain. “Cleaned. The usual.”
“So, nothing much, then?”
I bite my tongue. I know better. “I um, I cleaned out the bathroom cabinets and went through your old clothes. I leftthem out before I threw them away to see if there are any you want to keep.”
“Not smart enough to do that on your own?”
Cold washes over me, bile crawling up my throat. Stay calm. Don’t give him an excuse. It’s almost over. “They’re not ragged. Just some holes. I figure if you’re working outside on the car or doing the lawn you can?—”
He holds his hand up. I hold steady when I want to back away. Showing weakness only sets him off. “I got it. Stop fucking talking, I just walked in the door. Taking a shower. Dinner better be ready.” He walks away. The pasta is nearly done. I hope he hurries. I don’t want to deal with it being too cold.
After a few moments I creep down the hall, listening until I hear the click of the bathroom door. I walk to it and press my ear to the door. It whips open, startling us both. “What the fuck?!”
“Sorry, I just wanted to see if you needed a towel,” I lie.
He turns his head, looking at the full stack of towels on the shelf. “A towel? Or did you want to join me?” He grips the back of my neck pulling me in, and it takes everything in me not to pull away. I kiss him, my stomach churning, the memory of last night rolling through my guts and making my belly hurt.
“Pasta,” I say against his lips. “I don’t want it to be ruined.”
“I’ll be out in a few.” He lets me go, and I hear the door lock before the water turns on. I run to the kitchen, grabbing my phone to text Alyssa, punching in her number after unblocking it.
Felix:
Would it be possible to move in tomorrow? I can meet you around nine?
Please, please, please.
