Does he fucking know? No. He’s doing that thing he does where he makes an almost supernaturally accurate guess and then the other person confesses to a tumult of things Aiden never had any fucking clue about.
“She’s just a girl,” I say. “Red herring. She likes to walk in cemeteries. It’s a goth girl thing.”
“Ah,” he nods. “Good. Then the burial was private, as we wished.”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m going to go get some things and then I’ll go babysit Luke.”
“Thank you, Leo,” Aiden says. “You always do the right thing.”
That makes me laugh, genuinely. “Fuck off, Aiden,” I say, on my way to go get everything sorted.
CHAPTER 5
Ella
The man in the night doesn’t come back. I wait for him, sleepless, for several evenings until I eventually pass out.
Like every other man, he got what he wanted and bounced, I guess. I know it’s absolutely crazy to feel hurt that the guy who broke into my apartment to fuck me didn’t catch feelings in the process, but being rational isn’t always the easiest when the sex is that fucking good.
I can still hear his voice, and feel his hands on my body. When I am trying to focus on other things, it rings in my ear. Sometimes, I get the sense I am being watched, but when I look around there is either nobody there at all, or a crowd that I can’t pick anybody out of.
A week goes by and I start to relax, I guess. A lot of things have gone wrong lately. There’s been sadness and darkness, and it’s starting to become swallowed up by the force of normality.
It’s a Thursday. Early evening. It’s been a very long day. My boss is an asshole, I’m late for a rare evening spin class, and I’m pretty sure my rent didn’t go out of my account because the payment bounced. My head has been all over the show lately. I can’t concentrate on anything.
I keep telling myself that I am going to get over it soon. I loved him, or thought I did, but the internet tells me I barely knew him, and real love is about time and effort. A dozen reels appearing on my social media feeds tell me what I was experiencing was limerence. Maybe it was.
Sometimes telling myself I didn’t properly know him and couldn’t have loved him makes me feel better. Other times I know it doesn’t matter what anybody says about how long it takes to fall in love because I know how I felt when I was with him, and I know how it feels to face the fact I am never going to be with him again.
Getting home to my building, I run upstairs as fast as I can, taking the external stairwell and avoiding the elevator. When I moved into this place I was so excited that there was an elevator, but it almost never works, and when it does it has a tendency to get stuck. It happens so much there’s a phone tree taped to the inside so one of us can go out with a crowbar and wedge the doors open for one of our neighbors if need be.
I sweat my way up five flights of stairs, cursing my decision to get an apartment so high up. It’s top floor, which at the time made me feel fancy, but now I just have aching thighs after all that working out.
I push the door to my apartment open and throw my bag down by the door.
“Fuck,” I curse as I trip over my bag immediately.
The door closes behind me slowly.
The hair rises on the back of my neck as it occurs to me that my door was unlocked when I got here, and someone just closed the door too.
I turn around to see a man standing in my apartment. He makes my cozy little home look like a hovel. He is tall, well over six feet. He has dark hair with a slight wave, and the most elegant yet masculine features I have ever seen on a man. He is wearing a cream suit that suits his olive skin. It looks expensive. He’s wearing a watch, which also looks expensive.
He doesn’t belong here. He must be at least in his mid-thirties. I’m twenty-two. Guys his age hit on me at bars sometimes, but not men with his obvious financial advantages. I stare at him in a kind of shock. He’s so gorgeous. What the hell is he doing here?
Something in my bedroom falls over. I hear a thud and then a shuffling of feet.
“She has so much crap in here!” a male voice curses, annoyed.
“What is going on?” The annoyance at realizing my personal space is being well and truly torn apart prompts the question.
There’s something familiar about this man. Something… like I know him? But I have definitely never been in his presence before, that’s for absolute certain.
He smirks at me, but his eyes narrow just a fraction like he registered my sass and didn’t entirely appreciate it. I feel a pang in my stomach, like I am in trouble because I’ve done something wrong.
Another man comes storming out of the bedroom. “I didn’t find anything, but that doesn’t mean… Oh, she’s here.” His tone suggests I am late as well.
This guy is beautiful too. Is there a male model convention in my apartment that I didn’t know about? He has similar skin, a little lighter. His eyes are blue and his features are bolder than the first man who is leaning up against my bookcase.
