“Oof. That sounds rough.”
I nodded, my mind still busy trying to remember if I’d ever seen his back. I’d seen his legs when we’d been in the shower, and there hadn’t been a scar there either, so it had to be on his back, right?
Was Eric somehow moving in a way that prevented me from seeing or touching his scar? Was he self-conscious about it?
I blinked.
Fuck.
Was that the real reason he kept sneaking out of my bed?
Hell, he could just put a fucking shirt on instead. I didn’t care.
Or well, yeah, I did care, but I didn’t care about the scar. Ididcare about him being comfortable with me. If that meant wearing a fucking shirt to bed or keeping the lights out or whatever, so be it.
I should definitely tell him later.
Maybe that way I’d finally get a lazy morning after with him.
Hoisting the messenger bag onto my back, I reached for the bags of groceries on the ground and exited the elevator, letting out a yawn. Why had I thought doing a double shift after weeks of not working would be a good idea? I was fucking wiped.
I looked at the bags in my hands. So much for buying fresh groceries—I wasn’t in the mood to cook anything right now. I wanted my couch, and I wanted a pizza.
My stomach rumbled, my mouth watering as I thought about the greasy, cheesy wheels of heaven Pablo made.
I stopped in front of my door and put the groceries down to take my key out of my pocket. Was my stomach ready for pizza?
I’d started eating like a normal human being again—although I was still staying far away from caffeine—but I hadn’t tried fastfood yet. Huh… maybe it was time to. After the day I’d had, I’d definitely earned it.
Key in hand, I straightened, extending my hand just as my eyes zeroed in on the note on my door.
My blood drained from my face, taking all the warmth with it, leaving an icy, numb feeling as I stared at the yellow Post-it.
Congratulations, your iron levels are back to normal.
A shiver ran down my spine.
I swallowed, goosebumps rising on my skin.
This was not funny.
He sounded so fucking sure. Like he was really taking blood samples from me.
But how?
How the fuck did he get my blood?
I hadn’t even been to the doctor again. I had a quick follow-up appointment scheduled in two weeks.
I looked around the empty hallway, my throat slowly closing in.
Did I go to the police with this?
What would they even do?
I’d checked myself for any kind of marks, but I hadn’t fucking found any.
Yet, this didn’t feel like a prank. It didn’t feel like someone just randomly leaving unsettling notes.
