Because I have no issue playing into her fantasies, once I throw my bag into the trunk, I lift my arms up to stretch, giving her a view of the sliver of skin peeking out from beneath my sweatshirt. And, just to give her a show like she’s—unknowingly—given me hundreds of times, I reach back and pull my hoodie off, letting it drag up the T-shirt underneath.
Fuck it. I grin to myself. She has no idea what’s coming. Today is going to be anexcellentday. The cameras I installed throughout her apartment may not have led me any closer to figuring out who her attacker is, but I’m not one to waste an opportunity.
I slam the trunk, get into my car, then peel onto the street, watching her in my rearview mirror. The rest happens like clockwork. I turn left and right, doing U-turns and switching between various lanes until I make it onto the highway that’s already backed up with morning traffic.
And then my phone buzzes with a security alert.
Mina has entered my house.
I click into the cameras installed in the spare room and watch as she huffs and glares at the window. A few weeks ago, I left her a spare key on the kitchen counter. I tried three more times after that. Why she never took it any of those time is beyond me when she happily helps herself to the rest of my house, like her favorite processed snacks, and her medications I have just for her. She doesn’t even hesitate to change into the clothes I leave out for her.
It’s her home too; I’ve ensured it.
My entire house was made to her liking. The décor, the layout, even the color scheme. It was all taken from her Pinterest board and made into a reality justweeksbefore she first came crawling through.
I take the first exit off the highway and go back the way I came, every so often watching her move through the house like she owns it.
She settles into my bed without an inkling of my plans. Mina seems rigid yet sluggish as she turns on the TV, then curls onto her side. I should feel better knowing I haven’t lost her and that she still wants to be in my space, but the lack of communication still pisses me the fuck off.
She has a phone. Isaw iton her bedside table last night. She should fucking use it. Instead, she’s letting every one of my calls ring and ring, until voicemail answers.
Rationally, I acknowledge that finding her apartment in that state would have been upsetting. Still, I wasn’t any less irritated when I saw her safe and sound at her parents’ house last night,notspeaking to me.
But like yesterday, she can’t pretend I don’t exist if I’m right in front of her.
I park on the street a couple houses down from mine and kill the engine. Coach is going to be pissed at me for being late to practice, but right now, I couldn’t care less. I’ve been on my best fucking behavior and am owed a little goddamn grace for being polite to Norton and his merry band of idiots.
Anticipation kicks my pulse up a notch as I quietly walk to the back porch, on the opposite side of where my bedroom is. I check the cameras again to make sure she’s still watching TV, blissfully unaware, then carefully unlock the door and creep into the house.
She continues to suspect nothing.
My phone alerts with my presence, and I turn it off before it can make any more sounds. The last time I surprised her while she was in my bed, I made as much noise as possible to play with her.
Now, I’m tiptoeing through my own house because I’m an asshole who wants to catch her off guard.
I’m halfway up the stairs before I hear her; there’s a softest snore that’s almost undetectable beneath the low murmur of the TV.
I really admire her ability to sleep at the drop of a hat.
I don’t bother with keeping quiet anymore, walking up the steps and into my room to stand at the foot of my bed. Seeing herlying in my space on-screen is nothing compared to witnessing it in the flesh.
Mina’s dark hair fans around her while she clutches my pillow to her chest. She should be holding me instead, but that’s a scenario that will be frequently played out in our foreseeable future.
Her scent is mingling with mine, and she’s already fallen into her role so perfectly, taking up the left side like she knows I’ve already claimed the right.
The shitty replacement phone she’s ignoring me with is on the bedside table. She must have left her shoes and coat in the downstairs room because they are nowhere in sight.
For the first time since I’ve taken up watching her sleep like it’s my full-time job, she stirs. It’s slow at first. She straightens, stretching out as a yawn makes her tremble slightly. Then her slender hands come up to rub her face and scratch the back of her neck.
I look forward to witnessing this sight play out every morning for the rest of our lives.
Her eyes peel open, and she stares, half conscious, at the doorway leading out into the hall and down the stairs.
I give her a couple more seconds to smarten up and notice me.
She doesn’t.
Her eyelids sag like she’s about to fall back asleep, and I take it as my cue to wake her up.
