And then fear set in.
He knows.
I should be happy he wasn’t scared or weirded out. Hell, I should be ecstatic that he knew what I’ve been up to. Instead, I can barely breathe from the anxiety.
I’m worried over what he meant. Concerned about how he knew. Fearful that he’s planning to get me to confess and then call the cops. Sickened that he might be playing me too.
It’s illogical to think all of these things when Leo hasn’t given me a reason to, but this is all becoming too real too soon.
I gnaw on my lip and pull the blankets around me, double-checking Mom’s spare phone to make sure Leo really hasn’t contacted me. Now I’m anxious for an entirely different reason. What if he changed his mind because of how I acted?
Ormaybe—just maybe—he wanted me to stick around to “break up with me,” so to speak.
Again, he’s never given me a reason to believe that’s his plan, but it’s not like I’m a catch. He has so many better options out there, and I’m just me, and he... might have a girlfriend.
I flop onto my back and groan. I’m not about to be the other woman. So maybe hewasplanning on telling me to disappear from his life forever... after ordering me breakfast and giving me the latest phone that’s expensive enough to make my eyes water.
The anxiety stopped me from taking it.
But it didn’t stop me from bringing home more of his clothes. As a token and a reminder of what could’ve been the last time I went to his house.
My phone chimes beside me.
Sabrina: How are you doing? God, I can’t imagine how scared you must be. I’m here if you need anything! Love you lots x
I shove my face into the pillow and silently scream.Shereached out first.Shechecks up on me when I don’t reply all day.
I’m a horrible, awful, terrible person. She’s being the sweetest, kindest human being, checking up on me, offering to bring me food, and giving me the option to sleep in her spare bedroom—and I’m out here stalking and hiding a “relationship” with her brother from her.
And stillshewas the one who felt guilty and embarrassed that Leo crashed our girl time.
I need to come clean to her—weneed to tell her that we “know each other.” Ugh.
I shoot off a reply that doesn’t make me feel like an asshole until about three seconds after I send it because guilt really is a relentless bastard.
The sound of Joyce’s bedroom door opening pulls me out of my misery. Is it bad that I’m glad she and Ben are on an “off” period so she’s spending more time at home? And I’m hoping they stay off. Yep, I’m a piece of crap.
I’m a bad friend to Joyce, and I’m a worse friend to Sabrina. Mom was right. My friends would be better off without me.
Taking a deep breath, I count to ten to muster up the courage and willpower to pull myself out of bed and face the remnants of my ruined apartment.
Joyce and I spent all day cleaning the house yesterday, taking turns battling with the police and insurance. The former sent someone around to dust for prints, and the latter is being plainly difficult, saying they want more information from the police.
We’re going to need to dip into our savings to try to make this place livable again. Or, in my case, I need to buy new electronics as soon as possible because my release is in a matter ofweeks, and I feel far from prepared for it.
I can already hear her out in the kitchen doing Lord knows what. She’s not usually awake at this time of the morning unless I accidentally cause enough of a ruckus to wake her up.
The smell of bacon wafts up my nose the moment I open the door, and that is my first warning sign.
Joyce doesn’t eat breakfast.
The second warning is that she’s standing a few feet away from me, gawking at the same thing I am.
“Good, you’re up.” Leo’s eyes meet mine.
He’s in my kitchen.
Leo is in my kitchen.
