With a huff, I throw off the covers and drag myself out of bed and down to my closet. If I can't sleep, I might as well get some answers. I pull on black leggings and an oversized Grimm long sleeve black shirt, then slip on my Converse, not bothering with socks.
I shove my phone into my leggings pocket and head out the door. I creep down the alley like a burglar and slip around the corner, past Grimm, to knock on my neighbor's door.
When he doesn't answer, I wait a minute and rap again, a little firmer this time. Still no answer. Taking decisive action, I try his front door, surprised when it opens.
Shit. I had counted on it being locked. Well, no going back now. I throw open the door and call, "Hello? Hello? Anyone home?"
Nothing. I shift nervously from foot to foot, torn between leaving before I'm caught or indulging my curiosity.Fuck it. One good breaking and entering deserves another,I rationalize.
I quietly shut the door behind me, fervently hoping he's not just a sound sleeper who also keeps a gun under his pillow. The house feels heavy around me, the dark decor eerie in the night. I peek into the kitchen, faint moonlight glittering off the black countertop through the window.
Driven by curiosity, I decide to start snooping. I creep to the fridge, curious about what kind of food he eats. Cracking open the door, I blink at the bright light after my eyes have been adjusting to the darkness.
Squinting against the sudden brightness, I gasp. The fridge is completely bare. Not even a bottle of ketchup in the door. Weird. How's this guy eat? He seems too fit for that much takeout.
I open the freezer and find a lonely tub of pistachio gelato. A wave of guilt at the reminder of our wonderful movie night washes over me. Closing the doors, I turn and start looking through his cabinets. All empty except the one he pulled our plates from has two other lonely plates in it. Has he not unpacked yet?
My curiosity on overdrive, I even open his dishwasher, which holds just our clean dishes from our dinner. Giving up on the kitchen, I sneak out to the living room. The paintings are creepy in the darkness, so I quickly head to the stairs. I'm torn between getting caught upstairs and figuring out just who the hell this guy is.
High on adrenaline, I creep up the stairs. I bypass the movie room since I've already been in there. I cautiously open door after door off the hallway, finding each room empty. No furniture, nothing on the walls. Just a shell of a home. Finally, I come to the attic stairs.
Hoping I've found his bedroom, I tiptoe up. I consider calling Jo, remembering her silly support when I had been worried about someone being in my home. Considering I'm now the trespasser, though, I think better of having an accomplice. Besides, she would have questions that I don't have answers for.
Every step ratchets up my heart rate until it is all I can hear, thundering in my ears. I'm halfway up the stairs when I hear the faint wail of a siren. I hold my breath, trying to gauge the direction.
In my rising panic, I can't decide whether there is a siren on its way to get me for my law-breaking ways or if it's just heading somewhere else. Shit, is there some type of security system here?
My paranoia gets the better of me and I turn and flee, feet flying down the stairs, all stealth out the window. I race back down the hall and thunder down, almost knocking off a picture at my breakneck speed as I round the corner, careening off the wall.
The siren continues to wail in the night. I peek through the window in the door and see flashing lights off in the distance. Taking this as my cue to get the hell out of Dodge, I open the door just wide enough to slip through and hightail it to the alley, up the backstairs, and back to the safety of my own house.
Safe inside, I collapse back against the door, gulping air, legs burning. I clutch my chest and my heart pounds back against my hand. Suddenly, I feel boneless and slide down the door into a heap. Fuck, that was just about the stupidest thing I've ever done.
I lay slumped in a heap until my breathing evens out and my racing heart gradually returns to normal. I berate myself for not only being massively out of shape but also illegally nosy. Especially when I didn't even find anything good!
The sirens fade into the distance, and I breathe a little easier, realizing an orange jumpsuit is not in my immediate future. I hoist myself up using the end table and make my way to the kitchen on wobbly legs where I grab my bottle of tequila before collapsing onto one of the bar stools.
I don't even bother with a glass, instead taking a healthy swig straight from the bottle. I prop my chin on my hands and think about my life's choices. I'm a thirty-year-old single cat lady with a weird store who sees shit. At long last, I manage to meet two hot guys and there is something seriously wrong with both of them. Hell, I don't even have a good relationship with my cat.
I take another swig and rest my head on the cool granite of the breakfast bar. As the tequila warms my belly and relaxes my limbs, I realize this isnotthe life I want. I'm being tossed around in the storm. I sit up with sudden conviction.
"This is bullshit," I say out loud to my empty house. I've been pushing so hard to fall in love, to keep up with Luke, to figure out McHottie, that I forgot to focus on myself. What I need, what I want, what Ideserve. And I deserve to be fucking happy. I let the realization wash over me, stiffening my spine.
Lucifer jumps up onto the bar, something he has never done before. He saunters across the bar to face me. Just as I go to scold him for being on the counter, he bumps his head into my forehead and purrs a growling rusty noise that suits him. Great, now that I’m a bad guy, too, he finally likes me.
Emotion thickens my throat. I thought this cat hated me, or at least was unaware of my existence. But he does see me. If this mean old cat can see me, then surely someone else can, too.
I’m not one of the bad guys. And this isn’t me. My life is going off the rails and I’m out of control. It is time to write my own story rather than being pushed around by the maelstrom of my life. I’m done with hot stalker neighbors, done with masked men poking around in the dark recesses of my brain, and I’m most definitely done with my fledgling criminal career.
My phone buzzes on the counter. For the first time ever, I feel I can scoop up my cat. Sure enough, he lets me. Nuzzling his soft fur, I carry Lucifer up the stairs with me to get some sleep, leaving the phone buzzing behind me. I'm tired. I need sleep. I need me.
I.
Am.
Enough.
Istalk the streets of the inner city, looking for a target. I curse my size for scaring away the danger that lurks in these alleys when I’m spoiling for a fight. My vision pulses red, my veins run with fury.
