Page 91 of Two Sides of Sin

I dropped my bag onto the hardwood floor with a loud thud, my keys clattering next to it. My thumb swiped across the screen so fast my hand was shaking. I lifted the phone to my ear, my chest tight with sudden, desperate anticipation.

“Hello?” I answered, breathless.

A brief second of static crackled over the line and then, a low, gravelly, deeply familiar rumble vibrated through the speaker.

“Sage.”

My knees went weak. Hearing his voice always pulled the same reaction from me. All the beautiful memories from the cathedral, and the way he had kissed me came rushing back so vividly, I had to lean against the wall to keep from falling over.

“Julian,” I breathed, closing my eyes and pressing my forehead against the cool drywall. I couldn’t stop the stupid smile that broke across my face everytime he spoke. “You called.”

“I told you I would,” he murmured, his voice thick with a dark, starving relief that mirrored exactly how I felt. “God, it is incredibly good to hear your voice. How are you?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Just missing you.”

We spent the next several minutes just catching up, bridging the gap between my quiet, mundane life in the city and whatever chaotic, dangerous reality he was currently standing in. He asked about my art. I asked if he was sleeping well. It was easy, and intimate.

“Listen to me,” Julian said eventually, his tone shifting, becoming heavier and far more serious. The static crackled slightly. “Command is finally organising the final withdrawal. It isn’t official yet, but…” He paused, and I could practically feel the intense, burning weight of his gaze even through the phone. “I think I will be cleared in a month.”

My eyes opened with excitement. “A month?”

“Thirty days,” he confirmed, a low, dangerous promise lacing every syllable. “And the second I am off the transport plane, I am coming straight to see you. If you’ll still have me.”

“Yes,” the word tumbled out of my mouth before he could even finish the sentence. “Yes, Julian, of course I still want you to come.”

“Good,” he rasped softly. “talk soon.”

The line clicked dead, leaving me standing in the silence of my entryway.

I slowly pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the darkened screen. Thirty days. One month until that lethally beautiful man, would actually be standing in my apartment.

I clamped my hands over my mouth, unable to contain the consuming explosion of adrenaline and joy in my chest, and let out a high-pitched, ridiculous sounding, squeal of pure excitement. I spun around, leaning back against the front door, my heart hammering a frantic, triumphant throb.

He was coming. Finally.

The residual high from Julian’s phone call lasted for hours, carrying me through the rest of the evening in a floaty-haze. But as the clock on my nightstand ticked past midnight, the quiet isolation of my apartment started to creep back in.

The summer rainstorm from earlier had settled into a steady, dreary drizzle against my bedroom window. I was curled up under my duvet, the room dark except for the flickering, pale light of the television screen. I had put on a classic, atmospheric horror movie, hoping the predictable jump scares would distract me from counting down the seconds until Julian’s thirty days were up.

I was just starting to drift off, my eyelids heavy, when the sound pulled me back.

Click. Shhhk.

It was faint. Barely audible over the tense, screeching violins of the movie soundtrack. My eyes shot open, instantly alert. I didn’t move a muscle. I just lay there in the dark, my heart doing a slow, heavy thud against my ribs as I strained my ears to listen.

It’s just the wind, I told myself, clutching the edge of the duvet a little tighter. Old building. Old pipes.

I held my breath, waiting. A full minute passed. The final girl on the TV was screaming, running through a dark forest. I let out a quiet exhale, my muscles starting to uncoil.

And then I heard it again.

A soft, deliberate creak of a floorboard. Coming from the kitchen.

The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. I fumbled blindly for the TV remote, hitting the mute button. The sudden, suffocating silence of the apartment felt ten times more terrifying than the movie.

I waited for another noise, logic fighting a losing battle against the sudden spike of adrenaline in my veins. When nothing else happened, I finally threw the duvet back. The hardwood floor was freezing against my bare feet as I crept out of my bedroom, instinctively grabbing the heavy, brass base of a table lamp just in case.

I moved slowly down the hallway, the shadows of the apartment stretching and warping in the dim ambient light bleeding in from the street-lamps outside.