Rob spots her and turns to leave, but not before smacking my ass hard. "Soon, I'll be in there." He grins. I cannot take my eyes off his filthy yellow teeth. It makes me feel nauseous. I say nothing. I need to leave work early today, and if that means letting him touch my ass, then so be it.
* * *
I slidedown in my seat, a few rows behind her. It's odd how wearing shades and a cap aren't conspicuous anymore. At least six people are sporting the same look. The guy opposite me smiles at me. I look away, and out of the window of the train. I am not here to make friends. Talking to people like him gets you noticed. Talking to the frazzled mother with her baby, or the old woman visiting a friend on the other side of town, won't. You see, if they question the latter, it's unlikely I'd stand out. They speak to at least ten people on their way in, and then some. Sin is going to the library again. She's trying to get them to cease tearing the place down. Heard her talking to her friend. Chelsea, like the pastry, and the place I grew up, I think. I don't see the big fuss. The place is old, rat-infested, and downright nasty. But people like Sin have causes, things that matter to them.
She is tired. She didn't sleep as much as she should have last night. I saw her lights in the study go off around three a.m. How she functions is beyond me. She leans her head on the glass, and it lulls forward. She's nodded off. I move closer. What I am about to do is going to take some effort. I stand in the aisle, just a seat behind her. The man sitting in the seat directly behind her looks up as I approach. The teenager beside him has her head in her phone. This is perfect. He smiles and stands to offer me his seat. I smile graciously at him, thankful that chivalry is not entirely dead. I rub my swollen belly. The perks of pregnancy. Even if it’s a fake one.
I know she drops her bag on the floor between her legs, and she holds it in place with one foot inside the sling. I have to hope that her tiredness made her clumsy. I slowly push my foot forward and freeze when I hit something solid. Her leg. I move an inch and hit the jackpot, the soft leather duffle bag she carries is right where I knew it would be. I tuck my foot into it, pushing down to the ground so I can drag it toward me. The train car is full, so nobody notices anything. People chatter or hum along to the music they're listening to. The gentle thrum of the rain and the din of the engine make me brave. I nearly fist pump the air when the bag slides over to me with ease.You’re so predictable, Sin.
I like predictability, it's comforting. I always know what to expect, especially with you. The first time I realized just how predictable you were was in our senior year. Everybody expected you to go to prom with Co, but you'd promised to go with chubby, pretty Evan with his honey eyes and mischievous smile. He was your best friend, and the first boy you kissed. I heard the gossip. You two made a pact before you got to high school, that you'd go to prom together no matter what or who you were doing. I heard people talking about it at school. Cohen didn't like that. He hated it, in fact. I knew that you going to prom with Evan was a mistake. Boys like Evan were bad news. At the end of the night, you were crying in the ER after Evan raced himself into a barrier, while Cohen fucked your friend in the back seat of his car. I wonder if things would be different if you'd chosen Cohen instead of Evan. Would he have cheated? I guess that is something we will never know. That night you lost a best friend and a faithful boyfriend.
Chapter 10
Sinclair
Ipark at the grocery store parking lot instead of the street in front of the bookstore. It's only a block away, and I need the exercise. I'm halfway to the bookstore when I get a distinct feeling I'm being followed. I feel the pull of the stranger behind me, their eyes trailing me, watching me. I pretend I don't because the reality of it is far more frightening. Besides, who would follow me?
It is beyond frustrating to behave so irrationally. Looking over my shoulder every time I step out of the house. How on earth am I supposed to research for my books if I am stuck at home? Besides, I reason, I am a people watcher too. Did that make me a psychopath?
When I step into the dusty, old bookstore, I’m relieved to find it reasonably empty. The period store, with all its classic collections and comforting feel, makes it one of the most popular hangouts for bookworms and one of the reasons why Chelsea bought it the moment she saw it. That and the fact that there is a Starbucks next door too. She had this dream of breaking down the walls between the stores and creating one big comfort space. Books and coffee, a reader's best friend.
I take a deep breath, settling into the comfort of dust and paper. I spot Bronwyn, one of the two attendants in the shop, at the front desk chatting to a customer. Bronwyn is my friend Sam’s oldest daughter. Her wild rainbow hair stands on end.
“Hey, Bron, is Chelsea in?”
"Yeah, she's in the back. Book cataloging day." She chews gum and pops it. I wonder what Chelsea would have to say about that. "Chelsea," she yells. “Sin is here.”
I settle at a table at the window, which gives me a beautiful view of the street. The buzz of the avenue, the faraway chatter, and the life that pulses in this town are all I need to soothe my nerves and get those words flowing. I pull out my MacBook, switch it on, connecting to the Wi-Fi.
"There you are," Chelsea walks toward me, grinning. Her raven hair is in a high ponytail and she’s wearing dungarees. "Killed anyone yet?"
“Just gotta get some admin out of the way.”
Chelsea smiles and sits in the seat opposite me. I peek through the headings in my inbox, none of which are of any interest to me. “So, we have to be at the library at four. I am so excited we’re doing this.”
I would have ignored and deleted the email had the subject line not read "Emily". The poem I received in my mailbox. I clicked it open while Chelsea continues to talk to me. I nod and hmm so she won’t think I’m ignoring her.
“What is it? Spill,” Chelsea demands. There isn’t anything I can keep from my friend. And then I wonder if I’ll be putting her in danger by telling her.
“I don’t know. It just sounds stupid when I say it out loud.” I bite my lip.
“This is me. You can talk to me about anything.”
I sigh and look out the window again. Every single person looks suspicious, every one that passes by the window and looks in could be him or her.
“I think I’m being followed.”
“What?” Her eyes widen.
“Shh, I don’t want anyone to hear. I told you it sounds stupid.”
"I didn't say that. But what makes you think that?"
"It isn't any one thing. It's a hunch, you know, that there are eyes on me."
"Think it's a crazy fan? That shit happens," Chelsea says seriously.
“I honestly have no idea.”
