Page 44 of His Dark Vices

But the elevator dings, announcing someone's arrival. I watch his eyes go wide before I whip around to see the girl he's been waiting for. I didn't want to be here, but maybe I can expose him in front of her and then get the fuck out of here.

When she steps out, her mouth shooting off unimpressed observations about the lobby's decor, my eyebrows knit together in confusion. She's old enough to be his… mom. And a man around the same age is right behind her, agreeing as he waves his hand in the air dismissively. They let their critical eyes roamaround the penthouse before they both settle on us. We watch them without saying a word.

I barely dare to breathe. For one, they brought in a cloud of cigarettes and booze with them, but for two, it's totally not my place.

Sam should be the one to address his parents.

I don't like their eyes on me, sliding over my figure. I can only imagine them envying my youth—they both look like dried fruit, and there's an air of dust about them, of uncleanliness. They're dressed in similar shabby clothes, and I bet the dad's hair is just as oily and unkempt as the mom's, but he at least had the decency to wear a hat.

I feel gross just looking at them.

"Well?" the mom barks, her voice loud and harsh in the clean space.

I look back at Sam because she's definitely not talking to me. His shoulders are hunched, his hands shoved into his pockets. He suddenly looks like a little boy, and when he raises his eyes to meet hers, he looks wary.

"You made it," Sam observes flatly.

"No shit, Sherlock!" the dad says, shuffling into the living space. He claps a dirty hand down on the couch before settling heavily into it. "This is where you've been living, huh?"

"You think you really turned into something, don't you?" the mom says with a cackle, and I can see she's missing some teeth.

I look away, but she's not paying me any attention anyway. Only Sam seems aware of my presence, and shame is written all over his features. He doesn't reply.

"Marj, you got any cigarettes?"

"Yeah, yeah," she says, shuffling over to the couch, still looking around with her mouth open.

I wince. No way are they going to smoke in here. I look back to Sam to see if he's going to stop them, but he's staring at the floor.

"Don't snatch from me, Frank!" Marj erupts, and Sam flinches.

"Aaah, nobody's snatching from you," he replies dismissively. "You got anything to drink around here?" He looks in our direction while rustling in his pocket.

"I don't have anything here," Sam says. I know that's a lie, though.

"I should go," I whisper to Sam. No way is alcohol going to make this situation any nicer, and whatever I've gotten mixed up with, it's time to leave.

Sam nods like he thinks that's a good idea.

"Can't you order something up? I bet you can order anything!" Marj says in her too-loud voice.

As I head to the elevator, I start to understand why he never mentioned them and why he's been cooking for himself for years. Their stale scent is lingering inside, repelling me. I shoot a last look at Sam, who has his eyes glued on me, sadly. He doesn't make a move, just looks so small there. Marj and Frank don't say goodbye. When I step in and the doors start to close, I hear them start up with their complaints again, this time about the penthouse, addressed directly to Sam.

The further I get from them, the better I feel. But I keep thinking about Sam, the way he looked.

It was like he didn't want me to leave him there.

The first thing I do when I get home is cancel the fake date in Companion and delete the diary message. They served theirpurpose, and there's no point in keeping them around if they're just going to torment Sam. I don't know how much time he'll have to look at my data, but I don't want to deliberately contribute to his problems.

I'm also not going to use it anymore, either.

For the first time since I got it, I take Companion off and place it in my desk drawer, not any closer to feeling better about being spied on. I don't even know what to think about that.

I can't get Sam's parents out of my head. They weren't like parents at all, more like trash that had blown in from the street, ugly and only saying ugly things.

I'm in bed fully clothed before I know it, thinking about them.

That must have been what happened at the beach house. They contacted him or someone contacted him about them, and he was waiting for them to come over. After seeing them myself, it makes sense why he didn't just come clean about what was going on.

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