Page 6 of His Dark Vices

Insistent vibration tugs me out of sleep—or it tries to, at least. I pat the bed with my eyes closed, searching for my phone, but it's on the nightstand where I left it. Is there another phone?

Is someone else here?

I sit up straight in a flash and look around, staring hard in the dim morning light. My bed is empty, save for me, and the orange sheets look comfortably rumpled and warm. I'd flop back down and catch some more Z's, but there's a huge puddle of drool where my face was, and the vibration sounds again.

I must have been dreaming hard to think my phone was going off. It was just my Companion vibrating to wake me up for a morning jog. It hugs my wrist snugly and keeps buzzing away until I touch its warm surface to signal I'm awake.

"Thank you, Companion," I croak out groggily and rub my face. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

I've been wearing this device everyday for the past two years. It only gets more useful. The developers release new features pretty regularly. When it first came out, it was a sleek way to adda layer of protection to my morning or night jogs. It can send an emergency SOS and broadcast my location to the authorities and my parents. And over the months, its new features make it more like an assistant to me.

Companion's display loops a ring of hearts, congratulating me on getting up when I was supposed to. I smile despite myself, feeling encouraged, and hop out of bed to start my morning routine. The more I hesitate, the harder it will be to hit the pavement. But for some reason, the jogging path doesn't feel as welcoming as it usually does. I grope around my mind for the reason, and my mental hand retracts once I land on what's tripping me up.

That guy from yesterday.

"Maybe I'll see you around," he said.

I shudder.

I really hope I don't see him around anywhere, but now that his words are in my head, I guess, in the back of my mind, I'm dreading running into him. I'm still feeling guilty about our encounter, for one, but there was something about the way he acted. He wasn't overtly rude to me. In fact, I think I deserved a little rudeness.

But it was weird. Guys are usually pretty chill around me, not hostile. And wouldn't anyone else be more understanding of what happened?

Plus, there's something weirdly familiar about him, though I know I don't know him.

I continue my negative spiral as I pull on my jogging clothes, beating myself up over eating some rando's food and wondering why he couldn't go easier on me.

It's a chilly November morning, but it's not too cold, so I go with a pair of light gloves, a tank beneath my long-sleeved shirt, and high-waisted tights, all black. I gather my hair into a bun atthe top of my head, give my reflection a once-over, then head to the door to pull on my shoes and leave.

Why am I spending so much energy thinking about him anyway, though? I should be focused on keeping up with my exercise routine, not some guy I briefly talked to. Besides, isn't there enough on my plate? I'm trying to advance in my career, and breaking focus is a no-go when I know what's waiting for me—disappointment, failure.

Having to rely on my parents.

Is it really my fault that I was too distracted and made a silly mistake?

I groan and settle into my car. Another negative morning of stress and worrying about what others think of me. I can't help it. Having a researcher and a professor as parents will make you feel the pressure. If I only talked with them, I'd be doing great! They're proud of me, they're never shy with the praise. But I can't help thinking that the daughter of such distinguished parents can't have a mediocre career. Journalism seemed like the best bet. I definitely couldn't go any closer to academia without risking being trapped in one of their shadows.

I want to secure my own success with my own hands.

I'm treading that familiar ground in my mind when I pull up next to the park. It's gray and cloudy out, but that's my kind of weather. Coffee tastes a little better when the sky has a blanket on.

Although I'm swimming in negativity this morning, that's all part of the plan. I gather all the doubt I can muster, every pessimistic inkling I can find, then release it all in the park while jogging. I have a lot to let go of, so I hit the path that snakes through the inner woodsy area and unplug my mind.

Or try to.

It takes a little time to get into the rhythm of the run. I'm fighting with my body to get moving and ignore the chill biting at my legs, promising myself that it will get better. It always does.

I give myself up to the park and its autumn colors, taking the crisp air into my lungs. It might be biting at my cheeks now, leaving me with a red flush to show for it, but I'll be grateful for its coolness on my cheeks soon.

After 15 minutes, I'm ready to keep pushing on when I see a jogger approaching me on the dirt path. We're in the heart of this huge park, which is like a mini-forest in the city, and no one else is around. But most joggers are chill, and the sun is only getting higher in the sky. I think. It's too cloudy to be sure.

You never know who might suddenly try to drag you into the bushes, so I keep a wary—but polite—eye on him, my fingers ready to find the SOS signal on Companion. He starts to slow, and my anxiety ratchets up. I've never been attacked, but the fear of that happening has somehow always kept pace with me.

The jogger comes to a stop on the path ahead of me. I want to run past him, but then he breaks out into a grin, and I recognize that smile. And his jawline. How could I forget?

"First you take my food, now you're taking my jogging path?" he calls to me, slightly out of breath. I bristle, slowing to a stop and straightening up self-consciously. "Sorry, just a joke," he continues before I can express my irritation. Or my embarrassment. What the hell am I feeling?

"What are you doing here?" That's all I can think to say.

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