Page 41 of His Dark Vices

I sit up straight in bed with a gasp, my heart pounding so hard that it hurts.

He took me to that fancy steakhouse to celebrate finishing the article, and I remember gushing to him about how my family has always celebrated at steakhouses. And since I got Companion, I've been putting those celebratory dinners in my calendar or my Task List.

But that was way before I met Sam.

I look around my room fearfully, suddenly feeling too exposed, feeling unsafe.

What the fuck is going on?

I was so impressed about what a coincidence that was, that he was taking me to a steakhouse to celebrate, and I felt so at home. But was that planned from the start?

And why me? How far does this go back?

I shake my head and cover my face. No, no I don't want that to be true. There has to be some explanation. It feels like my world is crashing all around me. I can't take this, there has to be something else going on.

What if I'm overreacting?

The thought is like a light in the dark, but it's possible.

What if Sam just mentioned the family dinner in a general sense? Most people spend the holidays with their family. I've hardly heard him mention his, and there are no pictures of them at his loft, penthouse, or beach house. But I've mentioned my family.

That could explain the contempt. He could have been throwing it in my face that I probably already have plans with them.

But as much as I want that to be true, that excuse doesn't really hold water. It doesn't explain how he was so sure. He didn't say "probably" or "maybe." He told me to remember.

He knew what he was talking about.

I flop back onto bed, pulling my pillow to my face. I feel the tears coming, making my throat tight as I try to hold them back. I feel so violated, so scared. What does he want with me? Does he even want anything from me anymore?

I wrestle with the doubt, but I lose the battle against the tears. They flow down my cheeks as realization settles more firmly around me. He's not the man I thought he was, not by along shot, and I was stupid to think he wouldn't access my data somehow.

Or was I just blind, blind to how he orchestrated the whole thing?

Those are the kinds of thoughts that keep me company as I fall into a fitful sleep, never once losing the sense of being exposed.

Of being watched.

When I wake up in the morning, my face is stiff and crusty with dried tears. Sunlight pours in through the window, but there's not a bit of warmth in it, just cold light, like hard truth. Sleep didn't give me rest, but it did give me resolve. There's only one way to be sure about these suspicions and doubts. I can't keep wondering. I need to know, as soon as possible.

A numbness steals over me as I grab my phone and open up the Companion app. Something I had come to think of as a friend now feels like a heavy weight around my wrist, something tainted and disgusting.

But invaluable nonetheless.

Whether or not Sam is spying on my Companion data, I need to know for sure. If he slipped up once, he'll slip up again. So that's why I open up the Task List and add a date for Sunday, two days from now. My face is completely blank as I add exclamation points and hearts to the entry, then a location and time.

When I snapped at him that day at the loft and started to leave, he went cold on me. That's the only other time. I wonder if that means he's possessive or wary of me putting distance between us. Clearly, it's not a problem if he distances himself, but I disregard that thought for now. If I initiate more distance in the form of a date with another guy, maybe he'll get jealous. Or at least start treating me differently in some way.

I know he's distant right now—but on his terms. If he's been spying on me this whole time and orchestrating everything,doesn't that mean he likes the control? I mean, I know he does. That's what our scenes have been about, me giving him control.

I fight the urge to throw my phone across the room and ignore that can of worms for now—how good it felt giving him control.

If he loses that control, he'll have some kind of reaction, I'm sure of it.

Only if he's spying. And a part of me is hoping he isn't.

After the date is set, it takes me a little while longer to get in the right headspace to make a diary entry about it—I know my voice sounds as dead as I feel. I need to be excited about this new "guy" I met. I need to sell a new story, that I'm not as shaken up about Sam because I have this new amazing guy to get hooked on.

I start composing the story in my head.

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