Page 24 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I nod, hands clasped in front of me, trying to focus on his words instead of the eerie specter of The Director I still see.

"We'll add a wireless camera system," Sean continues. "We already talked with your building manager. He approved our interior setup, but said no for anything outside. We can position a camera in the hallway outside your front door. We'll leave your video doorbell as it is. Then one covering your living room with a view of the entry. Another facing the bedroom. And if you're comfortable with it, one at your bedroom window, facing out, since it has access to the fire escape."

I flinch at the mention of my bedroom. Privacy is my oxygen. The thought of a camera there, even just facing the window, sends a tight coil of anxiety spiraling through my chest.

But… I expected as much. Someone could get through that window if they really wanted to.

I nod.

"I'd recommend reinforcing the bedroom window lock too," he adds.

I nod again. Why didn't I think of that? "Whatever you think will help. Funds aren't an issue." I choke on those last words because funds kind of are an issue. The money I'm dipping into is supposed to be for retirement.

Strangely enough, when Sean told me the estimated cost I was shocked because it'sreallyaffordable. Based on my Internet research, I was expecting it to cost something like thirty grand. Yet, renting the apartment next door is my biggest expense.

The numbers don't quite add up. I spent hours calculating security costs on spreadsheets, preparing myself for the financial blow to my 401K. Then Sean mentioned something about a 'client assistance program.' I guess NexaProtect has some sort of sliding scale. When I pressed for details, his eyes darted away for a split second before he explained that I qualified for their reduced-rate protection services because of the situation.

It's strange, but I'm not about to question this unexpected gift horse. If NexaProtect wants to protect me at a fraction of the market rate, I'll take it. The alternative is being alone with my ghosts, my mace, and my spiraling thoughts.

I've lived in that particular hell long enough. I'm just grateful this momentary insanity of mine won't kill my savings.

Mike chimes in from where he's examining my living room windows. "These have the standard latches. Pretty easy to jimmie from outside if someone knows what they're doing."

My throat tightens because I thought that window was pretty safe. "Isn't it too far away from the fire escape?"

Sean crosses the room then glances out the window. "There's a ledge that's wide enough to walk and it looks pretty solid. You'refacing the alley and you're only three stories up. Someone could bring a ladder if they were really determined." He glances at me, likely noticing how pale I've become. He flashes a gentle smile that smoothes the sharper angles of his cheeks. "Don't worry. We'll make sure everything's secure."

Don't worry.As if worry isn't the background noise of my entire existence. Why did I pick this apartment floor plan?

They continue their assessment, moving from room to room, then Mike pulls out his phone. "We need to discuss your schedule. Daily routines, work commute, any regular appointments."

"I… don't really have much of a schedule," I admit. "Normally, I split my time between home and office."

"When you go out, what routes do you take?" Sean asks. "Any variation or always the same?"

"Um, always the same. I take the subway. Walk. I visit the same coffee shop in the morning when I go to the office. Same route coming home."

Mike nods and makes a note as I'm mentally scolding myself for falling into such a predictable lifestyle. I should've been mixing up my schedule, making it harder for someone to track me. I've become too complacent.

I glance over. Sean gives a small smile, something I've noticed he does every time I actually meet his eyes. "It's normal," he says.

"What is?"

"Having a daily routine. Completely normal. If someone's stalking you, it's not your fault."

Not my fault.

My therapist must've told me that a thousand times. I'd tell her I felt like it was my fault The Director got such evil thoughts. It was the skimpy clothes they made my character wear, or me agreeing to hang out with him after work, or trying to be polite when he gave me feedback so I wouldn't get fired.

"It's not your fault, Londyn."

I can't fully accept that. At the minimum, it's my fault for ever auditioning for that role. How might my life be different and better if I'd never gotten that part?

"It's not," Sean says again and my eyes dart back to his. There's that little, handsome smile just for me.

My cheeks flush in embarrassment. How does he seem to know my thoughts?

"Do you have a romantic partner?" Mike asks.

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