Page 84 of Inferno

As I scan the space, tears fill my eyes, because in a matter of hours this apartment looks more like a home than the place I’ve called mine for the last four years, and I have no idea how to feel about that.

I’m grateful. The furniture is beautiful, much nicer than anything I would ever have bought myself. But there’s one huge thing missing, and it’s something the Barnetts can’t bring me and something I can’t replace. Because the thing that’s missing, the thing that would turn this place from a house to a home, is Anders.

Now that I’m here in Rockhead Point, I miss him more than I thought it was possible to miss another person. Especially someone I’ve only known for a couple of weeks. But I do. I miss him, and I don’t know how to deal with that.

I’m not sure I’ve ever missed a particular person before. No one person, apart from my high school counselor, has ever been in my life long enough to make an impact. But Anders has proved that it isn’t time spent that makes a person important; it’s who they are and how that affects you.

The brave part of me wants to call his cell and shout at him, but even if I was bold enough to do it, what difference would it make? I can’t force him to want me. I can’t demand that he love me back.

When my stomach growls, I pad barefooted into the kitchen, then stare at all the cabinets, wishing I’d been paying attentionwhen Lulu told me where she’d put everything. Reaching for the first cabinet, I open it and scan the contents, moving methodically across the kitchen until I’ve opened every door and drawer, finally ending with the refrigerator.

I’ve already seen what’s inside, but it still takes my breath away when I open the door and see the shelves filled with a rainbow of color. The crisper is full of vegetables, salad, and fruit. The shelves are full of bacon, ground beef, chicken, and ribs. Yogurt, cheese, milk, and a huge carton of fresh-squeezed orange juice tempt me, and I try to remember if I’ve ever had access to so much food before.

Deciding on a sandwich, I start to take out the ingredients as the sound of the doorbell fills the air.

Freezing, I turn toward the front door, glaring like it’s the woods’ fault that someone is here. The only people who know I’ve moved in are the Barnetts, so it’s probably one of them. They must have forgotten something and come to fetch it.

My steps are still tentative as I shuffle to the door, cursing the lack of a spyhole as my fingers hover over the lock. The single lock. My apartment in Bozeman had five locks, and even with them all locked tight, I still never felt entirely safe. Now there’s only one lock between me and whoever is on the other side of the door, and sudden, debilitating fear freezes me to the spot.

The doorbell rings again, followed by a firm knock. Backing away from the door, I cross my arms over my chest and worry my bottom lip with my teeth as I contemplate if I should open it or just hope whoever is there will get bored and leave.

“Kitten, I know you’re in there, open the door.”

It’s Anders. Anders is here, at my door.

I move forward without realizing, turning the lock, and opening the door, before I can tell myself not to. What I find on the other side surprises me. Anders is still wearing the sameclothes he had on yesterday, his chin covered in stubble, his usually tidy hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot and red.

“Kitten,” he exhales the moment our gazes meet.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, barely opening the door a few inches, not wanting to give the impression that I’m inviting him in.

“Can I come in?” he asks, not answering my question.

I shake my head. “No.”

Exhaling sadly, he nods. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” I ask.

“I can’t let you go. I shouldn’t have let you go. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please fucking forgive me.”

My eyes fill with tears, but I don’t let them fall. Instead, I force myself to remember all the times I’ve been rejected, then I allow myself to picture him walking away yesterday and let it harden my heart. It hurts. It hurts so much, but I do it anyway, because I have to. I can’t cope with his emotional roller coaster, it’s too much.

“Please,” he pleads, lifting his hand, like he wants to touch me.

“I can’t,” I say, then I close the door in his face.

The moment the door shuts closed, I suck in a gasping breath, holding myself up with my palm resting on the wood. My ears are ringing and my vision blackens at the edges, but even though everything inside of me is telling me to open the door and forgive him, I don’t. I can’t.

Turning, I force my feet to move and put all the sandwich ingredients back into the refrigerator. Then I walk into the bedroom, get changed into my fleece pajamas, and get into bed.

I wake up the next morning, sweating, my skin sticky beneath the fleece and thick comforter. My old place was cold, but apparently this apartment is a lot better insulated, and I won’t need to sleep in as many layers as I’m used to.

Searching for my cell in the covers, I remember that I didn’t bother bringing it to bed with me last night. Getting up, I head for the bathroom, pee, then take a blissfully warm shower before I open my closet and peruse my clothes all hanging from a rail.

Instead of picking my usual pants and button-down, I choose my only pair of sweatpants and a soft, well-worn white T-shirt. When I glance at my reflection in the mirror on the back of the closet door, I’m surprised at how hollow I look.

Rejecting Anders’s apology last night feels like the most painful, right decision I’ll probably ever have to make. Survival has always been my biggest priority, and I won’t survive not being loved by him if he keeps invading my life.

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