Page 116 of Falling Offsides

I wait for a while and then a moment longer, listening to Samson’s nails scratch on the other side of the door.

“I miss you, too, buddy,” I tell him before I turn around and amble to my door.

Every second I fumble for my key, there’s a glimmer of hope that the elevator doors will ping open again and Auguste will saunter out.

Of course, hope is a killer.

Doesn’t matter how slow I close my door, there’s nothing except Samson’s intermittent whining.

When I’m inside my apartment. It hits me harder than when Auguste told me about the cameras. I look around the hallway, spotting the first one—a discreet, black globe that’s almost lost to the dark painted coving.

After I spot that one, I drop my backpack and look for the rest. They’re all over the place, getting every angle of the living space and when I move to the master suite, there’s a few more. One in the walk-in closet, and another two in the bedroom.

I’ve never felt so exposed, invaded… vulnerable. At the same time, beneath the confusion and disbelief, under the disappointment and the slurry of anger… there’s a whisper of thrill. That someone like him would be so interested in someone like me.

I’m nobody.

I’ve always been nobody.

Maybe that’s why I’m so terrified of being somebody to him.

Or worse, that once I allow him closer, he’ll realize that’s all I am. A nobody to everybody.

That’s the thought I take to bed with me. His hot cocoa now cold and still untouched on my bedside table. His hoodie engulfing me. The light whisper of coconut reminds me of what it was like when he hugged me. When I nuzzle into the thick cotton, it takes me back to my face being buried in the crook of his neck and his stubble scratching my face.

And every now and then, while sleep evades me, I glance up at the camera in the corner of the room and ask myself…

Is he watching me right now?

For hoursI’ve laid here looking up at the doggie cam. Every video I’ve dismissed on my socials about checking hotel rooms comes to mind. Then each time I think back to last night, my thoughts run away with themselves. To every moment Auguste and I have shared. To the first time I invited him in and he knew where everything was. When he cooked me dinner in my kitchen like it was his.

I’m going insane when my phone dings on my bedside table. Probably Delilah looking for her update. Well, I don’t have anything for her,so… I ignore it and force myself to get out of bed and straight into the shower.

There aren’t any cameras in here.

A wash of relief floods over me with a torrent of tears I didn’t know I was holding in. I can’t think coherently through my suffocated sobs. I have no clue why I’m crying. Whether it’s anger or sadness. Disappointment maybe?

I trusted Auguste. From that very first moment I opened my eyes to his. Too little or not, I gave him something I haven’t given anyone in a long time. The one thing I reserve for select people in my life.

Trust.

He took it and of all the nice gestures he’s done, the only one I really needed was his trust in return. Trust that I would see him the way he sees me. That I would feel what he feels. That in the end, in spite of all the walls I’ve built to protect myself, I see him through every crack his kindness has hammered into them.

That’s what hurts.

Because if there is one lesson I’ve learnt in life is that even good people do shitty things. Sometimes good intentions do more damage than shitty deeds.

Sucking in a deep breath, I focus on the scorching deluge running over my face. Eventually, the tears stop even though my mind is still racing with the push and pull of my feelings versus my emotions versus my heart pounding so much louder than my head.

Am I relaxed when I get out and get dressed for the day? Not a chance.

Anxiety is a living, breathing beast howling in my chest.

Which is why I have to leave these four walls. Go for a walk, spend the day at the beach… I haven’t spent any time soaking up the sun and discovering the popular sights of the city. That was on the pros list I made when Dad called me about the job with The Comets.

Grabbing my phone, I shove it in my purse without looking at it and go straight for the door. No looking back. No obsessing about the cameras in all the freaking nooks and crannies—like, seriously? Who even needs that many doggie cams?

I open the door, tripping over my own feet when I spot the huge-ass bouquet on the floor and freeze.

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