Page 131 of How You See Me
“Don’t leave me, please.”
He lets out a long exhale but stays onscreen.
I find a non-scarred place on the dark blue door to nudge it open with my elbow.
“This has to be crossing some line of insanity,” he complains, but I’m not listening.
The door creaks open, and I immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. The air smells of mildew, dirty mop water, and generational trauma. I clutch the phone tighter—like Jordan could shield me from whatever danger lurks in the shadows.
This overhead light flickers erratically in here too, casting strobe-like shadows across cracked tiles that maybe, decades ago, were once white. Now, they’re gray and streaked with stains I don't want to think about. The black grout spans out like moldy veins across the floor.
I edge past a dingy sink, locking the door behind me, and hang my bags on a crooked metal hook that swivels on the nail.
I hold the phone up to see Jordan fully. “Crossing the line? Really? Like when I had to get your naked backside dressed after your accident? Bathroom duty and all?”
“I know and I appreciated it, but I didn’t have a choice.” His eyes take a dramatic roll, knowing he doesn’t have one now either. “Why couldn’t Nora be home?”
“Where is she?” I ask, taking in more of my surroundings, delaying the inevitable. The sink must be auditioning for a horror movie—chipped basin, crusted faucet, and soap dispenser missing in action.
“She’s closing at work tonight.”
The paper towel dispenser has sticky, brownish fingerprints on the metal lever. Nope. Not using that later.
Not thinking of the consequences, I force myself to take a deep, calming breath, and get the full sting of the room’s scent instead. Big mistake. Stale urine, overcompensating bleach, and something sour. My heart leaps out of control, a jittery kind of panic that spreads outward from the source, prickling under my skin.
“Josie?” Jordan’s voice cuts through the mental spiral. “Can we get this over with? I’m already traumatized and I’m not even there.”
“You’re one to talk. At least you don’t have to smell it.” My face revolts, nose wrinkling when I find the cause of the stench—dark, used water sitting in a makeshift mop bucket in the corner.
My throat tightens. I want to run, but my bladder’s done negotiating. And I’m over avoiding things that scare me.
With shaky resolve, I set my phone on the surprisingly clean plastic toilet paper dispenser and angle the camera up to the dotted ceiling.
“Can you at least do me the courtesy of muting the sound?”
“Oh. Sure.”
Swiping it off, I hover, flush with my foot, grab my phone, and bolt. Along the way, I scrub my hands with an antibacterial wipe from my purse.
Glorious freedom.
I did it.
Rounding the corner a little too fast in my escape, I almost slam into Hayes.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, startled but happy he’s here and upright. His scent—woodsy and clean, like he just stepped out of a forest after a rainstorm—immediately wraps me in comfort.
“You didn’t answer my text, and the woman up front said you went to the restroom.” He runs his hands lightly down my arms. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
My insides do that inconvenient swirling again. “You’re the best.”
He brushes it off, but I’ll make sure he hears how amazing he is until he believes it.
“You went by yourself?” His gaze glows with pride and stabs me with guilt. I hate to ruin it, but I can’t lie either.
I lift my phone and unmute it. “Nottotallyalone.”
“Hi, Hayes,” Jordan greets, deadpan on the screen.
