Something slams against the recesses of my stomach, and if it wasn’t for my desperate need to make sure my girl is alive, I’d allow my fear to paralyze me. Snapping out of it, I search the area for a blunt object, but I’m out of luck.
Fuck.
A cocktail of fear, worry and adrenaline make my head swim, but determination to get to my girl pushes me into action. Ilift my foot and kick just to the side of the doorknob, putting everything I have into it.
Nothing.
So much for testing the security. It works.
In my frustration, I grab the handle, ready to shake the hell out of it. When I do, it twists.
She didn’t even lock it?!
Jesus Christ.
She must’ve been too consumed with cleaning and organizing to even remember.
Goddammit.
With shaky hands, I carefully push the door open and tiptoe inside.
I’m not a gun owner, but right now, I wish I were.
It’s pitch black.
Going by memory alone, I tap along the wall until I find a light switch and flick it on.
My weary eyes adjust to the light.
On a frantic breath, I search the space.
There isn’t a trace of my girlfriend anywhere.
“Jules?” I shout, running from one office to the other.
No answer.
My feet carry me swiftly to the kitchen, my heart racing.
It’s empty.
“Jules?” I shout louder. “Where the hell are you?”
The storage room door cracks open, and she pokes her head out. She looks like a frightened little lamb. Seeing her sews my heart back together, a piece of her inside. I’ve never felt such relief in my entire life.
“Jules,” I hold my arms out and she comes crashing into me.
She’s crying so hard, I barely recognize her gorgeous face.
There’s so much I want to tell her, but not now.
I grip my hands around her shoulders and practically shake the hell out of her, demanding an explanation, “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?”
Her hazel green eyes aren’t the color I love. They’re enormous and dark.
“Are you okay?” I repeat.
She can’t talk. She’s too emotional.