Page 128 of His To Erase
That smile he gives me, nearly drops me to my knees. God, help me. That smile has no business looking that good on a man who talks like that and smells like sex and secrets.
“Not yet.”
“I think you should go,” I say, turning around because I’m too fucking overwhelmed to keep standing this close without combusting.
I toss a rag into the bucket and wash my hands at the sink, staring at myself in the mirror over the bar. I look tired. Not just end-of-shift tired—but trust-nobody, running-on-paranoia tired. My makeup’s smudged, my hair’s limp from sweat and stress, and my eyes…they look like they’re waiting for something to go wrong. I dry my hands and grab my phone, seeing the text from earlier I never looked at.
You know what, fuck this. I’m going to block whoever the fuck this is.
Unknown : Didn’t like the photo? You looked beautiful. Shame you didn’t say thank you.
My blood goes cold and somehow, it’s worse than a threat—because whoever this is doesn’t just want to scare me, they think they know me.
I block the number and shove the phone deep into my bag like that’ll do something.Like it won’t still be there, waiting to gut me the second I look again.
I know walking home right now is probably not one of my brightest ideas. It’s the kind of dumb-bitch decision that gets you turned into a headline, but it’s late—or early, I guess—and the idea of standing under the bar’s flickering lights waiting for a ride just sounds worse. I need to get as far away from him as possible.
I need air.
I told Frank I was fine, and I believed it when I said it, but now, out here on the sidewalk with nothing but the buzz of dying streetlamps and the occasional hiss of tires against wet pavement…I’m not so sure anymore.
There’s no one around, and the only thing I can hear is my own footsteps and the sound of my breath trying not to turn jagged. My keys are laced between my fingers, poking out like dull little teeth. I don’t know what I’d do if someone actually came at me—but at least I’d go down swinging.
I pass the corner where the street lights are always flickering and swear I feel someone watching me, but I don’t turn around. Turning around means I think there’s something there, and I’m not playing that game.
By the time I get to my apartment, I’m fumbling with my keys when my phone buzzes again.
Franks : Leaving town early. Final offer—come with me. I’ll keep you safe.
For a split second… I heavily consider it. I want to disappear. I want to feel safe. I want to stop thinking about shadows and text messages and cards left in my bedroom, but I know what going with Frank means.
Me : I can’t.
Ani
Iofficially have the next two weeks off work, which feels borderline illegal considering I haven’t had a single day off since I moved here. I know I should use the time to figure some shit out—start looking at places, make a plan—but it’s late, and I just got home from a double. My brain’s mush.
I’ll deal with it in the morning.
But the second I shut the door behind me, I know something’s wrong. There’s nothing louder than silence when you know you’re not alone.
It’s not obvious—no broken window, no door ajar, no horror-movie shadow in the hallway. But the air…is off.
I lock the deadbolt, then check it again just to be sure, and my fingers hover on the chain for a second too long, like that flimsy little piece of metal could hold back whatever’s pressing against the edge of my sanity.
The lights flip on like normal, everything looks the same.
Mostly.
I drop my keys in the bowl, kicking off my boots—and freeze. The counter is too clean. Something is missing. I can’t put my finger on what it is right now, but I’m certain something’s gone.
I shake the thought, but my body doesn’t buy it. The hairs on my arms stand up anyway. That old, familiar static crackles at the back of my neck, warning me that something’s off, even if my brain wants to rationalize it.
I start checking rooms, but everything looks untouched. Nothing screams break-in. Nothing feels obviously disturbed, so why won’t my heart slow down?
I circle back to the couch, lowering myself slowly, keeping my eyes locked on the door like I’m waiting for it to explode open.
Eventually, I must fall asleep, because I wake up to someone screaming my name. My eyes fly open and my pulse slams into my throat.
