Page 48 of Some Like 'Em Burly
Bullshit.
My mouth is dry, and my heart is knocking against my ribs, and it’s bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. I’ve been in Peter’s car exactly one time, when he drove us to a date at the marina, and I was so intimidated by all the spotless cream leather that I sat on my hands and barely moved an inch. There is no way I left anything in that car. No way that I left—
A photograph. An old Polaroid of me as a dark-haired toddler, sprawling sideways on my mom’s lap, cradled in her arms, the light of the camera flash flaring on the window behind us.
I snatch the photo from Peter’s hand, too sick to speak. Hewasin my apartment last night. That’s what he’s telling me. What he’sshowingme.
“It’s a nice photo,” he says, low and calm. Only for my ears. “It’s such a shame that you’re all alone now.”
I don’t bother responding. What would I even say? Besides, my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my throat is too tight to swallow. I turn and half-shove my way back through the crowd, pissing everyone off and stepping on loads of feet, but my head is spinning and I can’t think, can’t balance, can’t breathe.
A quiet chuckle reaches my ears, even over the roar of the crowd. A desperate tear leaks from my eye, and I dash it away with the back of my hand. Before I spill out of the market doors into the cold, drizzling street, gulping down lungfuls of fresh air, I’ve already decided.
I’m not helpless.
And I don’thaveto be alone.
Not if I call in a professional.
* * *
An hour later, my phone turns over and over in my hands, a message typed out on the screen but not sent yet.Spartan Shield Corp.I’ve done the research, trawled the forums, and Spartan Shield Corp is the best, run by some guy called Cerberus.My would-be savior has a weird name, but that’s not what’s holding me back from hitting send and hiring my own personal bodyguard for one day and night.
Yeah… twenty four hours. That’s all I can afford, even after raiding my meager savings account and running a surprise candle sale on my Etsy store. The orders are rolling in, but I can only make so much money at short notice.
So I’ll have twenty four hours for this bodyguard to keep Peter away from me, and hopefully spook him so badly that hestaysaway. But what if Peter doesn’t break in again tonight? Or what if this would-be bodyguard doesn’t feel like playing along? What if all that money is wasted?
Sighing, I tap the corner of my phone on the velvet-covered table. An elderly woman browses my candles, picking them up one by one to give an almighty sniff, and I give her a distracted smile every time she looks at me. I waited until Peter left earlier, watched him saunter all the way down the street before ducking back inside the market, but I can’t afford to blow off a whole day of sales. Not if I’m about to make the most expensive purchase of my life.
“Lavender,” the elderly woman says approvingly, sniffing this candle even deeper. She’s got one of those super neat shortperms, though a few hairs have frizzed loose in the humidity. “I always loved lavender. It helps you sleep, you know.”
Not when you’re being stalked by an unhinged ex boyfriend—but hey. Even lavender can’t work miracles.
“It was my mom’s favorite too,” I say, and the woman must hear the sadness in my voice because she sets the candle down and pats my hand.
“I’ll take three.”
I box them up for her extra nicely, wrapping them up in a cream ribbon and scraping the fabric with the edge of some scissors until the ribbon curls. I double-check all the wicks, too, to make sure they’re brand new, because Lighter Guy definitely scorched a few candles to make his point before he left earlier.
“A pretty girl like you must meet some interesting people in this market.”
The elderly woman has one of those wheeled shopping bags that looks like it’s made out of old curtains. She fumbles to get the box of candles inside, but when I stand up to help she waves me off.
“Yes,” I agree, hovering over the table awkwardly. “Interesting people. Definitely.”
I met Peter in this market, after all, over by the coffee stall one morning. He’s an evil bastard, but he’s definitely not boring.
“There!” My customer straightens up, pleased, and dusts off her hands. “Fits like a glove. Now,” she fixes me with a serious look, her wrinkled face creasing even more. “Take care of yourself, won’t you? Promise me.”
And she’s a stranger, someone I’ve never seen before or will see again, but the fact that she cares about me even a little brings a lump to my throat.
I nod quickly, waving goodbye as she wheels her shopping bag around. “I will.”
As soon as she’s gone, I snatch my phone up and tapsend.
I’m getting myself a bodyguard.
Axel
