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Chapter Four
Sunlight is peering through the sheer curtain when I open my eyes. “Shit.” I stub my toe on the leg of the table as I stumble over to shut off any light from entering my room. My sister must’ve opened them when she was over last night. “Damnit Carli.”
I step into the bathroom to do my business and catch a glimpse of the whore in the mirror. Jesus, I hope I didn’t look like this last night on the dance floor. Surely not. I mean my mascara now resembles war paint in its worst ever appearance. My hair is all over the place, but my bra and panties are cute as hell. It looks like I should be taking that walk of shame from being thoroughly fucked all night, only I slept alone. What can I say… I toss and turn when I sleep. My covers show proof of that when I hit the light switch to find my phone.
It’s not until I move my lap top that I find both of them tucked under the covers. I hate that I check Mr. Darkness’ phone before I check my own, and I really hate how I feel disappointed when there isn’t a message from him. Or hell, even a missed call. Minus the creep factor this guy did jump into the middle of a fight to help my sister. He can’t be a terrible person when it was obvious he acted on instinct in that exact moment. A real dick would’ve kept dancing with the girl he’s been trying to get to all day and turn away from the scene that would end the night.
I’m still in deep thought when I hear my phone vibrate.
Mr. Darkness: Good morning, Camille.
I know it’s him. He’s the only person in the world who would call me Camille. My heart starts to race as I realize he has now somehow found out my cell phone number. Jesus, does the man really have no boundaries? Even though my stupid face is lit up with a smile as I reply.
Me: How did you get my number?
Mr. Darkness: I have connections. Plus, your sister gave it to the manager of my club so we could check on our customers who were innocent victims in an attack last night. Call it protocol, but that’s something that we do.
Me: Really? Do you usually message them all personally?
Mr. Darkness: Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the only person I’ve done this sort of thing for. I’m not even usually in my establishments to witness anything. Now which one of these is your apartment?
Me: What do you mean?
Mr. Darkness: I mean I’m here at your apartment with breakfast, now tell me which door to knock on.
Holy shit… I look like absolute hell and there’s no way I can let him see me like this. I run to my bathroom sink in a panic and exhale out a loud whoosh of air as I take in just how long it’ll take me to look presentable enough to let him see me.
Me: No. Today isn’t a good day, so you’ll just have to find someone else to take breakfast to.
Mr. Darkness: Fine. I’ll get the apartment manager to tell me. Something tells me he’ll give me your apartment number.
Shit. Why do I believe him? Because knowing the way this guy has been… he probably owns the buildings. Or at least has enough money to buy the information.
Me: Why are you impossible?
Mr. Darkness: You answer that one first.
Me: What if you’re a serial killer?
Mr. Darkness: Then I wouldn’t call you to let me in, I’d just catch you by surprise.
Me; I have to shower, so you’ll need to wait until I’m done.
Mr. Darkness: Well, hurry. Your eggs are getting cold.
Me: Apartment number seven. I’ll text you when I’m done.
I strip off the bra and panties as I finish typing the last message. Who knows what he’ll do to get inside, so I lock the bathroom door, just in case. The water is cold when I step in, trying to rush this all along I start with my face. I can deal with wet, clean hair… but this makeup has to come off quick. A normal person would’ve taken it off last night, but my mind was busy thinking about everything that had happened yesterday.
Reaching for my face wash, I begin doubting my own sanity for even considering letting him into my apartment. I haven’t had any visitors here since I moved in, except my sister and I’ve liked that privacy. Now I feel him invading all of my space at such a rapid speed, I’m not sure I can deal with his way of doing things.
Wrapping a towel around my body, I rush to the steamy mirror to see if my face is clear of the war paint. Just another swipe under my eyes helps, but I still look like a woman who was rode hard and put up wet with my stringy hair falling over my shoulders. I hear a knock at the door just as I enter my bedroom.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Me: Impatient much?
Mr. Darkness: You have no idea how patient I am.
