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Mack hasn’t left my side since I told her the news. She makes sure I eat, and she’s banned me from my true crime documentaries and horror films. I’m on a sitcom-reruns, comfort-food diet that mostly consists of soups, my favorite pastas, chocolate, and mechanical laugh tracks.
Since I confronted Saint with the video and seriously contemplated stabbing him, my other stalker has gone silent. I guess Saint called April off. I’m not stupid enough to think my punches and knife-wielding were actually enough to scare him. They’re simply biding their time before the next strike.
Or maybe they’re done with me. Bored and ready to find another woman to terrorize.
Despite everything the two of them have done to me, it’s the video of him fucking her that I can’t get out of my head. The part of this whole mess that feels like someone plunging a dagger repeatedly into my heart.
Which is absolutely insane. Infidelity shouldn’t be the worst part of being stalked. That’s what this love shit does to you—makes you insane. Makes you believe you can trust the untrustworthy. Love the unlovable.
Mack enters my bedroom carrying a stack of books and my favorite chocolates. I roll my eyes as she dumps the stash on my bed. “More gifts Saint left on your doorstep.”
“Exactly what my father did after he cheated on my mother for nearly two decades.” He thought some meaningless gifts could buy my mother’s love, as if a woman’s heart has a price tag.
“Are you sure that was Saint in the video, Briar?” Mack’s brows furrow. “It really doesn’t seem like something he would do?—”
“Mack, we’ve already had this conversation. I’m done with him. I shouldn’t have let it go this far in the first place.”
She allows a short silence to fall between us until she tilts her head at the suitcase on my bed while I toss clothes inside at random. “Going somewhere?”
“The writing retreat, remember?”
A grimace pulls at the corners of her mouth. “You’re still going?”
“No, I’m packing for fun.”
“Will Saint be there?” she asks carefully.
“He’s been coming to class and he’s still letting us use Nicholson Manor for our retreat. So probably.”
Seeing him in class every day has been its own special brand of torment. If he were halfway decent, he’d drop out and leave me the fuck alone. Not continue showing up where he knows I can’t escape him, just so I can struggle through my lectures with his onyx eyes glued to me. He’d stop leaving gifts on my doorstep that remind me of him, that force Mack to bring him up when she knows his name is the last thing I want to hear.
But Saint de Haas is a stalker, a murderer, and a cheater. There’s no sense in expecting him to be any form of decent.
“Do you think you’ll be able to handle him being at the writing retreat?” Mack asks.
“I’m a grown-up. I can handle being around an ex if I need to be.”
“But...he’s not just an ex. You really loved him, Briar. I can tell.”
As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. The worst part is, I’m not just mourning the loss of Saint—I’m mourning the loss of my favorite author. How will I ever be able to read an S.T. Nicholson book again after what happened between us? Every time I catch a glimpse of one of his book covers, the image of him fucking April in his mask will haunt me.
Not only did he take my heart with him, he took my favorite books.
“What I really love is cheese,” I tell her.
Mack sighs and pulls a pair of shorts from my suitcase. “For the love of god, who taught you how to fold?”
I flop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling while Mack folds the clothes neatly in my suitcase.
“You know I hate to say I told you so—” I start.
“Do you?” she quips.
“But I definitely fucking told you so.”
“About what?”
“About all that love shit. It doesn’t make your life better—it makes everything a thousand times worse. If I hadn’t fallen for Saint, I could’ve gotten him locked up ages ago and I wouldn’t be dealing with all this shit right now.”
