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“That’s odd,” I noted, my tone deceptively casual.
“The whole thing was bizarre,” she agreed.
I finished frosting the cupcakes, taking my time, smiling when Demi gave in and started eating one, then moaned and raved about how divine it was, but all the while, my mind was on the damned package.
“Is there a return address on that thing?” I finally asked her, avoiding it myself, like that would somehow help.
“Nope. There’s nothing. I checked. No postage. That guy just brought it here. You got a new stalker or something?”
My mouth twisted. “Not a new one.”
“Are you going to open it or you want me to?”
I almost told her to do it, but that felt too cowardly, and realizing that I wanted to be a coward was what finally spurred me into action. I had many, many bad qualities, but I’d be damned before I’d let cowardice become one of them.
With a curse, I reached for the box, tearing it open.
Inside were red shoes in exactly the same style as the ones I’d been wearing yesterday.
But these were Louboutins.
I read the note tucked in beside the shoes before I could think better of it, and immediately wished I hadn’t.
Scarlett,
I know you have a weakness for expensive shoe porn.
And you know I love to exploit your weaknesses.
Enjoy.
Thanks for everything,
D, aka the love of your life
P.S. We still need to talk.
I nearly threw the shoes out of the closest window. I had them free of the box, had moved from the kitchen and across the living room, opened a window, but as I stared at them I just couldn’t do it.
They were so gorgeous. How could I throw away something so perfect?
Shoe porn, indeed.
I hated that I loved it. The note. The shoes. Everything about it tailored perfectly to appeal to my senses and tear out pieces of me in precisely equal measures.
We were over, had been for years, but it didn’t matter. If he had his way, he’d keep me tied to him forever. He was cruel like that.
The shoes, and particularly the note, was an attack disguised as a white flag, and it worked, did exactly what he intended—got to me. Enraged and weakened me both.
He knew me that fucking well.
No one on earth should know a person that well.
Lovers should have secrets.
In fact, they need them.
Some part of you should stay a mystery in every relationship. Enough mystery to keep some distance and a bit of perspective.
Dante and I had gotten together too young for any of that. I’d given him everything, been too smitten and naive to hold back even one selfish part of myself.
Even one essential part of myself.
Never relinquish the keys to your soul to someone else. It gives them too much power.
That kind of power in the hands of a ruthless man like Dante, well, needless to say, it’d taken its toll on me.
I was standing, hands clenched at my sides, glaring at the shoes when my phone started chiming a text at me from the kitchen.
I set the shoes down carefully on the coffee table and stalked to check it.
The text was from an unfamiliar number and read:
Wear them and think of me.
Predictably, it set me off.
And even so, I couldn’t throw away the shoes.
I settled for spending a ridiculous amount of time making it look like I had.
Demi was still the only one home, but she was game to assist me in setting it up. She was a sweet young thing. It constantly surprised me how much she liked to help out with any random plot I was hatching on a daily basis just for the sake of sisterhood, just because her first inclination was to be nice, even after I’d made her cupcakes that I knew weren’t on her diet.
I’d never been sweet, but ironically some of my closest friends these days were. I was finding that my particular flavor of bitter was sometimes best complemented with a bit of saccharine. Go figure.
I recorded a short video on my phone that showed me tossing the shoes out of my bedroom window, one by one with two short flicks of my wrist.
Our place was on the first floor, so it was fairly simple. Demi was outside, crouched low to the ground, out of the shot, a pillow in her arms.
“Are they okay?” I called out as soon as I stopped recording.
“Caught them both with the pillow!” she called back cheerily. “Your ungodly expensive shoes are unharmed!”
I grinned and sent the video off to my new contact, which I’d named: Bastard/Stalker/Liar/Cheater/Ex/TheDevil.
Me: I thought of you while I was doing this. Lose my number.
The smile died on my face at his near immediate response.
Bastard/Stalker/Liar/Cheater/Ex/TheDevil: No worries. I’m almost to your place. I’ll rescue them for you.
I was so caught off guard, not sure if he was messing with me but rattled with even the possibility of having to face him again, that I wasn’t sure how to respond.
I focused on the most immediate concern—hiding the Louboutins.
I intercepted Demi right as she was bringing the shoes back to the front door. I grabbed them from her, throwing out a, “Thank you,” as I hurried back to my bedroom. I stuffed them in the corner of my closet, threw some clothes on top, and rushed into the bathroom.
I glared at my reflection. Why today of all days had I made no effort at all? I’d showered and scrubbed my face clean of makeup the second we’d gotten home from our trip. I’d washed my hair, but then let it dry as is, which meant it was basically a slightly damp rat’s nest at this point.
