That’s when I fucking hear it.
“Adora.”
Just my name, whispered like a prayer answered in the most wonderful way.
I don’t acknowledge it. Don’t look in the direction the sound came from. I keep my face carved in stone and my eyes forward.
“Is there a bookstore around here?” I ask Ria, like I didn’t just hear my own personal curse walking behind me.
She purses her lips in thought. “Not exactly. But there’s a small shop that sells a bit of everything. Old books too, if you’re lucky.”
I nod, and force a smile. “Let’s go see.”
“Adora, please talk to me. Please. I need to know how you’re feeling.”
The Voice again. Closer this time. A wound begging to be touched.
“Keep your distance,” Ria barks over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
I almost laugh.Almost. I just keep walking, one foot in front of the other, with Ria at my side serving as a human shield.
“Griffin didn’t show up for coffee today,” I say casually. “He busy?”
I’m genuinely curious. Griffin’s energy is always comforting. He’s a joy to be around.
“He switched to day shifts at the fire station,” she says, tone light. “He’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”
“Adora,” the Voice grits out again. “What the hell is this ignoring shit? It’s childish.”
I sigh and nod once to Ria.
She whips around like a missile locked on target.
“You know what’s childish, Peek-a-Boo?” she snaps. “Following a woman around like some love-sick stalker after she made it very clear she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
She plants her hands on her hips, chin tilted in defiance. “Actually, that’s not childish. It’s creepy. Take the fucking hint. One more word out of you, and I swear we’ll scream so loud the cops won’t even need a call — they’ll just come running.”
With those final words, she spins on her heel and keeps walking. I do the same. The Voice doesn’t speak again, but I can feel him behind us, following our every step, like he can’t help himself.
Hopefully, he’ll get tired soon, and walk away. Let me breathe. Because I can’t even look at him, much less talk to him. And if I give him even an inch — one glance, one word — he’ll think there’s hope, no matter what I say.
This isn’t about punishing him or trying to hurt him. I just don’t trust myself around him anymore.
On our way back, I glance down at the book in my hands.Sense and Sensibility. A battered Jane Austen classic with pages that smell like old paper and ink.
“I wish they had a wider selection,” I murmur. “It’s a shame there’s no actual bookstore around.”
Ria halts mid-step like I just said the magic words. I stop too, blinking at her in confusion.
Her eyes light up and she turns to me, her scheming smile on full display.
“You love books, huh? So why don’t you open one?”
She leans in closer, voice turning to a hushed whisper. “You’ll have the money soon enough.”
Before I can even formulate a response, she steamrolls on, lips pressed together, trying to keep the excitement from leaking out too fast.
“And how much do you really love being a substitute teacher?” she asks, one brow arched, her head cocked to the side. “Enough to keep doing it for the rest of your life?”
