What the fuck? Bringing the screen to life, I glance at the battery. Ten percent. Has she just left it down here and forgotten to charge it, or has it been here the whole time? She answered my call yesterday morning and the day before, but she hasn’t replied to any of my messages, and the ones I sent last night haven’t even been read.
Alongside my texts, there’s notifications of dozens of other messages in the group chat Knight told me James added her to, as well as texts from Cora and James. She clearly hasn’t looked at any of her messages either.
Just like the living room, the kitchen is spotless, with no sign of her having used any pans or cooking utensils. She could just be tidy, but when I open the refrigerator—that I made sure was stocked before I left for work—it’s still full. If she’s been eating three meals a day like I told her to, there should be more food gone.
Even the bottles of water and juice I got for her don’t look like they’ve been touched. What the fuck is going on here? Has she not eaten or drunk anything since I left?
Knight made her a sandwich when he and Octy visited the day before yesterday, but what has she eaten since then? When we spoke yesterday morning, I asked her if she’d eaten breakfast, and she told me she had. Was that a lie?
Glancing at my wrist, I sigh. It’s barely six a.m., too early to wake her up when I’ve been telling her to make sure she getsplenty of sleep. But I have to be back on base in an hour and a half, so I can’t wait for her to wake up on her own.
Climbing the stairs, I freeze outside her closed door, my arm lifted, my fist poised to knock. The moment I touch this door, I’ll have my answer. If she’s here, then clearly something has happened between the day I left for work and when she made pancakes while I talked her through the recipe over the phone and now, only I have no idea what. Or she’s gone, slipped away between Cora inviting her for dinner and now.
“Fuck,” I hiss, then rap my knuckles against the wood, swallowing the lump of anxiety that’s formed in my throat.
When there’s no answer, I knock again. “Verity?”
The sound of someone moving in the bedroom is sweet relief. She’s here. I had no idea how scared I was that she’d left until I heard her, but now I need to know what’s wrong and how to fix it in the next hour and ten minutes before I need to go back to work.
The sound of shuffling footsteps are followed by the door to her bedroom being opened an inch. “Warrick?” she says, her voice thick with sleep.
“Amore mio,” I sigh, my shoulders slumping at the sight of her. But then I take in her appearance. She’s dressed. Fully dressed in denim shorts and a top that might once have been tight but now sags a little on her malnourished frame.
“What’s going on?” she asks, reaching back for something and hooking it over her shoulder.
“What’s that?” I ask, already knowing the answer before she speaks.
“You want me to leave, right?” she says, like she’s confident she already knows the answer.
“What the fuck, Verity? No. I don’t want you to fucking leave,” I growl frustratedly.
“Then…” She trails off, her cheek marked with creases from where she’s been asleep with her face resting in the pillow.
“Put your fucking bag down,” I hiss, letting my anger and fear slip into my voice.
Her eyes go wide before she slowly shrugs her bag off her shoulder, catching it in her hand before it drops to the floor.
Honestly, I don’t know what bothers me more. That she assumed I was here to kick her out before the sun is even fully up, or that she’s already packed and ready to leave.
“I don’t understand,” she admits. “I can go. I really appreciate you letting me stay for a couple of nights. I just need to get my stuff out of your car, then I’ll find a ride down to town and you’ll never have to see me again. I haven’t taken anything. I’m not a thief. Even at my most pathetic, I’ve never stolen anything. Well, that’s not true. I guess if you consider taking stuff from the lost and found at campgrounds as stealing, then maybe I am a thief. But I always waited a couple of days to see if anyone claimed things before I took them,” she rambles.
“Thief? Taken anything? What the hell are you talking about?” I demand.
“That’s why you’re here, right? It’s why you’ve been sending your friends to check up on me? I don’t even blame you; I’m a complete stranger. I wouldn’t trust me either. But I’m not like that. I…” She trails off, and I stare down at her like she just spoke in a different language.
What the hell is she talking about? When did I send anyone to check up on her? Why would she think I’m worried about her stealing from me?
“Amore mio, what the fuck are you talking about? I haven’t sent anyone to check up on you.”
“Look, you don’t need to lie. I already said I understand why you did it.”
“Verity,” I snarl, angry now. “I haven’t sent anyone to check up on you.”
Rolling her eyes, her lips press into a thin line. “I still think it’s time for me to leave. I just need my stuff.”
“No,” I hiss. “You’re not having your stuff, and you’re not leaving. I want to know who you think I sent to spy on you.”
“Fine. First Octy and her huge husband.”
