Do you need anything before the end of day?
One word back.
Jace
No.
At five-thirty the floor emptied. I looked at his office one last time. He still wasn’t out.
I grabbed my bag and left.
Miley was on the couch when I got home. Television murmuring, popcorn on her knee, phone in her other hand.
I was hanging my bag on the hook when she sat up.
"Oh my God. Tobias Hart and Christopher Vale." Her voice hit that register reserved only for celebrity gossip and men she found attractive. "Anna. Anna, look at this man. How is he real? That’s not a person. That’s what happens when God shows off."
I froze, my fingers tightening around the strap before I could stop them.
There he was. On the screen. That face. That smile. The one the cameras loved, the one I used to believe was real before I learned what lived behind it.
I grabbed the remote and killed the TV.
"Hey!" Miley twisted around. "I was watching that!"
"Too loud." The harshness in my tone was audible but I couldn’t fix it. I set the remote down and walked to the kitchen.
Miley looked at me and scoffed.
"You’re no fun," she pouted, then studied me for a second and her tone shifted. "Hey. You hungry?"
"Yeah. Food sounds good."
We heated up leftover bibimbap from the Korean place on the corner and ate on the couch.
We watched a cooking competition. Argued about whether the contestant’s risotto was undercooked or whether the judges were being dramatic. Miley said dramatic. I said undercooked.
I went to bed at eleven. Asleep by eleven-thirty.
The nightmare came at two.
A room. Walls close enough to touch with both arms outstretched, door locked. I was pulling the handle with both hands, pulling until my arms burned, and it wouldn't give. Then hands around my wrists. Strong. Cold. My body knew them before my brain caught up. He turned me around.
This is your fault. You know that. I didn’t want this. You made me. Who’s going to believe you? Nobody. You’re a nobody. I made sure of that.
The room shrank. His grip got tighter. His mouth against my ear, his voice dropping to the quiet place, the almost-gentle place that was worse than yelling because gentleness that hurts you is something your brain can’t make sense of no matter how many times it happens.
Keep quiet. Or I’ll have no choice but to hurt you. And we both know I don’t want to do that.
I screamed but nothing came out. The walls were closing and his hands were everywhere and I couldn’t breathe.
I woke up gasping.
Sweat on my neck. Fingers white in the sheets. The room was dark, and for a terrible spinning second I didn’t know where I was.Charlotte? Miami? That room?
I reached for the bedside lamp.
Miley’s apartment. Wynwood. Miami.
