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Distraction. That’s what I need. It’s the only way I’m going to survive the time between now and when she gets home. I hope that it’s soon.
Chapter Twenty-One
Emily
I was expecting to be led to an abandoned warehouse, somewhere where nobody would hear my screams. Imagine my surprise when Trevor texted me to meet him at the Convention Center.
The Convention Center.
That’ll teach me to stereotype my stalkers.
When the cab drops me off, it’s just after 6 p.m. Peter will be getting home soon. He’ll walk into an empty apartment and find my note. Hopefully he’ll take it for what it is, watch a bit of Netflix, and wait for me to get back.
This isn’t the first time I’ve gone off on my own, so there’s a good chance things will play out that way. What I’m nervous about is what could happen if they don’t work out like that at all. If Peter freaks out and calls in the cavalry to find me, things could get really bad. For both of us.
Convention Center aside, I already know that Trevor isn’t exactly one hundred percent stable. I’m going to have to be really careful about how I handle him. One wrong move, and it’ll be over. Whatever ‘over’ means.
Although, I have to admit that I’m not too stressed out about this meeting, because despite all the crazy, Trevor was the one who suggested we talk after all. This resolution was all his idea. I figure he must be feeling the heat from the investigation closing in on him and that’s why he wants it over with. Or he could finally be getting tired of having a plaything that never comes out to play.
Whatever his reasons, I’m just relieved to have an opportunity to end this thing and restore some sense of normalcy to my life. I keep the vision of Peter’s face in my mind. I’m doing this for him. And our baby.
“Hi, Emily.”
It’s him.
Trevor walks over to where I’m standing on the sidewalk. He’s wearing blue jeans and a matching hoodie, looking like any average college kid.
But looks are deceiving; I know this. So, even though he’s smiling at me, I don’t smile back. No matter what happens, or however much he acts like he’s my friend, I have to remember who I’m dealing with. I can’t let my guard down.
“You like nice,” he says once he’s reached me. “I like your jacket.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, and fold my arms across my chest in an effort to block his gaze.
I suddenly feel extremely vulnerable and exposed in front of him, and for the first time since I left home, I’m beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to keep Peter in the dark about this meeting.
There isn’t a single person who knows where I am right now.
“What do you say we head over to Drink? I’m parked just up that way,” he says, pointing somewhere over my shoulder.
“I don’t drink,” I say.
I don’t tell him why I’m not drinking. That would probably be the fastest way to piss him off.
“That’s okay,” Trevor says. His tone is light and breezy. In a creepy way.
Or maybe it’s only creepy to me because I know him for what he is: a creep.
“They have non-alcoholic options, too, you know. I’ll join you even. Guess it’s not a good idea to load up anyway, with the driving and all.”
“What do you want, Trevor?” I can’t take the pleasantries anymore. I just want this over and done with.
“To talk,” he says simply. “Some place comfortable, instead of out here on the street.”
His reasoning makes sense to me in the moment. Besides, as long as we’re in a public place, he can’t do anything to me.
“Fine,” I say, finally giving in. “But just for a few minutes. I can’t be late getting home.”
The bar isn’t packed, but it’s not quiet either. The majority of the crowd here looks like people passing through on their way home from work. Loading up, like Trevor calls it, before having to face whatever mundane life awaits them at the bottom of the glass.
