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Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blinking light and look up at my smoke detector. The small green light taunts me. “Did you see that? Yeah? Fuck you!”
I’m not sure who I’m talking to. I pretty much destroyed the surveillance setup upstairs. But I need to rage at someone or something so the obvious culprit of crashing my happy moment is the inanimate device on the ceiling. I know that’s stupid and that this is all on Dominick, but I have to do something.
Swiping the salty tears from my cheeks, I jump up and rush to the kitchen to grab my little ‘one-step’ and hurry back to my bedroom. It’s a tough reach. I’m on tiptoe as my fingers scrabble to find that spot on the edge of the cover to get it off. With every passing second, my rage at the stupid chunk of cheap shit plastic rises, and I yank hard.
No dice, but in my anger, a piece of plastic slices my finger. It’s not serious, but the sight of the blood shocks me enough to tamp down my anger and give me pause. Sticking my thumb in my mouth, I climb down, heading to the bathroom to run cool water on my finger.
A tight Band-Aid later, and it’s fine.
If only my life were so easily cared for. I chance looking at myself in the mirror and am shocked by the haunted-looking specter staring back.
Is that me? How did I end up here, of all places?
Not able to meet my own eyes any longer, in the mirror, I see the reflection of the hallway behind me and distantly, my living room couch.
And paranoia sets in. Although is it really paranoia if you know someone really has been watching you?
For the next hour, I examine every corner, nook, cranny, and crack in my apartment, looking for something that looks out of place. I examine every smoke detector, even though I know they’ve been compromised.
This is bullshit. What he did is a violation I would’ve never imagined. I’m angry, hurt, and embarrassed. Your home is supposed to be your haven, your sanctuary, and now I feel vulnerable. Not knowing what to do, I reach out to the one person I trust to help me.
“Hello?” His voice is tight, as if he’s preparing for a fight from me like last time. But I’ve got no fight left in me.
“TJ?” I greet him, my scratchy throat and the ghost of my tears making my voice hoarse. “I need help.”
God bless my brother. His reply is immediate and heartfelt. “What’s wrong, Allie? Are you hurt?”
A humorless laugh escapes, and yeah, I sound just a little crazy. “Yes, but not like that. He . . . oh, God, listen, can you . . . can you just come over?”
I can already hear him shuffling around on his side of the line. “I’m coming, Sis. Whatever that motherfucker did, I’m coming. I’ve got you.”
I hang up, letting the phone drop and hanging my head. I let the tears take over again, sobbing silently. I need to get them out because as much as I need TJ right now, I know he’s going to come in like a steamroller. If he sees me in tears, he’s going to go postal, and that I don’t want or need.
I just need his strength. That’s why I called him, because he’s always been there for me, and I don’t think I can do this alone.
I manage to get halfway cleaned up and decently dressed before his booming knocks threaten to break my door in off its hinges, and as I shuffle to the front door in some old yoga pants and a T-shirt, I wish I’d showered before calling him.
I feel a little squelch inside me, and I remember that I’m still holding his mark. But . . . I think I might forever. He’s in my pussy, in my heart, and apparently, all over my damn apartment.
TJ rushes in when I open the door, like he’s looking for terrorists or something in here with me. Finally, when he sees I’m alone, he turns and gathers me up in a fierce embrace.
“What happened? What’s going on?”
I can’t answer at first, not without losing control of my emotions, and he leads me over to the couch, where I sit.
Through hiccups, I tell him, “Everything was fine. We had sex, but . . .”
I feel TJ tense beside me, thinking the worst, and I reassure him. “No, it was fine, it was better than fine. It was everything. He told me he loved me.”
The words force me into morose silence, trembling on the edge of tears again, and through his hug, I feel TJ’s patience wearing thin. “I need you to talk to me here. What’s going on? Because I’m about to go find that piece of shit and fucking kill him, and I don’t even know what for.”
