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The command snaps something inside of me. Confess my sins? There are far too many to name. Sex out of marriage. Witnessing a murder. Sleeping with said murderer. Interacting with Daze. Daze. Daze. The shame, pain, and fear descend all at once, and something dark and mean unfurls within me. Before I can even rationalize the action, I feel my lips part.
“Get out of my apartment!” That wasn’t my strained, controlled tone. That was a scream. Still, once it’s out of my lungs, I can’t seem to regain control. “Now, Colton! Get out! Get out!”
“Okay!” He scurries off, glancing over his shoulder as I follow him to the door.
“Frances—I don’t understand—” he begins, pulling open the door before stepping out into the hallway.
“I will call you tomorrow,” I snap. “When I’m ready. Just...give me time. Thank you.”
With that, I shut the door in his face.
And I lock it.
Wondering if even that will suffice.
Daze was a liar in many ways, but he had been right about one thing—I can’t trust anyone.
Especially not him.
* * *
I don’t know how I managed to sleep. I wind up taking a shower, embracing the steaming water as it scorches my skin until the hot flow eventually runs cold. Afterward, I do my best to mentally prepare myself for Colton’s questions as I get dressed in a sweater and skirt—and beneath it, I strap on Daze’s knife, oddly reassured by its weight. Once I’m ready, I head for the living room, and as if on cue, a gentle knock sounds from my front door.
“It’s me,” Colton calls from the other side of the doorway. I inhale a small breath before removing the chair I had used to barricade it last night to keep out all unwelcomed visitors. I open it slowly. In his hands are two steaming cups of coffee, one of which he hands to me. “I figured you could probably use some caffeine.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, accepting the coffee as I step aside. He watches me take a tentative sniff, and I try to think of the first question I can ask—anything to avoid what happened last night. “How is Salvation? I hope the damage wasn’t too great.”
“No, but the main building is still under investigation,” Colton explains. “First, let’s sit.”
He heads into the living room, and I follow him, claiming the seat beside him on my small beige couch. We’ve been here before, seated far closer than this. But…
In those moments, I remembered feeling a calming, slightly pleasant warmth. Today, the energy from him makes me feel cold. I shiver, and he places his hand on my thigh.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I flinch back and shift to the other end of the couch. “I’m fine,” I say.
With a frown, he lets his hand fall and clears his throat. “I’ve been really worried about you, Frances. Especially after what happened last night. Can you explain why you were so upset?”
I know the innocent, fearful type of answer he expects, but the wrong words spill out of my mouth. “You broke into my apartment. Why wouldn’t I be upset?”
“Broke in,” he echoes, shaking his head dismissively with a grin. “I’d say that’s a bit overdramatic—”
“Is it?” I ask although it’s obviously rhetorical. “Because I don’t remember ever giving you a key.”
His jaw clenches tight. “It was unlocked, Frances.”
No. It wasn’t.
I was so hellbent on being alone and making sure nobody could get in that I vividly remember checking the lock multiple times before I went into the shower.
“Besides,” he adds pointedly. “Given the state of our relationship, I think we’re beyond asking for a calling card to visit, don’t you?” He reaches for my hand and runs his thumb across my palm.
My heart sinks, and the dreadful feeling I felt last night settles back in.
He’s lying.
Whyis he lying?
