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“I’m too old for this shit,” he said under his breath as he strode past me, vanishing down the hall outside with loud, echoing steps.
I waited until I was sure he’d made it outside before closing the door and locking it, going to the window across the apartment to watch him shove his shit into a shiny black truck with Forbidden Ink decaled on the side in sharp lettering.
I surreptitiously checked the rest of the apartment bit by bit, pausing only when it came to Becca’s bedroom door. I’d never been in her room. It’d always been firmly her space. I’d assumed she was just private about her things, or maybe left a bunch of vibrators lying around, but now I knew the truth.
She probably had things to hide.
Without overthinking it too much, I pushed open her door and stepped inside, quick to get eyes on every inch of the space in case there was anyone else waiting to jab me with fucking needles.
Seemed like everyone’s fetish these days.
Satisfied that I was alone after a quick scope of the walk-in closet and the bathroom, I turned in a slow circle, taking in the space.
It smelled like her. Like jasmine and something a bit musky, like old wood.
Just like the rest of the apartment, her room was done up in varying shades of black. Polished black. Matte black. Faded black.
But with pops of indigo and violet, like the canvas artwork of a girl’s face painted in shadows of lavender with her eyes crossed out in black, slashes of gray painted haphazardly over the entire piece.
A bit morbid, but it sort of suited her and something about it was very feminine and pretty despite the slashed out eyes.
My fingers trailed along the top of a sleek black dresser, falling down until they reached the top of the first drawer. I pulled it open an inch before shutting it again. Unable to bring myself to snoop through her things even after what she did.
Maybe later.
I needed a nap and goddamned shower before I even started to try to pick up all the pieces and try to figure out how they all fit back together after everything that’d happened.
But first, I had a promise to keep.
Briar Hall was eerily quiet as I found my way down to the main floor after removing my tattered dress in favor of sweats and a baggy t-shirt. The phone room, a relic of a time before cell phones, was nothing more than a narrow room with a bank of old black corded phones hanging on the wall, divided with thin panes of wood for privacy.
The whole space was covered in a fine layer of dust and instead of sitting on one of the moth-eaten chairs, I leaned against the wall as I lifted a receiver.
Shit.
They weren’t working.
I tried the other six, sighing when the last one in the line at the very back of the room hummed with the electronic dial tone.
I’d memorized Becca’s number weeks ago, and each digit beeped in my ear as I hit the cold metal buttons. She really should’ve gotten rid of her phone. I should’ve told her to get rid of it, but I was banking on her being out of reach across the country by now, or at least soon.
The line only rang once before it went straight to voicemail.
“This is Becca Hart, make it quick or text me like a normal person.”
An almost smile pulled at the edge of my mouth.
“Hey, it’s me. Just checking that you got there safe. Leave a message with the office when you get this, ’kay? I, uh, I lost my phone so don’t bother texting. Hit me up on socials, but make sure all of your location sharing is turned off on your phone. Actually, maybe just get a new one. Toss that one before you get where you’re going.”
I paused, not sure what else to say.
“Be safe,” I said finally before hanging up, dragging my dead ass to a shower and my bed.
