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The rest of the night is tense. Reid never returns, and despite asking both JD and Mav multiple times, neither of them gives up where he went. Mav also refuses to discuss what the two of them were talking about immediately after Victor left.
Victor has sucked all the life and fun out of this house, leaving nothing but the heavy weight of dread in his wake.
It has been easy to push reality aside with these tempting men surrounding me, but one sight of the enemy has reality crashing down.
None of us even attempts to make any dinner in Reid’s absence, not that I was hungry. My stomach has been churning with dread ever since Reid announced Victor’s arrival.
Whatever happened down here during that short visit was bad. I knew that from watching the exchange alone. But the fact that Mav hasn’t relaxed an inch since Victor left only confirms that I’m right to be on edge.
We spend the night in the living room. Me and JD on one couch, a brooding Mav on the other.
Every time they look at each other, a silent conversation passes between them, reminding me again that they are keeping me in the dark about something.
I meant what I said to Mav a few hours ago. I trust them. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not having a hard time with all the secrets that are flying around right now.
When my next request to be told something falls on deaf ears, my irritation gets the better of me and I rip my legs from where JD’s been absently massaging my feet and bring myself up to bed.
For the first time since Mav was released from the basement, I question which bedroom I want to slip into.
Reid’s is tempting because he isn’t here, and there is every chance he won’t return until sunrise. But the thought of him finding me curled up in his bed stops me.
Mav is the obvious choice. I’ve slept in there with him—and JD—the last couple of nights. It makes me wonder if they’d both come and join me at some point, or if their guilt would stop them, or at least one of them.
But the second my eyes land on JD’s door, I remember our conversation in the yard earlier in the day about my journaling and the shadows in his eyes, the way he confessed that he’s had the suggestion of doing so before. My legs move before I’m aware my brain has made a decision.
I step into his room and I’m instantly hit by his masculine scent. It floods my nose and wraps around me like a warm blanket.
It’s always been the same with JD. He might be the silly playboy to everyone else, but he’s also a gentle protector who’s helped me in my darkest moments under this roof.
His room is as messy as it was the first time I came in here. Clothes are strewn everywhere. Pens, notebooks and scraps of paper litter the small desk. There’s a part of me that wants to dig through to see if he has tried his hand at journaling already. But I don’t.
Instead, I make use of his bathroom before fixing his messy sheets and slipping beneath them.
His scent only gets stronger as I lie my head on his pillow. Shamelessly, I press my nose against it and breathe him in.
Despite the concern nagging at my brain, I manage to drift off to sleep surprisingly fast.
I’m alone in the house. It’s the only time I don’t totally hate living here. Just for a few minutes, a couple of hours, if I’m lucky.
I’ve cleaned the entire place, knowing that he’ll be expecting it whenever he returns later. It never seems to matter how drunk or excited he is, he always notices if I haven’t perfectly done the jobs he left for me. And finally, I tuck myself into the back corner of my bed, cross my legs, and open my diary.
It’s about the only thing I have to myself under this roof.
I keep them hidden beneath my bed. I don’t dare to allow Dad to know they exist. He’ll use them against me.
I barely get the date written when the doorbell rings.
My heart jumps into my throat, dread seeping through my veins, my muscles suddenly heavy with the thought of my peace being ruined.
To start with, I don’t move. Praying it’s just some try-hard salesman or a druggie who’s hoping Dad will take pity on him and give him a free hit.
But when the ringing starts up again a few seconds later, I finally close my notebook, hide it, and make my way to the front door.
If it’s Dad who’s forgotten his keys, or worse, one of his friends, he’ll ensure I’m punished for it later. I’m not sure I’ve got that in me today.
The bell continues to ring as I descend the stairs, and the second I look through the peephole, my heart sinks.
There’s a part of me that assumes he’s here looking for Dad. But I know better. He’s here for me. He knows I’m alone and he’s trying his luck.
