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Instead, I wander closer to her, scanning her for anything that could give me a hint as to what happened.
That's when I see a piece of paper sticking out of her bag, as though she hastily crumpled it in there.
She follows my gaze and sees it at the same, moving quickly to stuff it back deep into her bag.
“Ah ah,” I say, tutting at her. I reach into her bag, ignoring her efforts to snatch the bag out of my hold and pick out the piece of paper.
I straighten it out and read the words on it.
I'm watching you.
“What the fuck?” Alarm flashes through me as I read it again.
"Give it back," Delilah says, trying to snatch the paper from my hand but I deftly avoid her. I read it again, seeing the menace in the scrawled words, feeling a protective rage surmount inside me. And then I look up at her face.
“Who sent this to you?” I ask.
She shakes her head but I see a little tremble in her lips. That combined with shiny eyes tells me that she’s terrified out of her mind, and it makes me even more determined to find this moron and end him for even just scaring her this bad.
Fucking bastard.
I suppress the urge to bully and demand information from her. I don’t want her freaked out more than she already is. But I do need to find out what’s going on.
“Come on, honey.” My voice is pleading now. It's torture knowing that someone is threatening her and I cannot do anything about it unless she tells me what’s going on. "Who sent this to you?"
“I don’t know,” she finally whispers, and I can hear the shakiness in her voice. "April gave it to me. She says someone gave it to her at work to hand to me, and she thought it was a love letter."
So, this bastard knows where she works.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask next.
Is this why she’s been acting so weird lately? I thought I detected a distinct shift in her attitude, and she's become much more distant and guarded around me. Sometimes, I feel like she doesn't even want to be around, like she makes an active effort to avoid me. I thought maybe it was just awkwardness after the sex we had, but has she just been dealing with this on her own?
I’m frustrated at the idea, but even more than that, I’m hurt that she didn’t come to me.
“Just today,” she says, and at least that much is a relief. “I don’t know who sent it but…oh God. I don’t know why anyone would send that to me. I don’t know what I did wrong.”
“Relax, ok? Relax. Don’t worry about it.” I pull her into my arms because I can see that she’s on the verge of breaking down. Her body is ramrod stiff against mine at first, the nerves making her shake in my arms. But I refuse to let go until she relaxes. I mold her to my body and then pick her up into my arms.
That’s when she starts sobbing softly.
“Ah, there we go,” I croon comfortingly.
"Oh my God, Oliver."
"That's it. Let it all out."
I walk over to the couch and sit, holding her in my arms through the worst of the emotion. I caress her back as she clutches my shirt a little, tugging it when she cries. I’m guessing it’s a comfort thing but I don’t mind. Maybe if it was any other woman, I would have it in the back of my mind that this might be a ploy to get sympathy for me or to pull one over on me anyway.
But not her.
Somehow, I’ve always known that this girl is an innocent. Everything from the way she talks and carries herself tells me that she’s either innocent or the best damn actress I’ve ever met. That also means she raises every protective instinct within me and I know that anyone who messes with her will face my full wrath.
Slowly, the sobs start to subside. I glance down at her as she wipes her face and sniffles.
“Sorry,” she says.
“For what?”
