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“I already do.” I pause at the door, waving the note at her. “For saving me the trip to the other side of the city.”
“We’ll see about that.” She wags her eyebrows and shoos me out. “Enjoy your weekend.”
CHAPTER TWO
Prue
Thesunhasalreadyset when the elevator doors slide open. I march into the lobby of our office building, same as I do on every workday.
In a few steps, I wave to Marv, the elderly security guy. In a couple more, I reach the front door. I push past the glass door, walk outside, and stop.
I linger there by myself for a little while, inhaling the non-industrial air. Sure, LA’s air may not be the cleanest. It’s still a refreshing change after being cooped up in the clinic for over twelve hours.
Plus, the weather is relatively decent on this June evening. Not too cold, not too hot, just right. I would love to take advantage of it and walk home. I opted for sneakers—AKA, my sensible shoes—instead of low heels today.
But then it means I’d have to walktowork tomorrow morning.
And sweat.
No, thanks.
On my way to my Prius, I gaze around at my surroundings. Palm trees hedge the nearly empty parking lot. Their fronds rustle in the slight breeze as if it’s caressing them.
A horn blares, the road stealing my attention. So many people driving back to their homes or going to late meetings, to parties or dinners. Living their lives to the fullest.
Some days, like today, I like to pretend one of those drivers is my mother. I dream about her being in one of those sedans, searching for me. In those moments, I allow myself to play make-believe. To hope she’s there, deeming me someone worth meeting.
I don’t judge her for leaving me, her newborn, on the orphanage doorstep without so much as a note. I don’t resent her for never naming me. Never have, never will.
Everyone’s circumstances vary. She could’ve been raped. She might’ve gotten pregnant in high school, and her parents forced her to give me away. Anything’s possible.
Maybe, though…
I stop myself before I delve into darker thoughts.
Hoping is useless. Obviously, she’s not there.
I’m not alone, either.
The hairs on my arms stand, and a chill runs up my spine, freezing the back of my neck. I’m feeling something, all right, and it’s nothing good. It’s ominous.
Like I’m being watched.
Hesitantly, I turn my head to the inside of the building. Marv, who was just reading the paper when I walked out here, has his head on his desk, fast asleep. I don’t want to disturb him for afeeling.
I return to look at the dimly lit parking lot. There’s no one there either. Nevertheless, I can’t shake the voice telling me I’m being watched. It’s urging me to sprint to my car, get in, and drive out of here. The faster the better.
I’m perplexed by the warnings flashing in my head. This is a first for me, and I’ve been working here for years.
Michelle’s clinic is located in a low-crime area. Cars don’t get jacked here, no sexual assaults in the late hours of the night. You won’t see used condoms or broken beer bottles littered around here in the morning.
So what’s this feeling that’s come over me now? What’s changed?
And worse still, why does being scared turn me on? Why does this strange need zap to my core, heating me from the inside?
Because you’re a twenty-six-year-old virgin. And you get off on dark fantasies. Shut it out and move it.
Whatever the reason is, imaginary or not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t have it in me to care anymore.
