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My mind races with the implications of this latest attack. Torryn has a stalker. A stalker who wants to cause her harm. Maybe not physically yet, but how long will that be true? “Why don’t you guys take the Jeep back home and get the spare bedroom cleaned out? We’ll use the truck to pack what we can salvage here and meet you back there once the cops are done.”
Before either of them can respond, Torryn’s head snaps up from where she was ignoring us. “I’m not moving into your place.”
Anger and frustration burn in my gut in a volatile mix I don’t really understand. Forcing myself to keep calm, I meet her eyes. “You’re sure as fuck not staying here.” Okay, so that wasn’t very calm. But I didn’t scream the words and I can give myself props for that. I haven’t picked her up and tried to shove her in my pocket either. More kudos to me. “We have an empty spare room you can use and Isla can move into Wells’ room.”
“It will be fine once we clean up,” she argues back, drawing her shoulders back as she tenses. Isla’s eyes widen as they volley back and forth between us. Wells whispers in her ear, stoppingwhatever she was about to say, but I don’t have the space in my mind to spare them a moment.
I cross my arms in front of my chest, lifting myself to my full height. “I swear on my life, Torryn, I will throw your fine ass over my shoulder and carry you out of this apartment if I have to.” Her eyes narrow and her lips turn down but I’m done letting her blow this shit off as just a prank. “You are coming home with me. You will let me move you into the house. You’re going to start taking this stalker shit seriously and take serious precautions to keep yourself safe or so help me, I will put you over my knee and spank your ass raw. Do you understand?”
She rolls her lips back but something other than anger and defiance flashes in her eyes at my words.
“This is the strangest foreplay I’ve ever seen,” Beau whispers, earning him a smack from James. Still, I don’t tear my eyes away from the stubborn girl in front of me.
It’s not until Isla calls her name in a plea that she finally caves. “Okay, fine,” she huffs, but I don’t miss the way some of the tension in her shoulders bleeds out at her acquiescence. My whole body slumps in relief. The need to pull her into my arms is almost impossible to ignore, but I know I’ve pushed her as far as I’m going to get tonight.
The cops’ arrival breaks our awkward standoff and James and Beau take Wells’ keys and head out, nodding to the cops as they pass. I recognize one of the officers as the one who gave us his card and we called about the notes.
“Miss Torryn,” he greets, dipping his head as he approaches us. “Miss Isla.” He shakes his head, a frown forming on his face. “Not the circumstances I wanted to see you lovely ladies in again.” Isla wipes the tears from her face, giving him an appreciative smile, a small one, but still a smile. Wells squeezes her closer into his side.
“Thanks for coming,” Torryn says, gesturing to their front door. “I’m the only one that has been inside since it happened,” she begins to explain, telling them how they noticed the busted door as soon as they got home from her brother’s football game.
I find out more about Torryn in the short time it takes to give her statement to the officers than in the whole time I’ve known her. As she finishes her statement, the other officer begins to question Isla and Torryn pauses. “Wait, there’s more,” she says and my spine snaps straight.
“This was definitely targeted at me.”
Officer Derek nods and writes something on his pad. “It’s safe to assume with the other incidents, that yes, you were likely the intended target. But we still need to cover all of our bases in case it was your roommate they were targeting this time. The incidents may not even be connected.” No one believes that for a moment, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to be safe rather than sorry.
“No,” Torryn answers, shaking her head. “It’s not an assumption. Isla’s room and bathroom were hardly touched and there’s a message on my bathroom mirror.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, turning towards her. She shrugs off my question and I have to force myself to take deep breaths and not snap at her. It doesn’t change anything. We already believed the incidents were connected without proof. The proof only helps speed things along for the cops. Right?
Officer Derek steps in when Torryn doesn’t respond to the question. “Let the team survey the apartment, take our photos, and grab what evidence we can, and then we can discuss next steps.”
As the girls were giving their statements, other officers had showed up and already started going through the apartment. Isla nods her thanks to the officers as they go into the apartment before catching Torryn’s hand and gently squeezing. Tor pullsher into her arms and Isla wraps her arms around her waist as they cling to each other. “I’m so sorry, Isles,” she whispers.
Wells and I exchange helpless looks. I’ve never felt more incompetent in my life. Neither one of us knows what the right thing to say or do next is. I almost wish I had gone with Beau and James to help set the house up for the girls. At least then I would feel like I’m doing something productive.
“It’s not your fault, Tor. Please don’t say that,” Isla pleads, tears making her voice hoarse as she holds Torryn tighter. Some of the ice in Torryn’s gaze seems to melt at her words, her features softening and that seemingly impenetrable wall lowers just a little bit. Enough to let Isla in.
What would it be like to be someone like that for her? To be someone she can let her guard down with? To see her worry and fear and insecurities and the scars they come from?
I’ve seen Torryn naked many times. Know the little scar she has on her elbow from falling off her bike and the bigger one on her thigh from a car accident, and even the tiny one on her chin that you can only see if you’re looking up at her from the same car accident. I know where they are and what they look like, how they feel and taste, even where they come from. But never have I seen her more vulnerable than now with Isla in her arms, the two of them holding each other together. I don’t know if her scars still ache, or if they hold bad memories. All I have is little facts, little details, all delivered with a casual ease and no emotion.
“What did the message say?” Isla finally asks the question that’s been on everyone’s mind. I couldn’t bring myself to be the one to ask, but I'm more than thankful she finally did.
Torryn takes a deep breath and her shield comes back up as she stares between Wells and I before focusing back on Isla. “No one loves a whore.”
My full body twitches with the need to pull Torryn into my arms and assure her, but of what? That I love her? That’s not what we are. That’s not what either of us wants to be. We don’t trade sweet words of love and affection, we tease and taunt and fuck. The way we both like it. We may have become friends and more than just fuck buddies, but that isn’t love. Anger and confusion and even a little bit of guilt makes me snap my mouth closed when I realize I have no idea what to say. It’s not often I’m speechless, but it shouldn’t even surprise me that it’s Torryn that’s making me so.
“That—” Isla stops, shaking her head, her own face twisted in rage. She takes a deep breath, looking at me before trading looks with Wells. Something I don’t understand passes between them and whatever it is, it seems to help Isla make up her mind. “That’s quite different from the other notes they’ve left.” Her entire tone and demeanor has shifted into problem solving, letting go of her anger at the implication her best friend might be unlovable.
Torryn shrugs. “I guess it was shorter.”
It’s not funny, it’s not funny, it’s not funny. But fuck me if I didn’t just snort a little bit at her response. The corners of her lips twitch in amusement as she looks up at me, before dropping her gaze at whatever else she must see on my face. “Why do you seem so bothered?” she asks, making me sigh.
What a great question. Why am I just as bothered about the message left for the girl I’m fucking as her best friend is? I might not love her, but that doesn’t mean I think she’s unlovable. I just happen to love that she is a whore. Especially when she’s being my whore. “I don’t like the word whore,” I answer instead.
Torryn snorts in disbelief. “Potato and I both know that’s a damn lie.”
