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“You’re off work today,” I said, stating the obvious. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I cook,” she snipped. “The office didn’t have heat so we were sent home early. Where have you been the last few days?” She raised her brow. “With Ian?”
A small smile appeared on my face. She remembered his name from the gala night.
“I was in Boston. I thought I sent you a text?”
“You didn’t,” she said and shrugged.
I frowned. I should have at least let her know.Self-absorbed, I thought, denigrating myself. “Sorry.”
I rolled my cart down the hall and paused when I opened my door. My lamp was on and my duvet was flipped back again. I could have forgotten once, but twice? I dumped my stuff and headed back to the kitchen.
“My light was on in my room and the duvet was up on the side. I thought I put it back down before I left the other day. Did you borrow something?” I asked.
Natasha frowned. “Why would I go in your room? The only thing worth borrowing is your trolley bag and you took that with you.” She paused, seeming to think for a moment. “I didn’t notice the light on when I ran this morning. Maybe it’s broken.”
I chewed my lip. “Maybe… Okay. If you see it on would you mind turning it…?”
A sickening thought hit me. I stopped mid-nag and headed back toward my room.
“What’s going on?” Natasha called after me.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I continued back toward my bedroom. My mind started to race and my pulse sped up. I didn’t know if I was overreacting or underreacting, but I couldn’t settle the paranoia rising in me.
I combed through my room, checking to see if anything else was out of place. It wasn’t perfect, as I had rushed to pack, but this disorder wasn’t all from me.
It didn’t take long for me to find that the papers in my container were open and some of my photos were out of the album. I pulled it off the shelf and grabbed my chest. The bookshelf displayed an empty space where the copy ofPeter Panmy father had given me should have been. Tears started pouring down my cheeks, as I threw every book on the floor. I upended the container with my papers and photo albums in search of the book, not willing to accept it was out of my possession.
I had shown it to Jonas recently, but had quickly returned it to the bookshelf. That was exactly where it should have been now.
As I flipped frantically through the photo album, I noticed the picture Declan had left with the flower delivery the day after he had attacked me. It was now ripped in half. Next to it was another photo—one of me in a bathing suit that was taken six weeks after my parents’ death. My eyes hovered over the swelling in my face and the bloating of my body. I had smiled for the first time in that picture. But when I saw it, I begged him to delete it from his camera. He had refused, “joking” that I was being a “fat, spoiled princess.”
And now, this picture was sitting in front of me– with those same words scrawled across it.
That was when I accepted the inevitable and screamed.
“What are you doing?” Natasha asked. She had followed me into my room, and shook her head at the disarray. “Look at this place. You’ve lost your mind.”
I closed my eyes tightly. “Declan was here. Somehow. He hit me and now he broke in and stole—”
“Wait… he hit you?” Natasha interrupted. Then, as the realization overtook her, she continued, “You lied and told me you fell, but I’m no fool. I knew someone had hit you. I heard your friends talking about it when they came over a few weeks ago.” She pursed her lips. “I thought, ‘Fine. Okay, she doesn’t want to admit it,’ but I didn’t think you were stupid enough to not check your keys or do anything to protect yourself from him after.”
My eyes opened and I winced under the hostile look she gave me. My stomach churned. She was right. I hadn’t thought it through.
“How did he get in here?” she asked.
I ran my hands down my arms repetitively as she paced, her disgust palpable.
“He must have had my spare key. I don’t know, but I’ll find out. I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I did go to the police. It’s fine. I’ll call him. It’ll all be fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Natasha said. “Iwas alone in the apartment. What if I walked in on him? What if I came back while he was in here and he wanted to keep me quiet?”
My stomach clenched. I didn’t have any answers to give her. “I’ll get the building to change the locks. It’s fine. You’re not hurt. He only wanted to hurt me.”
She twisted her mouth. “No.Youputmein danger—”
“I didn’t mean to,” I cut her off. “Look, Declan wouldn’t do anything to you. He was after me, not you. He’s upset because I got a restraining order and he was arrested.”
