Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I stood there for a long moment, listening, trying to hear if anyone was still there. Even if, logically, the person who broke in likely did it at night when no one would see them.
I inched forward, grabbing a knife off of the floor, and leaving my apartment door slightly open in case I needed a swift exit.
Then I inched down my hallway, slipping into the bathroom to check for someone hiding. Behind the shower curtain that was mostly see-through. In the linen closet and under the sink, spaces that were far too small for any adult. But fear was making me paranoid.
I went into my bedroom, yanking open my closet, glad I didn’t have a big pile of clothes someone could hide under, so it was easy to tell there was no one there.
I eyed the bed next, the only place left in the whole apartment to hide.
My anxiety had me rushing forward and just shoving the mattress off of the frame, not caring that it slammed into my nightstand and sent it, the lamp, and the contents on top flying and scattering to the floor.
What was one more mess when the whole place was wrecked?
I glanced between the slats below the mattress.
No one.
With that, I ran back out into the living room, slamming my door, sliding the locks, then shoving the doorstop alarm under it.
Only then did I slide down the wall, giving in to the fear.
My heartbeat was hammering as I hyperventilated, imagining someone in my space, rifling through my things, getting to know pieces of myself I hadn’t willingly shared with them.
Stupid things to worry about, of course. My favorite little teacup with ducks on it. My vibrator in the nightstand. My borderline insane number of fluffy blankets in my closet that I’d collected to get me through the cold winters back home, but couldn’t part with when I moved.
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, forcing myself to slow down, to focus, to think straight.
Things were such a mess that I didn’t even think to check if anything was missing.
Was this even related to Harvey in 7D? Could this have been just your average, run-of-the-mill break-in? Someone desperate enough to steal from a neighbor?
I forced myself to get back on my feet, moving around my apartment with a more discerning eye.
I didn’t own much of actual value, to be honest. I like fun, kitschy stuff. I didn’t own a single designer piece of clothing, shoe, or handbag. I didn’t have top of the line electronics.
The most expensive things I owned were art-related. Paints, charcoals, watercolors, and even nice graphite pens were pricey when you wanted to get quality ones.
But someone who wasn’t an artist wouldn’t know that.
Still, the laptop I did have that had been on my coffee table when I left… was still there.
Which felt like confirmation of my worst fears. That it wasn’t just random crime. That this was related to my attack, to the digging around I’d been doing.
I didn’t know what they were looking for. Maybe they thought I was connected to Harvey in some way, that I could possibly be hiding what they’d been looking for at his place.
But then why did they clean up his place and leave mine a wreck?
Was this just a scare tactic?
If it was, it was working.
Even if I hated to admit that as I slowly moved around my apartment, putting things to rights.
It didn’t actually make me feel any better to have things back in their rightful places, of course, but it felt like I was a little more in control of the situation to do it.
By the time I was done re-washing all of my still-intact dishes, silverware and such, I was exhausted.
I dropped down onto the couch, giving in to the strong urge to cry, knowing that the longer I tried to hold tears in, the worse the breakdown would be when it inevitably came. Better to purge things as they came up than let them fester and grow.
Finished with that, I stalked back down into my bedroom, stripping out of my dress, then pulling Alaric’s shirt again with nothing between me and it, the slight lingering scent of him more reassuring than maybe it should have been considering how new things were between us. But as I yanked on leggings, I decided it was okay to be a little clingy to the idea of Levee when I was going through this strange situation that I had no idea how to navigate.
I forced myself to go toward my easel, knowing that the only way to make the time slip away now that I was back home was to bury myself in my work, to let it completely consume me.
That was what I let myself do. Not focusing on any of the many works I could be doing for Zayn, Teddy, or the women of Levee’s club. Just some random work that let my dark feelings out.