Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“What the fuck?” Tyler barks, and I turn to look at him over my shoulder. When I see the horrified look on his face, I follow his gaze across the room.
That’s when I see the red writing on the wall, spelling out the word WHORE in big, bold lettering. I pull my eyes off the word and glance around my house, seeing the place is completely trashed. How did I not see that when I came in? The cushions on my couch are slashed, with white fuzz poking out of the fabric. My flat-screen TV is lying facedown on the ground; the back is bent inward and looks like it’s been stomped on. Broken glass, pictures from the walls, and dirt from my potted plants lie scattered across the wood floors and around the room.
“What happened?” I whisper in shock and disbelief, my mind trying to play catch-up as I take everything in.
“Come on.” Tyler grabs my hand. He pulls me out of the living room and through the front door behind him, and then he picks me up and carries me down the steps when I start to stumble.
“Who did that?” I ask as he carries me across the grass toward his house.
“I don’t know.” He sets me on my feet to unlock his door. When he lets us inside his house and flips on the light, I expect to see his place in the same state as mine, but it isn’t. It’s clean and just the way he left it a few days ago. “Sit, baby,” he orders, forcing me to sit on the couch. “I’m going to go back over to your place to call the cops.”
“What? No!” I practically scream as I stand up and latch on to his arm. “What if someone’s still in there? Please,” I beg. “Don’t leave me. Just call the cops from here.”
He studies me for a moment before he nods and wraps his arms around me. He pulls out his phone, and I listen to him dial 911, then tell the person on the phone that my house was broken into. He gives my address, along with his. I hear them tell him that it will be about five minutes before officers show up and that we should wait where we are while they do a walk-through of the house. Then, once it’s clear, they’ll come over and get us.
When Tyler hangs up, I let go of the hold I have on him and take a seat on the couch. I think out loud as I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. “Who would do that? Who would break into my house and write something like that on the wall?”
I don’t get it. I don’t have enemies or an ex who’s crazy enough to do something like that. Heck, until that guy at the bar a few nights ago, I’d never even been in a fight in my life.
“It’s probably just some punk kids fucking around and being stupid.” Tyler sits down next to me. He rubs my back and attempts to comfort me. “Maybe they saw you haven’t been home for a few days and—”
I cut him off as I turn my head to look at him. “They wrote whore on my wall and slashed my couch. You haven’t been home for a few days, either, and they didn’t break in here and destroy your place. I mean, if they’d just trashed my house and stole stuff, I might agree with you about the stupid-kid theory.” I give a short jerk of my head. “But that word on my wall makes it seem personal, like they have something against me. My TV is worth a few hundred dollars at a pawn shop, and they didn’t take it—they broke it.”
“Do you have an idea of who might have done something like that?” he asks gently.
“No,” I deny with another jerky shake of my head. “I don’t know anyone who has anything against me.” I rest my face in my hands once more and try to think of someone I’ve pissed off, but no one comes to mind.
About ten minutes later, there’s a knock on Tyler’s door. Two police officers are standing outside when he answers, and they come inside and ask me a few questions before they escort Tyler and me over to my house.
As we walk through each room, I see that nothing of importance is missing, but everything is in ruins. The little jewelry I own is still in the unopened box on my dresser, but my bedding is in tatters, along with my mattress. Every piece of clothing I own is strewed across the room, pulled from hangers and out of drawers. In my bathroom, drawers are pulled out of their slots, the contents dumped on the floor, and the shower curtain is ripped, hanging by just a few hooks. The kitchen is in the same shape. Dishes are broken, layering the floor, and food from the fridge has been thrown around the room.