Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I agreed to do the same for Jane.
We’re both just praying they’ll consider moving.
“I have to tell you what happened here,” I explain.
She inhales a sharp breath. “Must you?”
I nod. “You have to know.”
She takes a dainty sip of wine, then places the glass down. “Okay.” She folds her arms on the table. “I’m ready.”
With steaming pasta between me and my girlfriend, I have visions of Lady and the Tramp—but this is a fucked-up version of a Disney movie. Especially with the next words out of my mouth.
“He masturbated on your bed, Jane.” Direct. To-the-point.
She blinks a few times.
I’m more specific. “The police found his semen on your bed.” My muscles are flexed, just seeing her cage breath.
She reaches for her wine, thinks against it, and bends over to the floor. I watch Jane hoist Lady Macbeth, and her childhood black cat curls up on her lap. I realize, pasta is my comfort.
Her cats are hers.
Jane strokes her fur. “I thought…perhaps, the culprit just touched my bed, and that’s why you changed the duvet.”
“I threw away everything: the sheets, the blankets.” I pause. “The mattress is new too.”
She fights a swell of emotion. “Thank you.” Her eyes redden, hand staying still on her cat’s belly.
I want to hold Jane. Cup her cheeks in my hands and tell her that I have her six. That for as long as I live, no one on this earth will touch her with ill intent or hatred or harm.
I can’t.
I can’t give her a false sense of security. And I don’t want her to normalize what stalkers and revolting pricks do. We can avoid them better in a gated location.
“Security called him Sneakers,” I explain. “Because he always wore these dated white-scuffed sneakers whenever he stopped by the house.”
She blows out a short, controlled breath. “Is he a heckler?”
“A fan, or really, a suitor from your grandmother’s newspaper ad.”
“Oh.” Her chin trembles a little and she breathes in, the deepest breath she can.
“He was allowed to walk past the house. As much as he wanted.”
Jane nods.
“He was allowed to park outside the house. It’s public property.” I take a beat. “He was in his mid-forties, almost your dad’s age. And the first time he was caught, he was masturbating in his car outside this townhouse.”
Her lips slowly part. “Oh God…he’s done it before?”
I nod. “A restraining order was filed, which he broke. He’s not the first, second, third, or last fuckbag that I’ve slapped with a restraining order. He won’t be the last man to break into this townhouse either.” I grip her gaze with severity. “I feel safe. You feel safe, but the truth is, you aren’t safe here. Maximoff isn’t safe here. Neither are Luna and Sulli.”
Her blue eyes are glassy with tears that won’t fall.
My words—mine, are pushing Jane to this place, and chewing broken glass would feel better. I continue fast. “I’m not saying any of this to hurt you. I just need you to understand what’s happening and why I can’t protect you here.”
She buries her face in Lady Macbeth’s fur for a moment.
Her silence is a toxin dripping in my veins. I can’t stand it. “Please say something.”
Brushing tears away with the heels of her palms, she glances up. “I have an overactive imagination, you see, and I just keep picturing some gross old man in our room with his cum on our bed…” She perches her elbows on the table, palms covering her face, agonized. “They saw, didn’t they?”
My brows knit, and I shake my head. “Who?”
“The way you were staring at Carpenter.” She lets out a guttural noise that wrenches me to my feet. Lady Macbeth springs off her lap.
“Jane.” I crouch down beside her chair.
“Walrus and Carpenter were in the room with him.” She won’t uncover her face. “I thought he could be worse than a burglar. I thought he could do something as sickening and heinous as what he did—but knowing for certain feels…” She chokes on a sob. “It feels like…my skin is crawling and it will never stop.” Her hands fall, and I kneel and pull her into my chest.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders. I hold the back of her head, and she cries into the crook of my neck.
“It will stop,” I whisper, deeply. “There are places where they can’t reach.”
A minute passes before she lifts her chin, her tearful gaze meeting my hard eyes. “I feel as though…I’m letting them win by moving away. Like they’ve taken my home from me.”
I brush the wet lines off her freckled cheeks. “Back in Scotland, you missed your sister, your parents, your brothers, cousins and your cats.” I take another beat. “A home isn’t a house, Jane. It’s the people you love, and by moving, you’re protecting them and you’re protecting yourself.”