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“N-no, sir,” I say, rolling my eyes. “That you don’t.”
I can almost see his sour expression as he says, “Then what are you waiting for? Stop the gum flapping and get back to work, or it’s coming out of your paycheck.”
Blake chuckles as I heave a dramatic sigh. I give him his receipt and try not to let my boss’s choleric attitude put me in a bad mood. “Thanks for coming in.”
“No problem,” he says, giving me a wave as he heads for the exit. “I’ll see you around.”
I watch him go. I can’t help but wonder what he meant by that. Is he trying to say that he’ll see me again soon? Or is he just being polite? I know we’re neighbors, but … I shake my head; I’m probably just reading too much into it.
But honestly, I can’t help but feel a little excited at the prospect of seeing him more often.
“Oh, he’s cute.”
I look up to see Jen staring at me with an amused grin, her hand on her hip. “It’s not what you think,” I say, trying to diffuse any smart idea in her head. “We’re just neighbors, that’s all.”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
She doesn’t sound convinced, not one bit.
I go back to work, but I can’t help but think about Blake. I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him, but I’m also scared. Scared of getting hurt, of getting my heart broken. But I’m also scared of missing out on something great.
As long as the past stays buried at all costs.
Chapter
Five
HIM
“Fuck you, Damon. You’re a fucking monster! Go to?—”
She screams as my knife sinks into her flesh. I grasp her chin, making sure that she can’t look away as I grant her the end that she so desires. I withdraw the blade and impale her stomach. She cries out in agony, ragged sobs racking her body.
“You’ll never get away with this,” she manages between wails of pain.
I swipe the pad of my thumb across her bottom lip in hollow affection and lean closer. “I already have.” I stab her over and over again, as many times as it takes for Bunny to lose consciousness.
Now to set the scene, stage the body.
I gather her into my arms and carry her up the stairs. Kicking open the door to the bathroom, I deposit her in the tub before going to search her bedroom. She’s been much more organized since being prescribed those pills, but such a shame they didn’t save her from thedark thoughtsin her head.
I find what I’m looking for in the depths of her bag: her journal. As I flip through it, I come across her old suicide note—the one she wrote when she failed to go through with it earlier this year. I tear out the page and proceed to the next step.
This might just be my most creative scene yet.
“Hello?”
I blink a few times, trying to focus on the hand waving in front of my face.
“Hello?” the voice repeats. “Earth to Blake!”
When I finally lift my gaze, I’m met with the furrowed brow of my co-worker, David Jung. Originally from California, he’s a part-time musician whose parents disowned him after he majored in writing instead of law.
“Sorry,” I say. “I was just … thinking.”
“About what?” he pries, eyes alight with curiosity from behind his black square-framed glasses.
I shrug, resisting the urge to smirk at my littledaydream. “Nothing important,” I reply, returning to my work.
