Page 102 of Watched

Ever since we left Mrs Parker’s this morning, he’s been wound up. He was incredibly short when I voiced my reluctance to this idea.

I peer out the French style doors at the end of the hall that must overlook the backyard while he opens a door on the right. I follow into the room, refraining from raising my hand to shelter my eyes. “Why is everything white?”

He drops my bags at the foot of his bed. “I think you know why.”

Trousers, a shirt, or a cap—I’ve noticed he’s always worn some item of white clothing ever since he forced me into that room and made me spew facts about myself. His obsession with me has reached a dangerous level. I’d gone into the bathroom to shower after practising with Isla, and he followed. He didn’t shower with me; he just sat on the vanity, watching. I went to go downstairs for a glass of water afterward, and he followed, asking where I was going and what I was doing.

I startle when he takes my hand, pulling back toward the banister and right to the end of the hall, the sticky red liquid coating his palm tainting my skin.

He did it for me. He was helping me.

At the beginning, I was forcing away the thought of him, and then I subconsciously forced away every question I had that first night. Every single one is muddling my mind as we step into what looks like an art studio.

My sister is healing from the expanse of bruises covering her body, my father is currently awaiting a bail hearing, Connor exposed the part of me I’ve kept hidden all my life, and Rain Weston killed him. So many events have unfolded within the past week, and the shimmering light on the surface is becoming a distant relief I feel I’ll never reach.

Rain releases my hand and moves across the room to four easels covered by beige sheets. “This is what I do each night,” he admits softly.

His hand curls in the sheet, and the material falls away to reveal a black and white painting of my window from the view of the empty lot behind my house. My naked silhouette stands behind the sheer curtain.

He removes the next two to reveal my left and right eye, and I’d never realised the hazel surrounding my left pupil expands further than the right. My heart clenches as I take in the last painting. Me, lying face down in nothing but underwear, my right arm hooked under the pillow, the left laying haphazardly on the creased white sheet. It’s as though he purposely chose to keep my left arm out so he could recreate my tattoos. The left side of my face is in view, and I’m smiling. No, grinning. My eyes are closed, creased with smile lines, my cheek dimpled.

I look at Rain standing proudly beside his work, but before I can speak, a creak near the door catches my attention. Blade leans against the doorframe, shirtless. I’ve only seen him with a jacket on, and I knew he was larger than Rain. Gory tattoos of guns, skulls, the grim reaper, and bleeding, demonic-looking creatures litter his arms, chest, and torso.

“Ethical question.” A cold smile curls his lips. “Is not telling the whole truth the same as lying?” Rain’s breaths turn heavy behind me, and Blade’s cold eyes meet mine. “What’s your take, pretty boy?”

“The fuck did you just call him?” Rain shouts.

“I already know your answer, brother. It’s no.”

I turn to face Rain. “What is he talking about?”

“Typical,” Rain scoffs at Blade. “You want to fuck up lives just because you’re bored. Go find someone else to be the victim of your torment.”

“I’m not the only one who makes victims out of another. Alexa was in a hospital bed for three days because of you.”

She tried to commit suicide because of Rain?

“Is that why you went back to LA for her?” I direct my question to Rain. “Because you’re the reason for it?”

His expression etches with pain as he finally looks at me. “Indirectly, baby.”

“What does that mean, Rain?”

“He’s not as smart as he thinks he is,” Blade answers.

“She took the pills,” Rain argues. “I didn’t make her do that.”

“They went after her.” Blade’s tone twists to a chilling calm. “And I’ve waited long enough for you to make your move.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You aren’t doing shit.”

I step back as Blade steps into the room, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black trousers.

“I’ve been doing my job and yours while you had your vacation in a jail cell and ignored my calls for the past twenty-four hours. You ran back to pretty boy the second we left that apartment last night.”

Blade helped kill Connor?