Page 12 of I’ll Find You

“Which way do I go?” he asks, glancing over briefly before easing into the middle lane.

“Left,” I announce, narrowing my eyes at him. If he notices, he doesn’t comment, just nods, moving into the correct lane. I catch his eyes following me in the reflection of the window, watching quietly, missing nothing. I press my fingers against my thigh, trying to keep it together. Our eyes lock, looking at one another through the glass. Inside, the small space thrums with charged energy between us.

“Almost there?” he asks, in a slow, heated drawl.

I swallow before answering, my throat parched, drier than a desert. I manage to give him the rest of the directions as he takes the roundabout past the college, and continues. “Take this next right. It’s that house on the left,” I add, already counting down the seconds until I can get out of this car and breathe again, welcoming the feel of the cold air on my overheating skin. Finally, the house comes into view, and I can’t wait to jump out and get away. Away from him and whatever is happening between us.

“Hey, do you think I can use your bathroom really quick?” he asks, glancing at me as he eases the car into a space along the street that’s one house before mine, where there’s an open spot. “I drank all that coffee, and⁠—”

“Okay, okay.” I lift a hand, cutting him off before he can finish the explanation. He’s already out of the car and rounding the back. “TMI,” I mutter, because I really don’t need the details. I’m already opening the door and grabbing my bag from the floor of the passenger seat. My door opens wider. “Sure, no one’s home anyway. Not a problem.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand start to lift as if he is going to help me out of the car. The realization hits him mid-motion, and he drops his hand fast, shock shadowing his expression. I freeze for half a second, staring. What exactly was he thinking at that moment? He stays rooted to the pavement as I step out and close the door behind me. When I move toward the sidewalk, he finally falls into step beside me. We walk up to my front steps until I remember the front door sticks and always takes forever to open.

“Back door,” I mutter, redirecting us as I lead him around the side of the house instead.

He follows, ducking his head beneath a low-hanging branch brushing the side of the neighboring house. I pull my keys from the side pocket of my bag and fit them into the keyhole, only to find it already unlocked. Weird. Maxwell is usually obsessive about making sure the doors are locked. Pushing aside a flicker of annoyance, I silently chastise my roommates for leaving the door unsecured, careless in the way people who've never feared what hides in the dark often are. I push the door open with barely any resistance and step inside despite the ill-fitting frame. Alex is close behind me, his presence protective and impossible to ignore.

The house is unnaturally still, but not empty. A faint groan reaches us, soft and muffled, coming not from the settling wood of an old house or pipes, but from someone inside. As we step further in, another sound drifts down from the stairwell. A faint thump of music, descending toward us like a melodic warning.

“Sorry. I guess someone is home, but it’s not a problem. I’ll show you to the bathroom upstairs. The half-bath downstairs doesn’t work well, and the landlord is supposed to fix the leak, so the water’s shut off at that tank.”

He nods, but his eyes lift toward the second floor, something unreadable passes across his expression, picking up on something I can’t. He looks at me then with a strange kind of knowing, subtle enough to be mistaken for nothing, but a look unsettling enough to feel like a warning I should listen to. I ignore it and flick my wrist for him to follow.

He snorts. “Okay.” Then follows without another word.

As we approach the stairs, the music grows a little louder with each step toward the landing. Once we reach the top, I’m about to show him where the bathroom is when a sound seeps from underneath a door.

A woman moans. And it’s coming from two doors down—from my boyfriend’s bedroom. My head tilts listening for a familiar voice as ice floods my veins. Alex must feel it, the sudden stillness in me, because he turns, eyes flicking from my face to the closed door. Slowly, he reaches out and rests a hand on my arm. The touch is light, but the effect is immediate. Something in his eyes stops me cold. A desperate plea, urging me not to go. He doesn’t say the words out loud, but they’re there in that one look, asking me not to see what’s on the other side.

“I have to,” I say, answering him without needing to as I step toward the door. My hand trembles as I close it around the knob, but I turn it anyway, pushing the door open in one quick, swift motion. What I see makes my stomach turn, and somehow, at the same time, I want to laugh.

Lucinda, my roommate, is on all fours while Maxwell pounds into her from behind. His stethoscope is wrapped around her neck, pulling her back with a makeshift leash, and she’s wearing nothing but white thigh-high stockings and a cheap nurse’s hat.

There are a lot of things I expect in life. This specific visual definitely isn’t one of them.

“How the fuck does that hat stay on?” Alex asks from behind me, deadpan. My eyes snap toward him in disbelief. His eyes widen instantly as he retreats. Inside the room, Lucinda freezes mid-groan, finally catching onto what is happening as all thrusting has ceased. She screeches, slapping her hand over her breasts, while Maxwell grabs at his pants, pathetically attempting to cover his micropenis with one hand.

“I knew it!” I shout, pointing my finger at Maxwell.

“I’ll be outside waiting,” Alex mutters, hitching his thumb over his shoulder as he spins around. One leg hooks out awkwardly as he disappears from view like someone fleeing a murder scene. Maybe that’s wise.

“What the fuck, Maxwell?”

He throws his hands up in surrender, which only serves to display a wilting, glistening cock. Disgust punches me square in the throat. Words are hard to get out because now we are talking about my health.

“God!” I walk in a circle, my hand atop my head, before I spin back to address him. “Did you seriously not even wear a condom?” I groan, stepping farther into the room despite myself. My eyes land on the stuffed bear on his dresser, where the innocent little thing stares back at me, mocking me with its stitched smile.

“You got it all wrong, baby—” he starts, glancing at Lucinda as she scrambles for her clothes, cheeks flushed and hair a tangled mess. He takes a step toward me. I immediately back away. He winces as if physically pained by the reality of how bad this looks. As if the “how this looks” is the problem here.

I couldn't look at him anymore. I reach for the bear, lifting the little stuffed animal that reminds me of the rabbit waiting at my aunt's house. The one that kept me company on nights when I was lonely or scared. My fingers close around it, memories flooding me hard and fast. Then I remember the nail tip and the pieces of jewelry. The things tucked inside it the other night that I suspect I was never supposed to see.

“I’ve never done anything like this, Rose, I swear. You have to believe me,” he begs, hands hovering helplessly in the air.

“The first time,” I counter, not believing a single word as I run my fingers along the bear, searching for the small seam. The carefully cut hole that used to hide the nail tip and jewelry. But when my fingertips press into the fabric, nothing. Nothing gives, and there is no opening. I frown mid-breath, my words dying in my throat. Maxwell watches me with an expression that’s far too curious for a man with his dick still hanging out.

Did I make it up? Imagine it? Convince myself of something that wasn’t real?

I must have. Tossing the bear onto his desk, I turn and walk out, with my heart hammering and my vision blurring at the edges.