Page 125 of Shamed
I park, then ride the elevator up, pacing the small space while my hands clench and unclench.
Something is fucking wrong. I can feel it.
I notice the silence, the darkness, the feeling of emptiness as soon as I walk through the door of my apartment.
“Jayne?”
I quickly sweep my gaze over the living room and kitchen, then stalk down the hallway.
Her bedroom—or rather, the guest bedroom—is the first place I check.
“Jayne?” I knock on the half-closed door, then switch the light on and scan the room. Empty.
For the briefest second, my foolish heart settles, because if she’s not in this room, then there’s a chance she’s asleep in my bed.
But I know before I’ve even turned on my light that she’s not in there.
I stand in my doorway, staring at my empty bed with growing dread.
Where would she have gone?
On my way back out to the living room, I pop my head into the bathroom, just in case she’s sitting in the dark, then endup doing a double-take when I notice her stuff is gone from the counter.
My chest grows tight as I step inside, yanking open the drawers and not finding anything of hers in them, either.
I rush out of there and return to the guest bedroom to look around properly, searching for her stuff, her clothes, her bags.
All of her belongings are gone. Every last shred.
No.
Gripping a fistful of hair, I spin once, my gaze swinging around the room, heart thudding.
Why the fuck did she leave?
It’s not like she officially lives here. Iknowthat.
But things have been going well between us . . . at least, I thought they were.
But haven’t I been sensing something’s been off with her for a couple of weeks now?
Or was this triggered because I asked her to come to my mom’s place with me for Christmas?
Maybe she’s finally realized that she doesn’t want someone like me?
Teeth gritted, I sit on the edge of the bed.
I should have expected something like this. Friends, family, it doesn’t matter. Anybody I care about, besides my mom, doesn’t want anything to do with me once they know.
I stare blankly at the floor, remembering our time together.
No, that’s not who she is. She stuck around after finding out. She sought me out, showing me with every touch that she doesn’t have the same view of me as I do.
But, if it’s nothing to do with me . . . then maybe it’s whatever she’s been keeping from me.
Maybe it’s time to demand the answers to those questions I’ve been sitting on this whole time.
There’s only one way to know for sure why she left.
