Page 75 of Shamed
My breaths increase, chest tightening, skin feeling itchy. Prickles spreading.
Too nice. Too close. Too personal.
“Have you talked to anyone about this?”
I almost want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Talking to someone would mean getting help. Getting help would mean making things easier. Making things easier would mean I’m okay with Jacob being in prison. And I’mnot.
“No. It’s . . . complicated.” I finally pull my hand from his grip and tug the sleeve down.
His dark eyes bore into me, waiting for me, waiting for answers. But I can’t give them. Ican’t.
He so badly wants to ask more, but as if hearing my thoughts, he pushes to his feet, slowly nodding to himself. “All right. Well . . .” He glances at his watch, his lips flattening, before looking back at me. “I have to get to work.” It looks like he’s torn, like he’s not ready to leave just yet. “I’m sorry I took your key, but I didn’t want to leave your door unlocked. I hope the food helps.” After a few steps, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re off tonight, right?”
Did I tell him that, or does he just know my schedule now? “Yeah. I am.”
After a lingering look that conveys all the words he doesn’t say, he continues out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jennifer
Iwake with a start, my eyes blinking several times to take in my surroundings.
My apartment. It’s still somewhat light out, though it’s fading into night.
I drop back to the cushion, my eyes drifting shut again.
After Mase left earlier, I finished all the food, drank my tea, then laid on the couch, scrolling on my phone until I dozed off.
I should get up and get groceries, maybe tidy up my apartment, do laundry, make some more cookies, anything other than lay around wasting away more of the day than I already have.
A loud knock on the door startles me again.
Was that what woke me in the first place?
I spring up from the couch a little too quickly, taking a second to adjust to being upright, then go check the front door for the second time today.
After looking through the peephole, I swing the door open. “Hey, Clint. What, ah . . .what can I do for you?”
He stands there with his arms folded, dressed in his standardBudz!T-shirt over a long-sleeved shirt, faded baggy jeans, and blue beanie pulled over his messy blond hair. He rarely wears a winter jacket, even in the colder months.
Looking past my shoulder, he shakes his head, mumbling something while rubbing at his perpetual stubble. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a fucking leak?”
Surprised, I follow his line of sight. “Oh, I . . . I didn’t want to bother you. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal? Your fucking boyfriend came downstairs and blasted me for not fixing it already.”
“What?”
Boyfriend?
“I don’t—” I cut myself off.
Oh god.Mase.
He went and talked tomylandlord aboutmyproblem when it has nothing to do with him. My blood rushes through my veins while rising in temperature.
