Page 6 of I'll Be Seeing You
“I’m not hungry. Thank you,” she replied.
“I didn’t ask if you were fucking hungry, Jules.”
“Jules?” she parroted.
“Yeah, those eyes of yours look like sapphires. Besides, Juliet seems too formal for the guy who saved your fucking life.”
She was crying into her pillow. Trying to hide it but I could hear her. “I wanted to die, though,” she whispered.
“And I wanted to be the one to kill ya,” I muttered to myself. “Can’t all get what we want, now can we?”
Obviously, she could hear me just as clearly. Andthathad her full-on sobbing. Which didn’t make sense to fucking me. If she wanted to die so goddamn bad, what did it matter who was the one doing it? I mean, it mattered to me. It was kinda my thing, but why the fuck should it matter to her?
This was exactly why I liked my women quiet. They were a lot easier to deal with when they weren’t talking. When theycouldn’ttalk.
I counted to five in my head, like all the quacks taught me to do—shit didn’t work, by the way.Not when itcame to my “homicidal urges” but the brief pause did keep me from yelling at her again.
“I’m making eggs. Tell me how you prefer 'em done or you’re getting 'em howIprefer 'em done.”
“Scrambled…” she said, and it took everything in my power to not saythank fuck. Trying not to kill someone was worse than pulling teeth, and I’d pulled out plenty of those.
“What else?”
“Thank you?” she said it like it was a question, and I dragged a hand down my face.
“No, Jules. I mean, anything else to eat… or drink. You want coffee or something?” I heard a rustling of the sheets and spun back around to find her trying to swing herself off the bed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
She froze. Her wide eyes dropping to my limp cock, traveling up the lines and grooves of my abs—probably hitching on the occasional tattoo—before landing on the plastic covering my face. “I, ah, I have to go to the store. I didn’t buy more coffee 'cause, well, you know. And I’m almost out of juice.”
I shot out an arm, gesturing to the bed. “Keep your ass right there and give me your phone.” She looked like she was trying to decide if she wanted to question me, and we sure as fuck didn’t have all morning for her to get the courage to do that, so I added, “I’m guessing you got one of those delivery apps. We’ll order you some groceries.”
CHAPTER TEN
HER
My heart stopped the moment I stepped foot in the living room. Actually, I hated when people said that. It wasn’t medically accurate. My heart didn’t stop. It would have been easier if it did. Instead, it skipped a beat. An irregular palpitation that had me feeling like I was both dying and painfully alive as my eyes swept across the fireplace, the coffee table, the movie playing on the tv screen, finally landing on the tiny tree in the corner. The ornaments and the festive knickknacks…
I recognized everything. Every bow, piece of tinsel and garland. I knew where they came from. Just not how they got here. In this room. In front of me. Natalie had bought it all and dropped it off a few months back. A house warming present she said. I had to focus on my breathing to keep from shoving her out the door so I could get the bags out of my sight. But I did good. I waited until she was walking back down the steps to her car before rushing upstairs and tucking everything awayin the attic. And then I did my best to forget about them. To pretend those boxes weren’t there. But now they were all here again. Out in the open.
Twinkling and glowing and flickering at me.
I closed my eyes and blinked a few times but none of it would go away. No matter how much I tried. No matter how much I imagined it all packing itself up and stowing itself back in the farthest corner of the attic.
But when my lashes fluttered open again, I realized my feet were moving. I didn’t remember them doing it. Or how my arms started tearing at the glass ornaments. Ripping them down and sending them flying across the room. I could hear them shatter, though. I could hear the thud of furniture tipping over. The sound of heavy boots stomping my way and the feel of someone’s arms wrapping around me, squeezing tight, pulling me back. And then all the screaming that followed.
It was coming from me too. I knew it was. My throat was on fire, my face hot to the touch, my jaw aching. But I couldn’t stop myself.
“Calm the fuck down!” a deep voice grunted from behind me. Close enough to my ear that I could feel the warmth of his breath even through his Annie mask.
It wasn’t him, though. It wasn’t Robbie. It was the man from my bedroom. The man who promised not to leave—and he hadn’t. He was still here. He was holding me. Dragging me into the kitchen. Sitting me down in the chair and grabbing a broom and a dustpan. And then he was cleaning up my mess.
He was still cleaning it up when the groceries arrived. It didn’t stop him from answering the door in nothingbut a bathrobe or me from watching the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he rolled up the sleeves and dumped everything out on the counter before splitting it between the cupboards and the empty pantry shelves.
I continued to watch him as he began cracking eggs into the hot pan, humming to himself as he added cheese and salsa next.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HIM
