Page 132 of To Have and to Stalk
The weekend passed without word from Calder. When I woke up Monday, I felt it in my bones. My limbs were heavier, weighed down by sandbags. A flare-up was coming.
There was a knock on my doorframe, and I glanced up, finding Lithie leaning against the jamb.
“Are you okay?” Before I could answer, she asked, “Is it because we interrogated you? Were we too rough?”
I shook my head. “No. No, I’m fine.”
I wasn’t fine, but I didn’t know if it was because of my body or the boy.
This isn’t casual to me, Shay. It never was.
Was that a…breakup?
It had to be a breakup, right? But thenwhywould he say that?
“I’m texting Olly,” she said, pulling out her phone. “You’re not going to work.”
I sat up. “I’mfine.”
Her gaze remained glued to her phone. “It’s done. They’ll let Jenna know you’re taking the day off.”
I spun around, kicking my legs off the side of the bed. “I’m going?—”
“For a sick person, younevertake sick days,” she said. “You hold yourself to an impossibly high standard, Shay. No one, not even ‘healthy’”—she raised her fingers in air quotes—“people have such a high standard.”
I gripped the edge of the mattress, pausing at the pleading tone in her voice.
“Just take the day off,” she pressed. “Please.”
“Fine,” I said. “But only because I have nothing pressing to do.”
She raised her hand in surrender, and I settled back into bed.
“Text me if you need anything,” she said.
“Aren’t you going to the prison?”
She arched a brow. “And?Text me.”
After pinkie promising to message Lithie if I needed something—even if it was just a glass of water—she left.
I lay in bed, watching the shadows change on my ceiling from morning to afternoon. And in bed, with no distractions, all I could think about was Calder. He hadn’t messaged me or reached out.
This wasexactlywhat I was trying to avoid. Why this was supposed to be casual.
“Fuck.” I spun to my stomach and groaned into my pillow.
At least there was nothing I needed to do at work?—
The Astro.
It was due tonight.
I rolled over in bed, checking the time on the clock. Ten p.m. I had two hours before the deadline.
You deserve to dream just as much as the next person. Maybe more.
“Fuck this.” I sat up, ignoring the way my bones creaked, and got dressed. On my way out, I quickly downed some caffeine that I would pay triple for later, and drove to work.
