Page 45 of Aftershock
But when?
Years ago. When she was much younger. So young that I can’t remember her.
I mean to continue digging into who Lilith is, but a strange feeling pulls me out of my head.
When I turn onto the block lined end-to-end with coffee shops and bars, the hair on the back of my neck rises. Someone’s gaze burns between my shoulder blades as I pass storefront after storefront, each one advertising pumpkin spice drinks with Halloween decorations strung everywhere.
I’m being followed. It’s the same unseen presence I’ve felt shadowing me through the hospital for the past week.
I just know it.
There’s no shaking it off anymore. No attributing it to exhaustion.
I.
Feel.
It.
So…my missing boxers.
What if I haven’t been wrong about them? What if they were stolen?
Anger presses against my ribs, doubling in size by the second.
Refusing to be either stalked or intimidated, I stop in my tracks. Whip around.
A blonde woman and I almost crash into each other. At the last second, she mutters, “Ugh, watch your step,” then sidesteps me.
Neither she nor the others behind her lingers as they walk around me. None of them gives a fuck about anything except getting to where they’re headed.
Scowling, I glance into the nearest coffee shop. The people there are either waiting in line for their drinks or sitting at a table or on a stool, absorbed in their phones, laptops, or books.
No one sneaks a glance toward the door or looks over their shoulder to see if I’m still outside.
My lips press into a fine line as I’m back to studying the street.
More of the same. Strangers on top of strangers.
I blink when I notice the heavy weight of being watched is almost gone.
But as soon as I turn around and start heading home again, the heat at my back returns in full force as if it never left.
Shaking my head, I steer my thoughts to Lilith.
How, instead of going through with kidnapping Harold, I’m going to lock myself in my apartment tonight and jerk off with her in mind, again.
Naked, begging, whimpering.
That’s how I want her.
But that’s not all.
I need more than her body. I need her honesty too. I’m craving every truth about her, including who hurt her.
And just like that, in a complete one-eighty, my mood shifts, going from horny to protective.
I’ve already deduced from her nose, tooth, and sad eyes that she was abused.
