Blind Date(53)

Talk about resentment. I'm not in the mood for this, and I'm certainly not in the mood to lose my job, so I turn on my heel and walk off.

Then I avoid her for the rest of the night.

Honestly. I can't take much more.

When my shift is over, I pack my things, ignoring Rebecca's glares in my general direction, and head out and over to the police car. Jayme asked me what was going on, and I simply told her he was a friend, though I know she didn't believe me. I was hardly going to tell her I might have a serial killer looking for me and she should be concerned. I'd lose my job. And right now I need it-with my school and bills, I couldn't be without work.

I greet the officer as I climb in, and stay silent the entire ride home, wondering what the hell crawled up Rebecca's ass and died. I know she doesn't like me, but honestly, to be angry because she thinks I'm getting special treatment because I lost my husband is unfair. I'm not getting special treatment, I work just as hard as anyone in that place. Jayme runs a tight ship, and yes she likes me, but she'd never let me slack off.

I wonder what Rebecca's problem is.

When we arrive at my apartment, the officer says, "I'll just check the house."

I nod and unlock the door, letting him in. He strides into the living room, eyes scanning. I step in behind him, but stop and look down. There is a slip of paper underneath my door. That cold feeling washes over my body as I lean down and pick it up. I flip it open and my body goes completely numb. The handwriting, I could swear, was my husband's. The perfect strokes, the way the letters curl instead of end sharply.

My hands shake as I read the words.

I don't like you being alone tonight. Make sure you lock those doors.



Love, R x

I wince and scrunch the letter in my hand, trying to fight back my tears. The officer on duty comes out, not looking at me as he says, "It's all clear, there is no one here. I'll be waiting outside the door until Ace finishes his shift. Will that be all?"

I should tell him about the note I have crushed in my hand, but if I open my mouth right now I'm going to lose it. I just know it. So I give him a nod, and somehow force my lips to spread into a weak, pathetic smile. He doesn't seem to notice anything is wrong, and gives me a nod before stepping outside the door. I lock it behind him, and then the tears come. They roll down my cheeks and I sink to my knees, silently sobbing.

Why me?

Why won't this man leave me the hell alone?

Why is he torturing me?

I crawl down the hall, the letter still stuffed in my hand. I drop it at some point, and through my hysterical crying manage to reach my shower and strip off, crawling in and turning it on as hot as I can stand it. Then I bring my knees up to my chest, and I lose it. I absolutely lose it. I'm terrified. The ache in my chest just won't leave. It doesn't matter what I do, I can't get rid of it. It hangs around, tormenting me, constantly reminding me that I'm in serious danger.


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It's the thought that this killer might just get hold of me that has the hysterical crying turning into pants. Short, harsh pants. It doesn't matter how many police officers are by my side, there is still a small window of opportunity for this man to slip in. And if he does, if he gets hold of me, he could end my life. The very thought of my life hanging so heavily under threat, terrifies me.

People are right when they say you think of everything you should be doing when something happens that could threaten your very existence. I've been holding back for the last four years, mourning for Raymond, but I should have been living. Hell, he'd want me to live. He would want me to be out there, enjoying life, traveling-hell, even falling in love. But I've kept it all at arm's length, terrified to live again, terrified to hurt again.

Now I may not get any of that.

My head drops into my arms and I cry so hard my body shakes. I'm making so many ugly sounds, I don't hear the shower door open, I don't realize anyone is in my bathroom until two solid arms come around me, and I'm being scooped up. A startled scream escapes my throat, followed by more hysterical sobs. "Hush," he murmurs. "It's me."

Ace?

He carries me out of the shower, jerking a towel off the railing as he goes. He wraps it around me, as best he can, and then sits us down on the bed, me nestled in his lap, his big thighs encasing my bottom, his arms wrapped around my body, securing me in, and his chest pressing against me, making me feel safe. I turn and nuzzle into him, pressing my cheek against his pec and sobbing. I can't stop it. I don't even think I should.

I'm so afraid.

Ace doesn't say anything, he just holds onto me as I break in his arms. Occasionally his fingers run down my hair, or stroke over my shoulder. I tremble and sob, clutching onto him for dear life, not wanting him to let go, because right now, he's the only person who makes me feel safe. After a good twenty minutes of crying, my tears slowly start to subside, and I start the hiccupping every few seconds, as my body tries to calm itself.