Juuust kidding.
With an effort, I shake the uneasiness away and pack everything neatly, using my time to organize and make a list of things I’m running short on and just generally puttering around.
The calls keep coming on the hour though, so by the time seven rolls around and the phone rings again I’m so edgy I can’t control my temper.
“Listen, asshole, stop fucking calling me! If you’re that gung ho to kill me, just do it already!” I yell, breathing so heavily I feel my stomach contract in a wave of bile-inducing nausea.
I sprint to the bathroom and drop, forgetting the phone and everything else as my stomach heaves and spews forth everything I’ve eaten in the last what feels like months.
It doesn’t stop until I’m wrung out and struggling to keep my face out of the puke-infested water, and I flop to the floor, only remembering the phone when my elbow hits it with a thunk.
“Shit! Hello?”
Dial tone blares into my ear, and I punch the disconnect with a groan, deeply regretting my words when a million pictures of Eric’s capabilities start playing on a never-ending loop that makes me break out in a colder sweat than the puking caused.
Crap. Yelling dares at your stalker is not the brightest idea I’ve ever had, and I know it. Though technically he’s not my stalker anymore, since it’s been months since he’s bothered me.
I stay right there, savoring the feel of the blessedly cool tiles until I feel well enough to roll back to my feet and patter into the kitchen, peering into the fridge with a lackluster effort at convincing myself to eat.
Maybe I should go away somewhere, take a vacation on a tropical island far enough away that I won’t get decent cell reception the whole time. Somewhere sunny, where I can sip cocktails and forget about the stupid men in my life.
I need to, because, honest to God, I think the stress of the wedding and now the phone calls is really starting to get to me. Yeah, I think, grabbing a jar of mixed peanut butter and jelly and a spoon before plopping down on the sofa. I should just drop everything I’m doing right now and treat myself to some sunshine and happy solitude.
Who am I kidding? I don’t want solitude, thanks to the last months spent talking to the walls, myself, and a cat. I want…it doesn’t matter, right now I’ll settle for some distance and a little bought safety from these phone calls and the very real fear that if I don’t do something soon, I’m gonna die.
I am so not scared of that asshole, I assure myself, licking a glob of peanutty goodness off the spoon. I’m just tired. Think of something else.
So wrapped up in a vision of sandy white beaches and nude sunbathing am I that when a loud, insistent pounding booms around me it takes a minute to understand that it’s coming from my own door.
That sends shards of pure terror through me, and I almost laugh at my silly convictions. Who am I kidding? I’m freaking terrified.
Creeping on tip toe to the door and its cleverly conceal peephole, I breathe out a sigh of heartfelt relief and open the door, regretting my stupidity immediately when Vincent grabs hold of me, lifts me into his arms, and kicks the door shut with a resounding bang that reverberates through me.
His eyes are moss green, giving me my first hint that he’s pissed and ready for a fight. The second comes when he lean his head down and kisses me hard enough to rattle our teeth together.
“What the bleedin’ ‘ell is goin’ on?”
Gone is the cultured elegance of his accent as he practically shakes my brain from its moorings and glares down at me heatedly.
“What?”
“I said, what the hell is going on?” he roars at me, breathing heavily, though he’s recovered enough to enunciate every word with a crisp bite of fury. “Who were you screaming at on the phone? Are you sick?”
No, just terminally stupid enough to be ecstatically happy to see you again. And why the hell can’t I seem to stop the fizzing in my blood just because you’re here?
It’s ludicrous to be this happy suddenly, really it is, but as he pushes me away and starts that infernal pacing of his I feel so giddy I can hardly draw a decent breath.
“No, I—it was nothing. Just a crank caller that got me a little worked up is all. It was silly. No one can get in here without—wait, how did you get up here?”
His snide remark makes my cheeks burn, and yes, I feel more than a tiny kernel of fear to know that he’d simply walked straight into the building and gotten to my door with nothing more than a sneer in the doorman’s direction.
Shit.
“You’re coming home with me right this minute. No. Do not argue with me right now. I’m in a decidedly violent mood after listening to your fear and the resultant sickness. Go pack a bloody bag before I call your parents!”