One of Those Faces (69)

The bed creaked when Iann slid under the covers next to me. I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t want to talk about where I’d been.

His body wrapped around mine, hotter than usual, as if steam were emanating from him. With heavy fingers, he pulled my hair away from my neck. He slid closer to me, his breath sour and his hands resting on the skin on my stomach as I lay on my side.

In that warmth, I fell back into a deep sleep.



I walk barefoot through tall green grass in the dark cemetery. I pass among the worn gravestones and mausoleums, my hand touching each cold one as I walk by.

The next one is completely covered by tall grass, vines strangling the granite. I kneel on the ground and violently pull away at the vines and rip the grass from its roots until my fingers are bloodied and covered in dirt. I look up at the stone and touch the engraved letters, blood staining the stone.

Harper Anne Mallen.

I knock on the stone.



The sound rattled me awake.

It was still dark. I jumped from the covers and looked through the peephole. Iann stood there, illuminated by the glow of his phone screen.

I turned the lock and opened the door.

“Oh, I was just about to call you,” he said when he saw me. “You didn’t answer when I knocked the first time.”

I blinked and opened the door for him to come in.

“Were you asleep already?” he asked, pulling the lamp cord, light flooding the apartment again.

I closed the door, my head swimming from the dream. “You didn’t let yourself in earlier?” I asked, hoarsely. A chill ran down my spine.

Who had been in bed beside me?

Maybe it was just the pill. Maybe I’d been dreaming.

He took his jacket off. He smelled like gin. “No, the dead bolt was locked. I didn’t think you would be asleep already. You must be really tired.”

I sank back into the bed, narrowing my eyes against the light. “You smell like liquor.”

“Oh, yeah. One of the waiters spilled a drink on me,” he said. He turned off the light and lay on the bed next to me, his bare chest warm against my back. No, the smell was on his breath. We were both liars.

I turned around to face him and put my arm around his waist. “Do you think I’m too messed up?” It was a question that had been lingering unspoken between us, but sleep had removed my filter and laid all my issues bare.

With his eyes still closed, he pulled me into his chest. “Yes, but that’s why I love you.” Apparently, he’d lost his filter too.

My body tensed under his hands. I didn’t know if I loved him. I didn’t know if I could love anyone. Those words sat on a shelf in the dark somewhere deep inside me, covered in cobwebs and tethered together with rust.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


I hadn’t been able to fall asleep again. I lay awake until dawn, thinking about what Iann had said. How could he love me if there was so much he didn’t know?

When he woke up, I pretended like I was waking too. “Good morning,” I said, stretching.

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Hey.” He leaned in and kissed me. “Sorry I woke you up last night.”

As the night had worn on, I’d grown more convinced I’d dreamed of Iann—or someone—beside me before he’d actually arrived. “No, it’s fine. I didn’t realize I locked the dead bolt.”

He rolled to the other side of the bed and got up. “What time is it? I have a class at ten.”

I sat up and reached for my phone. “9:23,” I said.

He felt around for his shirt from the night before. “Okay, I’ve got to get ready,” he mumbled, before disappearing into the bathroom.

I put my phone back on the nightstand. That was when I noticed the note lying beside it. I picked it up. It was a notice from Bug about rent for the month.

Iann came out minutes later, quickly rubbing a towel through his hair.

“Did you bring this in last night?” I held the note up.

He looked at it from across the room. “I don’t think so,” he said. “But I don’t remember. I had a couple of pretty strong drinks last night. Mike wanted to come up with a new signature drink, and I was his guinea pig.”

I scanned the paper again.

“What does it say?” He started buttoning his shirt all the way to the collar.

“It’s about rent. I need to pay Bug.” I set it down. Luckily, I had enough cash lying around.

Iann grabbed his keys from the nightstand. “Okay, I’ve got to head out. I’ll call you.”



As usual, I waited until the last minute to drop off the money for Bug. I had carried the envelope full of crumpled dollar bills with me all afternoon while hopping coffee shops, trying to finish a commission. I pulled it from my bag as I rounded the corner of the street and my building came into view.

I crept to his unlit door. As I slid the envelope with cash through the crack of the door above the handle, it creaked open, the envelope falling to the ground. I stooped to pick it up, and the door opened wider from a gust of wind behind me. I straightened and observed the cracks above the doorframe, probably the reason why it wouldn’t stay shut.

I softly pushed the door. “Hello?” I called in. The stench of stagnant water and garbage overwhelmed me. Everything in my body screamed for me to leave. But something outside of myself prodded me over the threshold into the dank unit, the only light coming from a computer in the far corner of the room. I set the envelope on the cluttered kitchen counter, careful not to touch anything on it. It smelled of rotting food.