One of Those Faces (93)

I stumbled out the door, fumbling with my keys for several minutes before finally locking it behind me.

I surveyed the street before I descended the stairs. It was quiet, but I saw some dark figures in the corner of my eye, walking and laughing together. I blinked, and I was at the train station, swiping my card and rolling through the turnstile, my bag getting stuck before I violently yanked it out.

I closed my eyes on the train. The sharp ding of an elevator woke me. I stepped out onto the ninth floor, staring ahead at 906. I hovered in front of her door, leaning against it and digging in my bag.

What are you doing?

My bag fell to the ground, the keys inside clanging. I picked it up and fished around for my sketchbook. I ripped out a page and grabbed my red colored pencil. I held the paper up to the wall and scrawled, Be careful. Call me. (312) 567-8834.

The message looked so menacing in red. I folded the paper and slid it under the door, almost losing my balance as I straightened. My face grew hot. There was no way she would call me. She would think I was some crazy maniac. And now she had my number. I got to my knees and peered at the door. It was almost airtight, and I couldn’t see the paper through the slight gap underneath. I tried the doorknob.

Locked.

I turned around and surveyed the hallway. There were no security cameras. Once I reached the bottom floor in the elevator, I saw her through the glass door, punching in the building code outside. I stumbled to the mailboxes and turned my back to the elevator. I caught a glimpse of her in the elevator, her heels off like before, but this time her hair was down and curled. The doors shut, and I ran out onto the sidewalk.



My feet had carried me down another unexpected path.

I was suddenly outside the police station, the rain seeping through the hood of my coat and sending a chill down my back. Wilder’s car was parked outside. I looked at my phone.

It was 1:46 a.m.

The lot was mostly empty. I suspected most of the patrol cars were in the gated parking lot behind the station.

I stood there, my eyelids growing heavier with each blink. I wanted to tell him something, but I couldn’t remember what. I spun around and started walking down the road, the sound of a door clanging shut behind me. I made it to the nearest alleyway running under the L before I doubled over and retched onto the pavement, one hand on the side of the building to keep steady.

A hand grabbed my shoulder, and I almost fell, but Wilder pulled me up by my elbow. “What are you doing?” he demanded, holding me up against the wall until I could straighten my legs. His hair was soaking wet, and he was squinting against the rain.

I opened my mouth to answer, but he waved his hand in front of his face. “Never mind, I can guess.” He rolled his eyes and let go of my arms.

I peeled my hood away from my hair. “How did you know I was here?”

He rubbed the water from his face. “There are windows in there—you know that, right?”

I gaped at him.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

I couldn’t focus on his face. “Danny is . . .” The words came out garbled. I rested my head against the wall.

“Go home,” Wilder said and walked away. I felt heavier with each step he took away from me until I sank to the ground with a splash.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


“Okay, get out.”

I started awake in a dark car. I looked directly in front of me out the windshield. I was in front of my apartment. Wilder was in the driver’s seat looking through the opposite window, facing away from me. “How did I get here?” I asked, my voice cracking.

Without a word, he got out of the car and walked around to my door and yanked it open. I grabbed onto his shoulder to keep from falling out, but he leaned away. Raindrops hit my face as he pulled me out of the car by my arm. My knees hit the sidewalk, and I gasped as he guided me, stumbling, up the steps to my door. I reached for my bag, but he already had my keys in his hand. He opened the door and pushed me in over the threshold. I collapsed onto the bed, my clothes dripping.

He came in and closed the door, then turned on the overhead light. “You have a massive self-destructive streak,” he said.

I rolled onto my back and slipped my coat off from only one arm before I gave up.

“What set you off today?” He leaned against the closed door with his arms crossed.

I raised my head to glare at him before letting it fall back onto the bed. “Never mind.”

“What were you doing at the station?” He was standing over me now.

I groaned, remembering the folded note at Jenny’s. “I did something stupid.” Again.

“Why is that my problem?” he asked, echoing my thoughts.

“It’s not.” I tried again to remove the jacket from my other arm by shaking it off.

He scoffed and leaned forward, tugging my arm out of the sleeve. He lingered there, his wet hair grazing my forehead. He slid his hand behind my ear, his fingers digging into my hair. I froze. I couldn’t remember how I’d arrived in front of Jenny’s door. I couldn’t remember getting into Wilder’s car. Or the ride to my street.

“What are you doing?” I asked, letting out the breath I’d been holding.

He wound his fingers tighter around my hair and slowly pulled my head back, exposing my neck.

My chest tightened as he roughly kissed me, the stubble around his mouth burning my lips. I clenched my fist around the blanket underneath me until my knuckles numbed. Fear seeped deep into my gut as he continued, pinning one of my arms down. He bit my lip in his frenzy, the taste of copper tainting my mouth. I pushed my free hand against his chest, but the liquor had made me weak. His fingers fumbled with the button on my jeans.