59. Chapter 57
Emery
I check the time on my phone, nerves twisting in my gut. Four fifty-seven.
This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.
Seriously fucking stupid.
Like, why? Do I really need to get my sketchpad back? So what if it is the only record of my life that I have access to? I’m moving forward with my new life now. The past is in the past.
I glance at the emergency stop button on the elevator panel.
The bright red button. Just sitting there. Innocently. Like it’s never been pushed a day in its life.
I could press the button for the lobby and go straight back down, then go to the mall. There’s still time.
The elevator pings, the doors open to the nineteenth floor, and I stare down the long-ass hallway until they start to shut before jolting into action and squeezing through the gap. Which is stupid because, as soon as the doors sense someone is there, they just reopen anyway.
With a heart hammering hard enough to break concrete, I head down the hallway, my sneakers barely making any noise on the carpeted floor. Every noise from the apartments that I pass makes the tension inside of me tighten.
Logically, I know I’m not going to get caught.
They have no reason to be here. They told me they don’t usually bring people back to their apartment, so why would they be in the apartment, alone, on a Friday night? And besides, they should still all be on campus—well, except for Xavier. I’m safe.
Besides Derek collecting my things while I was in the hospital, I was the last person to actually stay in the apartment.
And given that fact that he hasn’t updated me on the whereabouts of my art supplies, I think it can be reasonably assumed that he never came to check the apartment.
Which means, I need to be the one to do the checking.
I’ll get in, get my stuff, and get out.
And then I can go back to my regular form of therapy and sketch the icky feeling of today away.
Waking up alone was just the start of what turned out to be an incredibly long day. Xavier’s note and the gift from Hudson took the edge off a little, but my skin has felt uncomfortably tight, like it doesn’t quite belong to me, all day.
Having to sit through classes after my interrupted sleep was only marginally improved by the fact that I was brace-free. Being able to type with both hands properly is a luxury I will never take for granted again. Let alone all the other everyday tasks, like showering, cooking, eating.
The only kind of interesting part of my day was when Will brought up the Barbie party tomorrow night.
We’d been texting on and off all morning around his training and our classes.
Our conversations are much easier now, less strained.
Which is good. Because tomorrow night, I think I might, potentially, hook up with him. Maybe.
I’m not settled on it yet. But, yeah, parties are where people go to do that sort of thing, and I know he’s interested in me like that. If I surround myself with other people hooking up, I’m hoping their vibes will rub off on me, and I’ll be able to hook up with Will.
I just need to know if I can. I know I can with Xavier, but I’m scared that maybe I’m reaching for something from before, instead of moving on with my life. Will could be my future. And I just need to know, one way or another.
And with Xavier being gone for the entire weekend, I’m going to be able to have some clarity in my life, especially when it comes to being with Will. I can put everything daddy related in a box for one night and try to be a regular college student, going to a party with a guy who likes her.
Then I’ll have the information I need to make decisions about my life.
Before I’m ready, I’m confronted by the apartment door.
I stand there, not raising my hand to swipe the card against the security panel. Nope. I just stare at the numbers above the peephole.
Nineteen twenty-one.
Just thinking about the weekends I spent here, waiting for them to show up, like a desperate and forgotten puppy, makes me twitch with secondhand embarrassment. What the fuck was I thinking? Seriously.
They were never going to come for me.
My heart pangs heavily in my chest at the memories. Fuck.
I raise the card and swipe, ignoring the slight tremble, and for one heartstopping moment, I think it won’t flash green. When it does, I let out a heavy breath and swallow over the lump that has formed in my throat.
Slowly, I open the door, and when nothing but darkness greets me, I push through it with the confidence that no one is inside. Flicking the light switch as I pass, the apartment lights up, and I confirm that I’m alone.
Not wanting to waste time with putting my things down, I stride straight over to the couch.
Except, my art supplies aren’t there.
I move the cushions around, but still nothing.
Frowning, I stare at the dark leather like it’ll tell me what happened to my things.
They should be right here.
Maybe on one of the entertainment unit shelves? Or in the drawers?
I walk over to the TV and start checking the shelves and drawers. While they aren’t empty, none of my things are in them.
Standing, I turn to face the apartment, running my gaze over everything. I don’t get far in my scan, pausing on the kinky furniture directly in front of me.
It’s been moved around.
The spanking bench is up against the wall, and the cross that Xavier restrained me to is now in the middle of the open space. I dart a quick look over at Darcy’s rainbow wall and see that the majority of the ropes are missing. Only a few stripes of black and blue remain.
Okay, so, yeah, they have been here. Definitely Derek to collect my things, I know that much.
And Darcy must be using his actual ropes on me, so it makes sense they are missing.
As for the furniture being moved around, maybe they were cleaning?
Or just doing the thing people do when they reorganize furniture to create a new look or something.
Nodding to myself, I figure I’ll try the bedroom in case I’m misremembering where I left my supplies. The last rays of natural light are filtering in through the open window and landing on the brand-new light-purple duvet. What happened to the pink and white cover?
And right there, on my pillow, is a teddy bear I’ve never seen before. Light pink fluff and satin paws, with a satin ribbon. It is cute as fuck. But what is it doing here?
Forcing my gaze away from the bear, I scan the rest of the room and check the dresser drawers, but still no sketch pad and graphite set.
There is zero chance it’s in the wardrobe or the bathroom, but I have to check, otherwise my brain will demand another sneaky visit to make sure.
Where I expect the wardrobe to be completely empty, like it has been every other Friday I’ve come to the apartment alone, it’s not.
There are several of those fancy bags that high-end stores put their dresses in hanging where I normally put my things.
And there are strappy heels and sandals on the floor beneath them.
Unease lines my stomach and the trembling from the hallway returns.
Swallowing, I turn to check the bathroom but don’t even need to step in before I see the vanity lined with all things feminine.
Makeup and brushes. Perfumes. Creams and lotions. And a million other things I can’t focus on because my vision is getting blurry. There is a heavy pounding in my head, and I try to focus, but all I can see are the new things where my things usually go.
What the hell is going on? Why is all this stuff here?
When I first came to the apartment, there had been nothing. It was bare. They said they rarely ever brought anyone to the apartment. But clearly someone is staying here now.
I think I even remember one of them saying something about waiting for the right baby girl to help them fill all the empty space.
Have they found the right baby girl?
Is she one of the women from the club?
Someone not a student at their place of work?
Have I been replaced?
Not with Xavier. He’s never left me. But the others…they’ve been keeping their distance. I assumed it was because I’d asked that of them, but what if…
My brain stutters over my thoughts.
I can’t be here anymore.
I scramble to get out of the bedroom, bumping my thigh against the foot of the bed before I dash back toward the front door, ignoring the sharp flare of pain.
But as I pass the kitchen, my gaze snags on a black box sitting on the counter, and as much as I know I really shouldn’t fucking look inside, I can’t help myself.
It’s not very big, square and maybe the size of a dinner plate, and only an inch or two high. With blurred vision, I carefully lift the lid, then muffle my sob with the back of my hand.
A collar.
A beautiful, black leather collar, with rose gold fastenings and a light pink fabric lining the inside.
Carefully, I run a finger along the edge, feeling the softness of the fabric until I reach the center where there are four heart-shaped rose gold tags.
With trembling fingers, I pick up the tags to see what has been inscribed, but they are blank. There is nothing on them.
A small part of me hoped to see my nicknames on the tags. Something to reassure me that I haven’t been replaced. But no, these are blank, ready for the nicknames of the woman who owns the clothes and bathroom products.
I straighten, struggling to breathe as I find my way to the exit, hitting the light switch as I go. As the door slams behind me, the sob I’ve been holding in escapes.
This was so not worth looking for my sketch pad.