Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
Bree
I left my bags at the door as soon as I got home, my mind still whirling and tossing jumbled thoughts around my head like a tornado. There's the feeling that I've lost something—and so easily, which makes me wonder what I had at all. But I don't entertain that thought for long. The depth of what I felt when I was in his arms… there's no mistaking that.
Then my mind snaps to what could have possibly happened, but the possibilities are endless. And I torture myself with as many as I can. Did he find out something unsavory about me? I haven't done anything weird or wrong, though. Did he have to rush home to another girl he's seeing? Even if he's called me his, it's not like we've talked about exclusivity. Or is he mixed up in some shady shit? Did a deal go wrong?
Whatever it is, the fact that he's hiding it from me cuts deep. I'm not as close to him as I thought I was getting, and why would I think we were getting close at all?
I'm getting upset about being reminded that I'm only his fuck buddy.
But all of that is a distraction from the real source of anguish, anxiety—the restlessness in my heart.
No matter how I think about it, there's no way Sam should know about my Christmas plans with my family. Not unless…
Not unless he's spying on my Companion data.
I can't even think about it without my heart rate spiking. This is what's keeping me up right now, even though I've been in bed since I got home hours ago. Because I don't know where to go from here. If true, that kind of violation is bigger than me and my hurt feelings. How could I not expose him? How could I even keep seeing him?
All the consequences that would surely have to follow, they are what's assaulting me, keeping sleep far away from me.
Wouldn't this privacy violation shed light on why everything with Sam has felt like a dream? It all felt so perfect, so coincidental. When he met me in the park, did he know I'd be there?
Fuck, of course! I schedule my morning jogs, and Companion tracks my location. It would have been easy for him to encounter me again. He has immediate access to my routine. And when I submitted my last article last week, just before he took me out to celebrate, I checked the project off of my Task List in Companion.
But wait, more than that.
I sit up straight in bed with a gasp, my heart pounding so hard that it hurts.
He took me to that fancy steakhouse to celebrate finishing the article, and I remember gushing to him about how my family has always celebrated at steakhouses. And since I got Companion, I've been putting those celebratory dinners in my calendar or my Task List.
But that was way before I met Sam.
I look around my room fearfully, suddenly feeling too exposed, feeling unsafe.
What the fuck is going on?
I was so impressed about what a coincidence that was, that he was taking me to a steakhouse to celebrate, and I felt so at home. But was that planned from the start?
And why me? How far does this go back?
I shake my head and cover my face. No, no I don't want that to be true. There has to be some explanation. It feels like my world is crashing all around me. I can't take this, there has to be something else going on.
What if I'm overreacting?
The thought is like a light in the dark, but it's possible.
What if Sam just mentioned the family dinner in a general sense? Most people spend the holidays with their family. I've hardly heard him mention his, and there are no pictures of them at his loft, penthouse, or beach house. But I've mentioned my family.
That could explain the contempt. He could have been throwing it in my face that I probably already have plans with them.
But as much as I want that to be true, that excuse doesn't really hold water. It doesn't explain how he was so sure. He didn't say "probably" or "maybe." He told me to remember.
He knew what he was talking about.
I flop back onto bed, pulling my pillow to my face. I feel the tears coming, making my throat tight as I try to hold them back. I feel so violated, so scared. What does he want with me? Does he even want anything from me anymore?
I wrestle with the doubt, but I lose the battle against the tears. They flow down my cheeks as realization settles more firmly around me. He's not the man I thought he was, not by a long shot, and I was stupid to think he wouldn't access my data somehow.
Or was I just blind, blind to how he orchestrated the whole thing?
Those are the kinds of thoughts that keep me company as I fall into a fitful sleep, never once losing the sense of being exposed.
Of being watched.
When I wake up in the morning, my face is stiff and crusty with dried tears. Sunlight pours in through the window, but there's not a bit of warmth in it, just cold light, like hard truth. Sleep didn't give me rest, but it did give me resolve. There's only one way to be sure about these suspicions and doubts. I can't keep wondering. I need to know, as soon as possible.
A numbness steals over me as I grab my phone and open up the Companion app. Something I had come to think of as a friend now feels like a heavy weight around my wrist, something tainted and disgusting.
But invaluable nonetheless.
Whether or not Sam is spying on my Companion data, I need to know for sure. If he slipped up once, he'll slip up again. So that's why I open up the Task List and add a date for Sunday, two days from now. My face is completely blank as I add exclamation points and hearts to the entry, then a location and time.
When I snapped at him that day at the loft and started to leave, he went cold on me. That's the only other time. I wonder if that means he's possessive or wary of me putting distance between us. Clearly, it's not a problem if he distances himself, but I disregard that thought for now. If I initiate more distance in the form of a date with another guy, maybe he'll get jealous. Or at least start treating me differently in some way.
I know he's distant right now—but on his terms. If he's been spying on me this whole time and orchestrating everything, doesn't that mean he likes the control? I mean, I know he does. That's what our scenes have been about, me giving him control.
I fight the urge to throw my phone across the room and ignore that can of worms for now—how good it felt giving him control.
If he loses that control, he'll have some kind of reaction, I'm sure of it.
Only if he's spying. And a part of me is hoping he isn't.
After the date is set, it takes me a little while longer to get in the right headspace to make a diary entry about it—I know my voice sounds as dead as I feel. I need to be excited about this new "guy" I met. I need to sell a new story, that I'm not as shaken up about Sam because I have this new amazing guy to get hooked on.
I start composing the story in my head.
It happened in the building, he's a guy who lives here. He saw me looking sad when I got home and asked me what was up, then things took off from there. We just kept on talking. Since Sam and I aren't an official couple or anything, I'll say, I agreed to go on a date with him. Doesn't seem like Sam is into me anymore anyway. It's not like he's telling me why he's treating me like shit all of a sudden.
As I finalize the story, it makes me smile. Yeah, it's passive aggressive and immature, and I might even be inventing this story for nothing. But it makes me feel a little in control.
And the pain and fear is turning into spite.
If he thinks he can play me, I'll play him right back.
Thinking about catching that fucker in a lie puts a little excitement into my voice, so I quickly gush to Companion in a recorded diary entry, disguising my motives and putting myself into the mind of a girl who is just getting caught up in the chaos of life—but having fun while doing it.
Yeah, right.
When it's saved to my account, I toss my phone aside and drop back down heavily onto the bed. Now that exhaustion is sneaking back up on me, I don't think I will leave bed, not for the whole day. I'm just going to lie here and rot.
And hope like hell I've blown this whole thing completely out of proportion.
When I next wake in the early afternoon, the world doesn't feel any saner or more secure. But at least I'm not exhausted anymore.
That doesn't stop me from going through the day like a zombie.
I order food in and try to comfort myself with mindless shows on my laptop, but it's like I'm not there, like I'm not the one shoveling food into my mouth just to shut my stomach up. And every step of the way, every hour that passes, I'm grateful for how numb I feel. Occasionally, reality threatens to break up the monotony, but I just turn my back by switching the show or diving into videos, looking for a rabbit hole.
Any escape.
Because I can't deal with the implications of Sam spying on me. Not at least until I know with certainty that he is.
Honestly, I want to go over to his house and shake the answer out of him. I hate this waiting. But I have to give him a chance to access my data. I can't leave any room for him to call me crazy and wiggle his way out of this.
When we move forward from this, I want to be able to laugh at how paranoid I was. I want to feel stupid for doing all of this.
I want him to prove me wrong.
Because I miss him.
Nevermind that this plan assumes he even still wants to keep seeing me.
He does, doesn't he?
The day passes like that, with me lying in bed, tending to my basic needs, trying to find comfort until the sun sets. I watch my laptop until my eyes burn, then eventually try to fall asleep. It takes hours since I slept so late, and after tossing and turning between brief, merciful periods of unconsciousness, another cold morning steals into the room.
This time, I throw the blankets off of myself and charge into the day. I gave Sam all of Friday to look at my Companion data—which is being generous if he looked at my data on the plane—and this evening, I'm going to show up unannounced and pick up the tablet I left at his place. It's supposed to be there for when I stay unexpectedly, and me picking it up will be another sign that I'm distancing myself from him. While I'm there, I'll take note of how he behaves.
But first, I need to start acting like I haven't been crying since I last saw him. That means getting back into the rhythm of normalcy.
I spend the day cleaning, catching up with what I've missed in the news and at work. Things are quiet, thank goodness. When my apartment looks a little better, I dive into self-care, taking the time to deep condition and detangle my hair, put on a face mask, and even soak in the tub. The whole time, I try to keep my mind rooted in the present moment—not thinking about the past and definitely not thinking about a future based on conjecture.
It's just me, right here.
The quality time with myself—with my phone on silent—leaves me feeling restored and refreshed by the time I'm ready to get dressed and meet Sam. I put on simple warm clothes—a turtleneck sweater tucked into high-waisted skinny jeans and some boots, all black—throw on my coat, and head out into the evening, ignoring how the cold seems to warn me against my mission. I keep Companion's location tracker on. I don't care if he knows I'm coming. I'm getting into that penthouse one way or another. But for all the resistance I'm prepared to come up against, it's not difficult at all to worm my way into his private elevator after I drive over. Security waves me up like I'm expected, smiling warmly. It takes me a moment of hesitation, but I return the smile.
Right, I'm young and carefree. I have a date tomorrow.
The elevator ride doesn't give me enough time to fully step into character, but I do my best. When the doors open, I crack a smile, and there he is, lingering expectantly.
What strikes me first is that he looks nervous, his eyes on the floor and his arms crossed. But when he looks up and sees that it's just me in the elevator, he looks surprised. His body visibly relaxes. I frown and step out, wondering who he thought I was going to be.
"Bree!" he finally says, like he just remembered to greet me. "What are you doing here?"
Any other time, he would have pulled me into his arms with a hungry look in his eyes. I try not to look as hurt as I feel.
"I wanted to pick up my things real quick. That's okay, right?" I gesture to the stairs and make motion to head over, smiling lightly at him.
"Yeah, that's fine, go ahead." Sam waves me along, looking a little confused.
"Thanks! Sorry it's such short notice, I just wanted to quickly get them and go."
I walk briskly through the room and over to the stairs, feeling him following slowly behind me. But he doesn't come up with me.
"No problem," he calls after me, sounding preoccupied. "Sorry for not reaching out to you, I've been a bit busy."
I rush into his room, happy he didn't come with me. It's like we're strangers, like he forgot all about me after sending me home. I feel like I've been punched and like a fresh wave of tears will come at any moment. I can't cry now, though. I take a steadying breath and look for my tablet and anything else I left lying around.
He doesn't seem angry or even annoyed about my date. It feels more like I caught him waiting for a date. Whatever he's doing, he's not reacting the way he should if he suddenly started losing control over our situation, whatever it is.
I stuff my tablet into my purse, feeling defeated. I'll only be leaving here with another wound.
I trudge back down the stairs, thinking only about getting out of here. If he's waiting on a girl, I don't want to see her face. I look around the room once I get down there. He's standing near the couches, his back to me as he looks down at something.
"Got my stuff. I'll just get going now," I say, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice.
But then he turns around. And there's nothing but barely contained anger in his face. I feel my face fall as his eyes meet mine. And I know what he's looking at on his phone, beyond the shadow of a doubt.
That's when I really feel stupid.
I was so caught up in trying to catch him in a lie that I didn't think about what would happen when I successfully provoked him, the man who has been spying on me and controlling me from our very first meeting, the man I suspect values control over our relationship above all.
And then, as he takes a step toward me, I feel fear.