14. Scarlet
FOURTEEN
SCARLET
“I need a night out,” I murmur to Fefe. “Especially after the bullshit family dinner at Nora’s last night.”
Fefe arches her back as she looks up at me before burrowing beneath my duvet.
“Yeah, yeah.” I glide my hand down her back, and she wiggles her butt. “I know you think I should stay home.”
A small part of me wants to, but a larger part of me feels like that’s letting all of the asshole men in my life win, which is something I refuse to do.
I’m not going to stay home and sulk because Ellis Wilder hurt my feelings or cower because of some stalker.
I will however be safe when I go out tonight.
A two-drink limit, no drinks from strangers, pepper spray on my keyring, and I’ll share my location with either Cara or Nora.
With a renewed sense of determination, I slide out from under the covers and pad into the bathroom.
Fefe, the stage-five clinger that she is, is hot on my heels. She zooms around the bathroom a few times before grabbing a sock from my laundry basket and darting away to hide it one of her many stash spots.
“Little weirdo.” I can’t help but smile as I section up the top of my hair so I can curl it. Thanks to a decade or so of practice, I make quick work of styling my hair into long, effortless waves.
My makeup, on the other hand, takes up the bulk of my primping. I take my time… covering, contouring, and blending, until I look filtered—you know, minus the actual filter.
I’m sure Ellis would have something shitty to say about the whole process. It’s stupid, but I really thought we’d turned a corner. But last night, he was right back to being an a-hole supreme.
Honestly, it’s my fault for expecting him to change. Our little rivalry used to be fun, but ever since Nora was taken, well, let’s just say the fun no longer exists. Our banter turned to barbs, and as ashamed as I am to admit it, they’re buried deep in my subconscious.
I suck in a deep breath, holding my gaze in the mirror as I count to ten, before slowly blowing it out. “You are a good person. You deserve good things. You are enough. You are worthy of love.”
I repeat my go-to mantra a few more times before setting out in search of the perfect outfit.
I need something that says hot but unapproachable.
It’s nights like these I really wish I had a girlfriend or two to go out on the town with.
God knows, I’d feel safer in a group, but I refuse to live in fear.
Except my phone pings before I make it to my closet.
It’s a text. From Ellis. I’m half-tempted to ignore it, but in the end, my curiosity wins out.
Officer Jackass: We need to talk.
Me: I don’t think we do.
Officer Jackass: Please.
Me: That please hurt, huh?
Officer Jackass: I’m serious, Scarlet. We need to talk about last night.
I’d literally rather do anything else, but something tells me he’s not going to let this go. So, I plop down onto my bed and absentmindedly stroke Fefe’s soft fur while tapping out a reply.
Me: Okay. Talk.
Officer Jackass: I’m sorry.
Me: For what exactly? Be as specific as possible.
Officer Jackass: I saw you panic when Nora asked about your stalker. I was trying to take the heat off of you and went about it the wrong way. I was talking out my ass and didn’t mean it. In hindsight, we should’ve discussed how to handle this whole situation beforehand.
“Well, color me surprised, Fefe.” She nibbles the tip of my index finger before burrowing back under my duvet.
Me: A heads up would’ve been nice, but I get there were extenuating circumstances.
Officer Jackass: So… you forgive me?
Me: I guess so.
Officer Jackass: Great. Now, let’s talk about why you lied.
Me: WTF?! I didn’t lie.
Officer Jackass: You sure did. You promised to tell me about any and all developments with your stalker, and your reaction when Nora asked made it obvious you haven’t been.
My shoulders slump under the weight of his accusation. He’s right. I have gotten a few more notes, but they’ve all been relatively benign. I also found flowers on my windshield again and had my lunch paid for. Nothing worth bothering him over.
Me: It wasn’t anything serious. Promise.
Officer Jackass: I swear to god, Scarlet.
Me: Gotta go. Byeeee.
I close out of our text thread and set my phone on the bed screen down.
It buzzes a few more times, but I ignore it.
After what feels like an eternity, I settle on my comfiest distressed jean shorts paired with a black bra and a black mesh long-sleeved top.
It’s the perfect blend of comfy and cool. Exactly what I need tonight.
“Boots or sandals?” I ask Fefe, holding up each option. Boots are my go to, but sometimes a girl needs to change things up.
She peeks up at me from beneath the covers and wiggles her little pink nose.
“You’re right. Boots.” I tug them on and then scoop Fefe into my arms. “Your palace awaits you, cutie pie.”
I place her inside of her enclosure, and she hightails it up the ramp to her hammock. “You be a good girl while I’m gone, ’kay?”
I fluff my hair, swipe some gloss over my lips, before grabbing my crossbody and heading for the door. Only when I open it, there’s… a bag of takeout containers sitting on my stoop.
Did they get the wrong unit? I wonder, as I bend to inspect the package.
My stomach rumbles with the logo of my favorite Mexican restaurant, Fortuna, comes into view. “Oh, how I wish you were mine.”
It’s then I notice the note taped to the top with my name on it.
“What the fuck?” I scan the parking lot, but it’s business as usual. I freeze—but only for a moment—before grabbing the bag and hustling back inside.
“Maybe it’s for another Scarlet?” The excuse is flimsier than my mesh top.
Like a Band-Aid, I think as I tear open the envelope.
You’ve been so busy this week, I think a night in will do you good, Petal.
Why don’t you trade your boots for slippers and cozy up on the couch with these tacos? I made sure they made them just the way you like—grilled chicken with extra chicken, no lettuce, and a double order of guac.
I’m sure it’s delicious, but I bet it’d taste even better off your lips. I look forward to the day I find out, to when nights in are spent cuddled up, just the two of us.
Mark my words, Petal, you may not know who I am just yet, but I know who you are, because you were meant for me.
-Your Sweetheart
“What the fuck?” I whisper into the suddenly too-quiet space. Sweat gathers along my hairline, and tears bead along my lashes.
The room spins, and I dry heave, my heart thundering in my chest like a whole herd of spooked horses.
I stumble to the front door to lock it before forcing my trembling hands to pull the curtains shut.
“What the fuck?” My entire vocabulary’s been reduced to those three words, because, honestly what the fuck?
Who is sending these notes? How do they know what I eat? How do they know where I live? What I’m wearing? Why is this happening to me?
Question after questions races through my mind, as I read the note over and over again.
Without thinking, I grab my phone and dial the first person I can think of. Thankfully, he answers on the first ring. “Decided to call and make me apologize out loud?”
“Ellis,” I whimper his name, too terrified to worry about how weak I sound.
“What’s wrong?” he demands, his voice harder than I’ve ever heard it.
“I…” My voice cracks as I try to force the words out.
“You what? You’re freaking me out.”
“I got another note.” I swallow roughly and swipe at the stupid tears ruining my makeup.
“Okay,” he says calmly. “Tell me more.”
I fold the paper into fours and shove it into my back pocket. “I was heading out to The Creek but there was a bag from Fortuna’s on my porch with a note taped to it.”
A broken sob slips out, and I try to cover it with a cough. “He… he knows my order. He knows my week has been crazy busy. He knows what I’m wearing. He knows where I live. Ellis, how does he know all this? It’s... it’s like he’s watching me twenty-four-seven.”
“Scarlet—” he starts.
But I cut him off. “What do I do?” My voice sounds pathetic even to my own ears. But the untamable terror running through me overrides my need to appear unflappable. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You come here,” he says decisively.
“You don’t mean—”
“I absolutely fucking mean it. I want you to pack a bag, get in your car, and come here.”
I hesitate and then ask, “Will you stay on the phone with me?”
“Until you’re at my front door,” he promises.
Balancing my phone between my shoulder and ear, I fly into my room and throw the first outfit I find along with a pair of pajamas into a bag, followed by my phone charger, makeup removing wipes, toothbrush, and deodorant.
“I’m packed,” I whisper, as if my stalker can somehow hear me.
“Okay, good. I want you to put me on speaker and go to your porch. Lock the door and go straight to your car, okay?”
“Okay.” I hoist my bag up onto my shoulder and put the call on the speaker, but I hesitate once I get to the front door. “What if he’s out there?”
“What if he’s not?” Ellis counters.
“I… I don’t know what to do. Fuck.”
“I know it's hard, Princess, but I need you to calm down. I need you to stop for a minute. Suck in a deep breath. Hold it and let it go. Do this as many times as you have to until your heart stops racing.”
“I can't. I don't know how. I can't.” Panic claws at my throat as I slump against my front door, sliding to the floor.
“Yes, you can,” Ellis says, his voice somehow soft and commanding. “We're going to do something my therapist taught me. I want you to tell me five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.”
“Okay, okay. I can see my couch, um, the rug, my coffee table, the lamp, and my bag.” I work my way through the rest of her list, stumbling over the things I can touch and smell. “And I can taste…” I lick my lips. “My lip gloss.”
“That's right. That's good. That's really good, Scar. Now, why don't you look on your doorbell app and see if you see anyone out there?”
I thump my head against the door, feeling like an idiot. “I don't have one.”
“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” Ellis groans, his frustration bleeding through the phone. “Okay, we'll talk about that later. Here’s what I want you to do—take your keys and hold your car key, wait does your car have an actual key or just a fob?”
“Just a fob, but I… I have a big house key.”
“Hold your house key between your first and second knuckle. Keep me on speaker, step outside, look around, lock the door, straight to your car.” His voice softens when he speaks again. “You can do it. I'm right here with you, every step of the way.”
I suck in another deep, shuddering breath. It’s just a few steps. If Nora can survive all the absolute hell she went through, then surely I can survive a walk to my car.
Get it together, Scarlet. You can do this. You have to do this.
I force myself up from the floor and grab my bag before opening my door. It takes all of my strength to cross the threshold, but once I do, I quickly glance from side to side, scanning the parking lot.
Nothing seems amiss, so I shut the door, lock it, and run to my car. I throw myself inside, lock the doors, and start the engine, backing out without even checking my mirrors. Luckily there’s nothing behind me.
“You make it?” Ellis asks.
“Yes, I made it.” I look both ways and then pull out into traffic. “I'm on my way. Please, please don't hang up,” I say, flinching as a pair of headlights pop up behind me on the dark road.
“I'm not going anywhere,” he assures me. “You're okay.”
I turn onto the highway, they follow. My hand tremors as I grip the wheel.
I want to tell Ellis someone's following me, but I'm probably being paranoid. It's more than likely some innocent rando going about their Saturday night.
But what if they are following me? Do I risk looking like an idiot?
The logical choice dances around my brain like a strand of thread does the eye of a needle.
But I can’t seem to make heads or tails of how to thread the loop when fear, unlike anything I've ever known, is coursing through my system like a raging river during a storm.
“Tell me,” Ellis starts, his voice a gentle rumble. “Hmmm. Tell me about work this week.” He’s trying to distract me, but work is pretty high up on the list of things I don’t want to talk about. But anything beats thinking about the events that transpired tonight.
“It’s been a really bad week,” I say, admitting it out loud for the first time. Dr. Snider, Cara, and Clint all tried getting me to open up, but I stubbornly refused.
“One of… One of our patients lost her husband. I can't really go into details, but my heart just breaks for her. This should be… the happiest time of their lives, but now… she’s preparing for the future they planned for… all alone.” A sniffle slips free. “I don't know. It hit me really hard.”
Ellis curses under his breath. “I'm so sorry, Scar. Are you okay?”
“I mean, it's dumb to even be upset, right? She’s just a patient. It's not like I know them personally. I don’t know. It just really tore me up for some reason.”
“I don't think it’s dumb,” Ellis says carefully. “I think... I think it shows you’re passionate about your job. That you care about your patients, about their well-being in a way that goes above and beyond. It’s what makes you so good at what you do.”
“Maybe.” I hate feeling so sulky, but between stuff with work and lying to Nora and everything with my stalker, my tough-girl wall is crumbling like it’s made of paper in the rain.
“No maybes. Definitely. Give yourself credit where credit is due, Scarlet.”
“Sir, yes sir,” I say, infusing a sass I don’t actually feel into my tone as I flick my eyes up to my rearview mirror. Sure enough, that car is still right behind me…
Get a freaking grip, Scarlet. Stop letting your fear override logic.
“Well, maybe this will help you feel a little better… my couch is hella comfy, and a new season of Enemies & Escrow dropped yesterday, and I’m pretty sure Elodie is pregnant.”
The mention of the reality show we watched when babysitting sends a rush of emotions through me. It sort of feels like that weekend is when everything changed between us.
Part of me is still struggling to reconcile how we went from fighting anytime we saw each other to me crashing on Ellis’s couch. Like, what the fuck, right?
Maybe this is all some sort of weird dream?
If only... I groan, frustrated with my line of thinking as I flick on my blinker to merge into the exit lane.
I check behind me once again. The car still there, following far closer than I’m comfortable with. But not so close that I can see anyone inside the dark vehicle.
It's just a coincidence. I repeat the words over and over. But as I move across three lanes of traffic, they follow, almost as if we’re connected by an invisible tether. And that doesn’t feel very coincidental at all.
“Ellis,” I whisper, my heart racing as I finally give words to my insidious thoughts. “Someone's following me.”