THIRTEEN
Arlo’s victory was short-lived because Arson, the little traitor, has decided to return to me. Instead of spending time with Arlo and purring around him, she’s back in my lap most of the time, or sleeping next to me in the bed.
By the time he returned from his little outing, as he called it, it was past midnight. At that I started getting slightly worried. I’m not exactly sure why, given how long I’ve known him, but as minutes ticked away, the nagging feeling of something being wrong wouldn’t go away.
“Where the hell have you been?”
The accusatory tone slips into my tone the moment Arlo steps into the living room.
A grin spreads on his face. “Why? Were you worried about me?”
I scoff. “Nonsense. I just don’t want you dead.”
“That would be a sign of worry, butterfly.”
To avoid the topic altogether, I focus on something else. My eyes find the bag he’s holding in his hands, and I can’t help but question it.
“What’s that?”
“I stopped by my parent’s house. Mama’s cooking is the best. Are you hungry?”
As if on cue, my stomach makes the grossest, loudest noise I’ve ever heard it make. My cheeks heat up, and I glance away, embarrassed to meet his eyes. From the corner of my eye, I spot his shoulders trembling as he tries to contain his laughter.
“I’ll heat up the food.”
Arlo’s teasing voice makes my ears burn. “Wait for me here.”
Without asking anything, I listen and wait as per his instructions. Soon enough, a delicious aroma fills his apartment, my mouth watering at the scent. It smells great, and by now, I’m starving beyond words.
I wait for him to return and eat with me.
Why?
I don’t know, but I can’t eat alone.
“This one’s for you,”
he pushes a plate on the enormous coffee table in front of me. Just like everything else in his home, the simplest piece of furniture is also unnecessarily gigantic.
“Your portion is way smaller.”
He shrugs. “I already ate.”
With a sharp nod, I dig into the meal, the homemade lasagna melting on my tongue. It’s a satisfaction my taste buds haven’t experienced in quite a while, and the food tastes so good that I can’t get enough of it.
Realistically, the amount on my plate was enough for two adults and a child, yet I inhaled all of it on my own. It took me less than ten minutes to finish everything, and of course, since I barely bothered to chew, it made me sick.
“Drink this.”
Arlo extends his hand, holding out a bottle of water for me. I accept it, closing my eyes as I drink the entire thing in one go.
“Thank y–”
I stop myself once I see the look of disapproval on his face. I clear my throat slightly, putting the empty bottle next to the plate. “Anywho, how was your outing?”
“I went to see Zoe.”
My body freezes. “Who is that?”
“Nelson Adam’s wife.”
My eyes briefly close when I remember the banquet and the girl on the man’s arm, which I can only assume is Zoe. The same girl who was terrified of even standing next to her husband. She’s young, too. Probably at least a couple of years younger than me.
“Why would you go to see her?”
“She’s someone I need to pay close attention to now.”
His honesty cuts through my chest like a sharp knife. Why is my body reacting like this? “She knows about Adams’ and Simmons’ criminal activities involving young women.”
“Did you ask her for help?”
Arlo nods. “Yes, but she didn’t give me an answer. I’ll meet her again soon to hear what she’s decided.”
My hands are fisted by my sides as I tear my gaze away from him. My heartbeat reverberates in the room, and he pauses, staring at me, trying to read me. I’m not allowing him to.
Gloomy thoughts pop into my head right as a thunderstorm hits, and the power goes out. Rain pours outside like the sky is mourning; the flashing lightning luminesces through the tall windows.
“I’m glad to hear that,”
I responded, my tone flat.
Involuntarily, I start doing it again – detaching myself from reality. His voice fades into the distance, and all I can hear is the raging pounding against my ribcage. My ears start buzzing at strange intervals. For a moment there, I forgot what this felt like.
The utter sense of hopelessness, the sheer fear of abandonment, and the immense need to beg for his affection, approval, and love.
My body trembles, eyes glued to the storm outside. I can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe. My throat goes dry, and I can’t do anything about it. I’m caged in the personal hell of my mind, and the key seems too far out of my reach.
“Blair!”
My eyes snap to his, my sclera dry from the lack of blinking. I bat my eyelids a few times to return the moisture and try my best to pretend like nothing happened. In fact, this is something that’s never happened before.
No one was ever able to pull me out of the haze of my own mind before.
“I got lost in thought,”
I croak out, then clear my throat. “That’s good. You’ll have more help.”
Arlo cocks his head to the side, eyes glued on mine. Momentarily, it’s a challenge of sorts. He wants me to be honest and stop the act, whereas I need him to drop the subject entirely. It’s too embarrassing to even think about, let alone admit it out loud.
“We will have more help.”
The emphasis on the word we makes my eyes twitch in annoyance.
“No,”
I state firmly.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He asks, tone gentle.
“Because I said so.”
“Blair, talk to me. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
How am I supposed to tell him?
My chest feels… odd. It’s heavy, and breathing is a heavy task. My hands tremble as I stand up, determined to lock the door of his bedroom tonight and keep him out of it. For the past nights, he slept in the chair close to the bed, and I’m certain it’s the only reason I was actually able to sleep.
Usually, connecting three hours of sleep was rare. The nightmares were too strong, the sleep paralysis inevitable most of the time, and I was often left with bags under my eyes that never left. No amount of skin care or makeup helps cover them up.
Yet, with Arlo so close to me, my mind was at ease.
Something snaps in the depth of the everlasting gray that matches the cloudy sky above, just as another thunderstorm hits.
It’s a pain – something I’m familiar with. Yet, Arlo doesn’t voice it out.
How the hell am I supposed to tell him that the thought of being close to Zoe was making me uncomfortable? How am I supposed to tell him that it brings discomfort, unlike anything I’ve felt in my entire life? It would be pathetic.
“I’m going to sleep,”
I announce. “Sleep elsewhere.”
Before I can get sucked into his deep gaze, I look away and forcefully drag my feet away from him, going toward the stairs and his bedroom.
I curl myself into a ball on his bed while the covers hug me tightly, and I can’t help but feel utterly stupid. These feelings weren’t supposed to appear, ever, and they definitely aren’t valid.
But I can’t brush it off.
From the time I met him as Doctor Benjamin Miller to the time I saw him on the bus in Long Grove to the moment I came here, it all made me attached to him, more than I’d like to admit.
He killed people for me. He massacred an entire prison for me.
In every sense of the word, Arlo De Santis is my savior.
My savior.
Mine.
I don’t want him to share the fucked-up aspect of our lives with another woman, or any other part of him, for that matter. He saw me as a damsel in distress, and as long as I need his help, he’ll be here.
Zoe Adams is someone who needs help, too, which is why I’m feeling guilty. It’s eating me on the inside, and I don’t know how to shake it off. She likely doesn’t even know Arlo; she just needs someone strong and courageous enough to help her out of the terrible situation she’s in.
But does it really need to be him?
Out of everyone else in the world, why does it have to be him? Why do I have to share him?
“Stop it, Blair,”
I choke a bitter laugh. “You’re acting like you own him.”
Rationality flies out of the window the moment deviant images of Zoe and Arlo pop into my head. My imagination runs wild, blood freezes in my veins, and tears roll down my cheeks. The first man to ever make me feel safe can easily be snatched away from me.
What the fuck am I doing wrong in life?
As it turns out, I was right.
The sleep was terrible, but I was content that Arlo didn’t bother me. During the awake hours, which was more than half of the night, I spent lying in bed, eyes wide as I thought about my reaction and his reasoning.
It’s not normal for me to feel like this.
It’s not normal that the first thought I associate with that poor woman was hatred instead of helping her because, more or less, we’re in a similar situation. If anything, she probably has it worse because she’s legally bound to Nelson Adams.
He left me breakfast and a small note, promising to be back soon. Next to the plate is my phone, the same one I bought as soon as I arrived in New York, though the only person whose number I have is Wren’s.
That’s what I decided to do for the day.
The moment Wren picked up the phone call, I was met with screaming so loud that I had to remove the phone from my ear while she cursed the shit out of me. I don’t hold it against her; it’s mostly from a place of worry since I did just disappear without even so much as a note.
As an apology, I scheduled a small shopping spree and a coffee date next weekend.
I barely know the girl, but I need friends.
It’s not necessarily trust I’m feeling, but I’m trying. I’m trying to create a genuine friendship because Lord knows how lonely I am.
While waiting for Arlo to return, I get to eat the food he left for me. Then, I plan how to hide myself because it’s only now that the embarrassment of my previous actions starts hitting me hard.
To get rid of the utter and complete boredom, I start going through his penthouse. Surprisingly, aside from his bedroom, the rest of the bedrooms don’t have beds. That’s odd, but I brush it off as him having more important things than to add furniture that won’t be used anyway.
There isn’t anything in particular I’m looking for; I’m just trying to cure the boredom. Arlo keeps the entire penthouse spotless, aside from the couch that has a big, red stain on it. Why the hell is he not cleaning it if he’s such a clean freak?
On the other side of the living room is a small hallway with a single door. I saw it yesterday but thought it was either a storage room or a small bathroom. Now, as I stare at the only door that is in a different color than the rest, it seems to be calling to me.
Carefully, I move forward until I’m standing right in front of it.
A frown latches on my face.
It’s the only door, aside from the main one, that has a digital lock. It requires a passcode of four numbers. With the flashlight of my phone, I try to look for fingerprints to give me any indication of what four numbers it could possibly be.
It’s been wiped clean.
Of course.
A ridiculous thought comes to my mind, and I scoff, but my fingers still move, trembling a little as they hover over the keypad.
His obsession couldn’t possibly run that deep, could it?
0429.
The edges of the previously black keypad turn green, flashing for a second before the door opens ever so slightly. Startled, I stepped back, with Arson on my toe. She’s braver than me and immediately slips into the room to explore and is more than prepared to take on the challenge.
I, on the other hand, am second-guessing my resolve to snoop through Arlo’s home. He’s given me nothing but decency and privacy, yet here I am, breaching his in one of the worst ways possible. The thoughts overwhelm me, and I’m about to turn around and leave when I hear a crashing noise on the inside. The fear of Arson possibly smashing something and hurting herself gets the best of me, and I push the door open fully.
When I step inside, the lights flicker on, and I gasp.
The room is mainly empty, aside from a few monitors on the wall across from me and the biggest one on a computer desk. A black leather chair is in front of the desk, and Arson is trying to sleep on it.
I chuckle, approach her, and breathe out in relief that she’s not hurt. Or that this isn’t a torture chamber or an armory.
Deciding it’s more than enough for one day to snoop, I clap my hands together, signaling for her to jump into my arms. I’m in front of her, my back facing the monitors behind. She’s not having it. Her eyes flutter open, and if looks could kill, I’d be dead.
It takes me a while to get her to sit up, stretch, and then jump into my arms.
To irritate me further, she jumps with so much force that I’m forced to lean against the desk, shaking it a little.
It was an accident – I didn’t mean to do it, but now that it’s happened, the urge to turn around and look wins easily. Curiosity gets the best of me, and the last bits of morality I have fly out of the window.
Breath gets stuck in my throat, my body paralyzed.
It’s surreal. Anything would’ve been better than this revelation. Of course, I’m aware of how much Arlo had been stalking me and that he was always near, but this exceeded everything I ever thought I knew about the situation.
I never knew just how close he was to me.
A few of the monitors show live footage from the penthouse, which isn’t that weird. Given his job, he needs to protect himself, and using cameras isn’t surprising to me at all.
It’s the rest that makes me feel strange.
One monitor in particular catches my attention.
It’s live footage, but from a weird angle. It just shows my forearm.
As if the time slows down, my eyes dart to Arson’s collar, brows knitting together as I take it in my palms, inspecting it. Then, I look back at the screen, seeing my side profile. A low laugh of disbelief slips from my lips as I try to comprehend the severity of his obsession.
He put a fucking camera in Arson’s collar.
Memories flood my mind instantly. Frequently, back in Long Grove, Arson followed me to the bathroom while I showered. She acted like a guard, of sorts. She was always in the room while I was changing my clothes.
And Arlo was able to watch it happen in real time.
I was fucking clueless.
It just proves that no man can be trusted. He preaches respect, but he took the choice away from me. Just like Paul Simmons, he doesn’t actually care how I feel, what I need, and that above anything else, I’m a human being.
Tears pool in my eyes, and I can’t move. I refuse to believe this is reality; I refuse to believe that the first man I ever let in would do something like this.
I never should’ve allowed him to keep me in here.
I never should’ve trusted him.