Lucy
The heels of my white platform boots click against the cracked sidewalk, each step a little unsteady as I make my way home.
I may have had too much to drink.
The angel costume seemed like a great idea six hours ago.
Now the halo headband digs into my scalp, the feathered wings keep catching on the row of hedges I’m passing by, and the hem of the white mini-dress rides up with every step.
There’s no one behind me to see, but it’s still annoying.
I tug it down. It slides right back up. The fabric is that cheap costume satin—stiff, scratchy, and about as cooperative as plastic wrap.
The street is quiet for a Saturday night in a college town. Everyone’s still out at parties, drinking from red cups and grinding to bass-heavy music.
I left early because my feet hurt… and because I was there with my friend Kara, but she was busy making out with Derek in the kitchen.
I didn’t want to stand there watching her tongue down her boyfriend’s throat while I held my warm beer and pretended to be interested in some guy’s boring conversation about fantasy football.
My rental house is three blocks from Greek Row.
It’s old, paint peeling on the porch railing kind of old, with a yard that hasn’t been mowed since I moved in a couple of months ago.
But it’s my sanctuary. Somewhere I can actually study, which I struggled with last year when I lived with three roommates in student housing.
I turn the corner onto my street and see my house three lots down. The porch light is on—I always leave it on—and it throws a yellowish glow across the front steps. The yard is dark. The bushes along the side of the house are just shapes, an empty, scary kind of darkness beyond them.
I reach into my purse for my keys, and as I’m digging through it, I realize my lip gloss is missing. It’s my favorite one, and I know I had it last time I hit the bathroom for a touch-up.
“Oh no,” I murmur, grabbing my phone and calling Kara. She’s still at the party, so she’ll be able to check the bathroom for me.
She picks up on the second ring. I can hear the party behind her voice—the thump of music, the rumble of conversation, the shriek of someone laughing.
“Hey, where’d you go?” she asks. “I can’t find you.”
“I’m on my way home, but I think I left my lip gloss in the bathroom. Could you check for me? I’m so bummed. They discontinued that shade, so I can’t even buy more.”
“Sure, I’ll check. Hold on.”
“Thanks.”
I glance up as I reach the walkway to my front porch, and my heart stalls when something catches my eye beneath the kitchen window.
Movement. A shadow pulling back behind the hedges. I catch the edge of a shape. A shoulder. A hood.
Oh my god, there’s someone in my yard.
My hand freezes on my keys. My breath catches, sharp and shallow, and my fingers tighten around the keyring until the metal bites into my palm.
I don’t wait. I lunge up the porch steps, jam the key into the lock, twist, shove the door open, and slam it behind me as fast as I can. The deadbolt slides home with a thunk, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Oh my god,” I say, but Kara doesn’t hear me, or doesn’t respond if she does.
I lean against the door, wings crushed against my back, and place a hand over my heart.
“Kara, someone’s outside my house.”
“What?” she demands.
“I just saw someone in the bushes outside my house. I think they were watching me.”
The music muffles—she’s covering the phone, or stepping somewhere quieter. “Are you sure? Like, maybe it was just—”
“I’m sure. I saw them. They moved when I came up the walkway.”
“Okay. Okay, hold on. Are you inside? Is the door locked?”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “Yes. Both locks.”
“What about the back door?”
“Yeah, I always make sure it’s locked before I leave the house.”
“Okay, good. I’m sending Derek over to check it out and make sure they’re gone.”
My heart skitters. I appreciate her wanting to make sure I’m safe, but I don’t want her boyfriend at my house. He’s mean, and I barely tolerate him when I’m hanging out with her and he happens to be around.
“What? No, you don’t have to do that.”
“Shut up, he’s coming over. He’s sober tonight, he was the designated driver. He can be there in like five minutes. Just stay inside and let me call him.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Kara, don’t argue with me. It’s happening.”
I fall silent, but I pout about it.
“Derek will text you when he’s outside,” she says. “Don’t open up until you see it’s him.”
“Fine. Okay. Thanks,” I mutter.
“I know he’s not the nicest guy, but he’s tall and strong, and if some creep is outside your house, I’m sure they won’t want to mess with him.”
I know she’s being nice looking out for me, but I also know Kara well enough to know there’s only one reason she ever does anything nice—so she can brag about it later. I see she’s already getting a headstart by hyping up what an awesome boyfriend she has.
More like sociopath, I think, but I don’t say it.
Lip gloss forgotten, I end the call and linger near the door, waiting for the sound of Derek’s car in my shared driveway.
I was already anxious because of seeing someone outside. Now I’m anxious for a whole new reason as I stay away from the windows and keep looking down at my phone.
Even though I’m expecting it, my heart still lurches when I get a text from an unknown number.
Outside. Open up.
I didn’t hear his car, but it must be Derek. I still brace myself as I go to the door, check the peephole, and see him standing on the porch.
Dark wash jeans. Black hoodie with the hood pushed back. His shoulders are broad, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. His hair is dark, cut short on the sides and longer on top, and even through the distorted fisheye lens of the peephole, he looks annoyed. He always looks annoyed.
I undo the deadbolt and pull the door open.
He steps in without waiting for an invitation.
He’s tall and he fills the doorframe for a second before crossing the threshold.
His eyes sweep the living room first, then land on me.
He saw me at the party, so he knew what my costume was, but he looks me over now as if seeing it for the first time.
His dark eyes move slowly down my body. From my face to the white satin dress that barely covers my thighs, to the lace trim along the neckline that dips low enough to show the generous curve of my cleavage, to the bare skin between the hem and the tops of my tall white boots.
His jaw shifts. The corner of his mouth twitches.
“Nice costume,” he says, his voice flat.
“Thanks,” I say to be polite, but I cross my arms, trying to block his gaze. The dress doesn’t cover much, and his gaze doesn’t move back up to my face. He’s dating my friend; he has no business looking at me like that.
Wanting to subtly remind him of his girlfriend, I ask, “Did Kara tell you what happened?”
“She said you saw someone outside.” He’s already moving past me toward the back door. “I’m gonna walk the perimeter. Stay here.”
“Be careful.”
He goes out the back door. I stand in the kitchen, arms still crossed, listening for sounds of trouble, but I don’t hear any.
A few minutes later, he comes back through the front door, shutting it behind him. The cool night air clings to his hoodie, and when he brushes past me, I catch the scent of him—laundry detergent, a splash of cologne, and something inherently masculine underneath.
I swallow, meeting his gaze.
“Nothing out there,” he says.
“Did you check the bushes?”
“I did.”
“There was someone out there,” I insist.
He shrugs. “Maybe, but they’re gone now. It’s Halloween. Kids are out doing dumb shit. I’m sure it’s just a Halloween prank.”
“You’re probably right.” I let out a breath. My shoulders drop, and I realize how tightly I’d been holding them. “Well, sorry you had to come all the way over here for nothing, but thanks for checking.”
I’m already reaching for the door, ready to lock up after he leaves. I want to take off these boots, peel off this tight dress, and crawl into bed. My feet are killing me. The adhesive from the false eyelashes I applied six hours ago is starting to itch.
“That’s all I get for my trouble? Why don’t you thank me properly,” he says, causing my heart to stall.
I turn to look at him. He hasn’t moved from the middle of my living room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching me. His expression hasn’t changed—that same flat, almost-bored look—but there’s something in the way he’s standing. Like he doesn’t plan to leave.
I swallow.
“What are you talking about?” I ask carefully.
He doesn’t answer right away. He takes a step toward me.
Then another. The floorboard groans. He keeps advancing until I’m backed against the door, the deadbolt digging into my back through the thin satin.
He’s close now. Close enough that I can see the stubble along his jaw, the small scar near his left eyebrow, the way his pupils dilate as he looks at me.
“Derek, what are you doing?”
His hand comes up. His fingers thread into my blonde hair and his fist closes. The grip is sudden and tight. My scalp stings, my head jerks to the side, and a sound escapes my throat that I don’t mean to make—a small, sharp gasp.
And then he says, “Get on your knees.”