35. Chapter 33
Emery
“Oh my god,” I mutter as I toss off all the blankets from around my legs.
Discomfort swamps my entire body, restless energy firing through all four limbs, like it thinks this is an appropriate time to go out for a run. I reach for my phone and light up the screen to get the time, knowing it’s going to say some sort of ridiculous time because my alarm hasn’t gone off yet.
Yep. Three-twenty.
Why the hell am I even awake right now?
Oh yeah, it might have something to do with the vault payment I received while I was eating dinner. I’d all but choked on my spaghetti Bolognese that Xavier had cooked for everyone to eat.
Do they know the payments are still coming? If no, I should reach out to them and tell them to stop them, right? But if yes, that means they are deliberately ignoring my request to end this…whatever we had. Which is frustrating, because, once again, they aren’t taking me seriously.
I flop back onto the bed and stare at the dark ceiling, some of the furniture in my room developing into shades of gray as my eyes adjust to the darkness.
The urge to scoop up my phone and scroll on socials or even pick up my Kindle and continue reading the book I’ve started is strong.
But I know from past experience that will only extend my wakefulness, and I really need to get my sleep pattern back under control.
The live today was… a lot. But also, nothing at all. I can’t explain it. All I know is that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. At one point, I glanced up at the camera and saw that there were over eighty people watching me study. Eighty.
Why?
I was completely zoned into my assignment; there wasn’t even any music playing.
My attention was on the screen for exactly ten seconds as I watched the comments and gifts—holy shit, the gifts—rolling in when EyesOnYou sent a message.
EyesOnYou: Don’t get distracted, give me fifteen more minutes, baby. You’ve been doing such a good job. Just fifteen more minutes, and you can close out the live.
How I saw his comment among the rest of the activity, I have no idea. It’s like my entire being was waiting to hear from him. But I did as he’d asked and gave him the additional fifteen, then waved awkwardly at the camera before pressing the icon to end the live.
Not even a minute later, I received two notifications from EyesOnYou. One with a gift for two-hundred-and-fifty dollars and another one for a private chat. I accepted the chat, heart pounding a mile a minute as I read his words.
EyesOnYou: I’ll gift you $100 for every hour you allow me to watch you study. I’m available every night this week from 7pm.
I left him on read, but holy shit. One hundred dollars per hour to do something I already have to do? Hell to the yes. The plan is to reply after breakfast so that I don’t seem too eager.
But also, it won’t just be the one hundred from him. I’m still in shock about how much I made in gifts from the live. And I now have ninety-two followers and have a Live Cam icon next to my username.
And there’d been a pop up on my profile requesting that I select the things I was willing to do on cam. I’d scrolled through the checklist of options and selected the ones that were okay with me, not that I’d do most of them.
Studying.
Online shopping.
Chat.
Get ready with me.
Painting my nails.
I’d also had several messages asking me to update my wish list, but that seems greedy, right?
I definitely have enough money to buy the things I want and or need in my life.
I don’t need other people doing it. But EyesOnYou said I needed to create one.
Maybe I could just put like, gift cards or whatever for charities? A shelter for teens, maybe?
Or maybe I could put like, bulk purchases of bathroom products on there and then take them to the shelters myself?
I know when I’d left my last group home, I hadn’t been thinking much beyond the next few hours, so when I’d landed at the shelter, I’d barely had enough stuff to get me through a few weeks.
The shelter could use it to create bathroom kits or something.
God, I need to stop thinking about this. Seriously. I need to go back to sleep.
With a huff of irritation, I roll over and face away from the door, not bothering to pull the blankets up, and squeeze my eyes closed. Maybe I should count sheep or something.
One. Two. Thr—
There is a creaking noise just outside my bedroom, then my handle turns, the door pushing open quietly. For half a second, I freeze, all my options firing through my head faster than I could articulate them.
I could sit up and scream loudly at the door. That’ll get my message to Xavier, whether it’s Stay the fuck out of my room or Help, there is someone in my room.
Or I could stay completely still, trust that it is Xavier, the creeper, and see what he does. Not that I have any data to compare this to, but statistically, I’m confident it’s him.
So, I opt for the second one. Taking a deep breath, I let it out noisily as I pretend to adjust in my sleep. There is complete and utter silence for several heartbeats before two steps and then the quiet thump and slide of something being put on my desk, I think?
Another gift. It has to be.
I don’t get time to ponder it, because Xavier comes to the bed. There is tugging and shuffling down near my feet before fabric trails up my legs and lowers over my body, the edge coming up to my bicep.
It’s a struggle, but I keep my breathing even and my eyelashes as still as possible as he stands there, his warm presence so close that if I reached behind me, I would be able to touch him.
My throat goes dry the longer he stands there, and I’m just about to cave and open my eyes when there is an almost soundless shuffle before he leaves the room, carefully closing the door behind him. The handle doesn’t even click into place when he releases it.
Not long after that, the door to the dorm room closes, not quite as quietly.
What the hell was that, and where the hell is he going at three-thirty in the morning?
Snapping to sit up, I reach for my phone and turn the flashlight on, aiming it directly at my desk.
A gift bag with a huge pink poofy bow. What is with these guys and the big bows? Seriously.
Like a zombie, I get out of bed, the sheet trailing behind me as I approach the bag like it’s a bomb.
Are they really going to send me seventeen gifts?
A part of me really wants it to stop. I need a goddamn break.
Every time a delivery arrives, my heart freaks the fuck out wondering if it’s from them or if it’s for Oakley.
And every single time, I can feel myself slipping backward on any progress that I have made on my path to getting over them.
It’s like I’m hiking up a mountain and every time they reappear is when my feet slip and I slide back toward the bottom where they are waiting for me, when all I’ve ever wanted is for them to walk with me.
Tugging on the ribbon, I untie it, pulling it free of the handles, and glance into the bag. There is an envelope inside, and I already know it’s another note from Hudson. Not sure my heart can take reading his words right now, I reach for the little box in the bottom of the bag.
It’s not much bigger than a ring box. Juggling my phone, I manage to snap it open and find a set of earrings. Emotion swells up in my throat and my eyes fill with stupid tears.
Tiny gold hearts shine back at me, each engraved with a different word.
Always. Forever.
Putting the box down, I pull the letter out of the bag, ripping the envelope open a little too vigorously. I quickly unfold the paper until I can see his handwriting.
Kitten,
Yes, before you can roll your eyes at me, I am aware that your ears aren’t pierced, but when I saw these, I had to get them for you.
Getting your ears pierced is something scary and can be frightening. People, especially children, usually take a friend or parent along with them for support.
If you would like to get your ears pierced, now or sometime in the future, even if we haven’t spoken in months or years, I want you to know that I would be honored to be your support person.
Hudson xx
Reaching up, I gently pinch the lobe of my ear, rubbing the smooth skin there. I have no idea why I never got my ears pierced before I entered the system. Had my mom not wanted it for me? Had she wanted me to wait until I was older? Or were piercings something she wasn’t into?
Or was it my dad? Did he stop my mom? Was he trying to keep me as his little girl for as long as he could?
The letter goes blurry in my hand, and I shuffle backward to my bed, my chest aching like someone has reached in and ripped out my heart. Blindly, I reach around under the blankets until my hand latches on to something fluffy, and I pull until I have Blue in my arms.
Not giving a shit that I’m crinkling up Hudson’s letter, I squeeze Blue to my chest and wish he could hug me back.
Eventually, I lie back down, Hudson’s letter on my bedside table and my body curled around Blue, eyes closing against my will.
As much as I want the gifts to stop, a part of me hopes they never will.
Because if they do, that means that they finally took me at my word.