Chapter Five
Appa
Just as I’m headed to bed in a silk slip, the lights click off, and the hum of the air conditioner outside halts.
The sudden darkness loosens my grip on my metal tumbler of water, making it slip from my fingers and cause a soft thud on the floor.
I can’t see it in the dark since the curtains are closed, so I kneel on the floor and reach around where I stood.
My fingertips land on the cool metal surface, and I grab the handle.
I set it on the dresser that sits against the wall across from my bed, and it makes a loud clink on the hard surface.
The house is eerily quiet as the ceiling fan slows to a stop, but something in the air shifts, raising goosebumps on my arms.
I cross the room to peek through the curtain and view my neighbor’s house.
Their lights are on, so it must be my smart panel glitching.
I just shrug and plan to call Dad tomorrow to tell him that it might need to be looked at.
They warned us that these smart panels can have issues, but Dad was in the middle of his smart device fixation when I bought the house.
Well, I should find a candle in case the power takes a while to kick on, but the smart panel should reset itself within a few minutes, I think.
I’m about to turn from the window when two unyielding arms wrap around me, pressing me into the firm body of an intruder. I open my mouth to scream, but a gloved hand covers my mouth, muffling the sound. I purse my lips together and can hear my heartbeat drum in my ears.
Oh, my God—it’s him.
The guy from that disastrous date is back for revenge.
He did this!
“Shhh, you know it’s me,” a hushed voice says. His warm breath cascades over my head. “Rook.” My eyes widen, and my heart drops straight into my stomach.
How does he know? How does he know where I live?
“Let me see your hand,” he whispers.
I try to resist, but he’s stronger and forcibly takes my hand, crossing my arm over my body.
He drags my fingers up his shirt, where my fingertips graze his defined abs.
I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut as they water.
His hand brings mine up to his nipple, brushing my fingers over the hard metal adorning it, then the raised line of his scar on the side of his abdomen.
He lets go of my hand, and I quickly withdraw it from under his shirt.
He places his hands on my upper arms from behind.
“Check your phone,” he says into my hair.
His lips graze the back of my head, then his grip drops.
I’m frozen in place, and when the paralyzing fear of being grabbed in my bedroom by a stranger wears off enough, I turn.
My scalp still prickles where his lips touched my head, but he’s vanished into thin air.
The lights in my bedroom click on, and then I can hear the air conditioner starting up again.
My eyes squint from the sudden change from darkness to light again, and I study every surface of my room for any sign he was here. Everything looks untouched.
With my phone and pepper spray in hand now, I tiptoe out of my room with my pulse beating in my throat.
I turn on lights in the hallway, in the guest bedrooms, everywhere to make sure I really am alone again.
I have a mini heart attack as I check every closet, afraid he’s going to pop out and reveal himself, but it’s all clear.
Gripping the railing until my knuckles ache, I slowly make my way downstairs.
He could still be here.
My heartbeat still pounds in my ears, and I want to curl up and cry. But I have to do a sweep.
Should I call the police?
I do a quick inspection, and there’s nothing broken or missing.
My back sliding glass doors are locked and intact.
The door to the garage is also locked. Even the front door is locked.
My windows don’t open either, and none are broken.
So, how did he get inside? Or did I hallucinate the whole interaction?
Or am I losing it, imagining Rook during a simple power outage?
No, that can’t be the case. I can still feel the cool metal in his nipples, and his words echo—check your phone.
I glance toward the glow of the foyer. I unlock my phone with trembling fingers that nearly cause me to drop it.
Tapping into my social media app, I don’t bother switching to my burner account.
At the top of my feed is a new video posted by Rook, and I make it full screen, pressing my free hand on my chest to slow the rapid thudding.
It’s his usual setup with his eerie lights, illuminating his body, but his face is dark.
He’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, wearing dark-wash jeans, shirtless, his signature nipple piercings glinting.
He’s flexing to sharpen the lines of his abs.
He lifts an apple to his obscured face, taking a bite with ASMR-style audio, and then lowers his arm and lets the apple slip from his fingers to the floor.
The screen goes black. That’s a signal if I ever saw one.
It was him.
He knows my name is Apple and where I live. There’s no way he would have been able to find my address. I use a P.O. box for my PR, have never listed my full name publicly, and my dad’s name is on my house.
I swallow. I should report breaking and entering, but what evidence do I have? My security cameras didn’t pick up anything because the Wi-Fi was out, and he had gloves on.
Hey, LAPD, I know you’re busy this time of night, but please come by—a fellow influencer broke in with no damage and stole nothing. I have no proof he was ever here, but he posted a video with an apple, which is also my name. Please don’t judge my mother’s decision from twenty-four years ago.
I’d sound absolutely insane if I called the police. But my neighbors have cameras. I text my next-door neighbor, who had power when I didn’t, to ask if she had any weird camera footage. She replies instantly.
Sorry, Appa! Our Wi-Fi was down!
I reread her text until the words blur together. I text the neighbor on the other side of me and get the same response.
No Wi-Fi.
But he only needed to cut my power. This was orchestrated.
Rehearsed. I look up from my phone and scan my living room.
Not a single thing is out of place, but my skin prickles.
Suddenly, Rook isn’t just an internet content creator.
He’s a predator and damn crafty to pull something off so cleanly.
He knew he could slip in without a trace, send a message, and leave while everyone was blacked out in terms of Wi-Fi.
Would he do this again? And when?
I go through the downstairs again to make sure it’s clear of him, double-checking the coat closet, pantry.
I even pop the trunk of my Mercedes, though he’s big and wouldn’t fit in there.
My anxiety claws at me to check the backyard, but my inspection proves I’m achingly alone.
I turn the lights off downstairs, but every time I pass by a window, I feel like I’ll see his silhouette through the glass.
It’s going to be a long, sleepless night.
I carefully but hastily step upstairs and choose to keep the hallway light on as I walk into my bedroom again. He was here…in my bedroom.
Why me?
I sit on my bed, facing my bedroom door.
I click on Rook’s profile on my phone and scroll through his posts.
The apple video is off schedule for him, and people are noticing.
Comments are already thirsting over the late-night upload and what the apple means.
Part of me smirks because it’s a nod to me—the lucky girl who has his attention.
Thousands, maybe millions, of people would kill to be in that situation.
But what the actual fuck?
It only takes a minute of scrolling to find out where I triggered him.
I liked one of his videos. On my main verified account.
I exposed myself…am I an idiot, or was this the fuel to make every dream of him a reality?
I’ve spent so many hours just watching and rewatching Rook’s videos.
He’s given me orgasms without touching me, and I have to wonder if he’ll be back for more.
Why pull a stunt like that if he never intended to come back?
He could make another appearance and wouldn’t take no for an answer if he wanted something next time.
Fear twists in me again. But faint hope lies under that fear.
I lay my head back on my pillow and close my eyes.
As unnerving as tonight has been, I felt the solid contours of his abs with my own fingers.
The abs I’ve dreamed about raking my nails down.
He made me feel his piercings as if they’d prove his identity.
If only I could have gotten a glimpse of his face or a whiff of his cologne or body wash.
I’m the chosen one. I see you, Rook.
? ? ?
I finally fall asleep after the emotional hurricane Rook caused me, and I wake up when it’s light again with an unusually clear mind.
I’ve thought about getting an upper helix piercing in my ear for a while, and I’m going to use that to send a public message to him.
“Hey, loves! Come with me to get my ear pierced.” I’m in my car, parked in the garage, and talking to my phone, but it’s true, I’m getting a piercing.
It works out because a nearby piercing place has been wanting to collaborate.
They have a clean-girl aesthetic, geared toward girls like me who aren’t edgy.
It’s a perfect fit for me, and I’m eager to get there.
The timing couldn’t be better!
Once I arrive and am brought to a private room decorated in pastels, I pull my phone out because everything is content.
“So, I want an upper helix, but maybe I should get a rook? That’d be cute,” I say, recording myself in selfie mode and pointing at the rook piercing location in the upper part of my ear.
I’m not getting a rook piercing, but name-dropping him might be the invite he’s waiting for.
But he doesn’t need one. Clearly.
After explaining the care routine, the piercer cleans the upper cartilage of my ear with antiseptic that stings my nose and marks the spot on my ear.
I opt for a thinner gauge and a small hoop.
A sharp sting invades my ear, but I barely flinch.
I just smile to myself. Maybe I’m more of a baddie than I thought.
“Ta-da, I ended up with an upper helix, but what should I get next?” I say to my phone when I’m seated in my car. That’ll work for the video. I mentioned the business name and piercer too, to fulfill the collaboration details.
When I get home, I grab a light snack and start editing the video. It’s short, less than a minute, and I know Rook will be waiting. It’s noon, and I haven’t even posted on my story yet. An icy shiver makes my shoulders buckle.
What if he’s here—slipped in again while I was out?
My eyes dart around, but I resolve the intrusive thought. Rook operates at night to keep himself anonymous, and if it’s daytime, I’m safe.
Within minutes, I have the video ready to post, caption it with the agreed-upon details, and hit the post button. I take a selfie, showing off the new piercing, and post that to my story, too.
By the time I post the selfie, my notifications explode with likes and comments on my new video.
I open the video to scan the first batch of comments.
Sure enough, the top comment already has a hundred likes…
from the one and only Rook on his verified account.
He never seems to engage with the online community, and I feel like my stunt was triumphant.
I didn’t think you’d be this predictable, Rook.
I smirk as I read his comment, like we’re flirting.
@Rook: Didn’t flinch, did you?
There’s a thread of comments responding to his comment from my followers:
OMG, @Rook!
Wait, do you know each other?
I wouldn’t flinch for you, @Rook!
I will be unalived if you guys are together.
Holy crap.
@AppaPie, RUN!
I think for a moment, considering whether I should respond. I don’t want to egg him on, but maybe part of me does. This is my chance to flip the script, so I reply directly to his comment:
@AppaPie: @Rook, did you?
Then for fun, I reply to the commenter asking if we know each other.
@AppaPie: I don’t know. Do we, @Rook?
Thinking back to his stunt last night, if he had wanted to ruin me, he would have done it. Instead, he wanted me to feel him. My fingertips tingle with the memory of his smooth but meticulously perfected muscles. I tear my gaze from my phone and stare out the back windows.
Two can play this game.