19. Where Is She?
NINETEEN
WHERE IS SHE?
LYLAH
The sun is beaming on the top of my head through the oversized window behind Tatum’s bed.
I need to talk with her and ask why the hell she would ever put her bed in front of this thing, but that’s for another time.
I reach to the side of me, but I’m only met with cold bedding.
Surely, she’s up running, or working, whatever someone with her energy does at the crack of dawn.
Does that get unlocked with age, like one eventually grows into liking beer, or dry wine?
Whatever it is, waking up early and doing anything for the first hour is not something I enjoy.
Slowly, I sit up, taking in how I’m feeling from the past couple of days and the strenuous activities I’ve put this body of mine through.
Surprisingly nothing is hurting . I run my fingers over my wrist, but nothing there either.
I’ll have to tell her I want it rougher, tying me up, so I can feel it for the days following.
My core flutters at the thought of being tied up and at her will again. To be used however she wants.
Heading to the bathroom to handle my morning business, I think it would probably be a good idea to take a shower after…
everything from last night. The hot water cascades over my body as the scents of the way-too-expensive shampoo, conditioner, and body wash that smells like her fill my nose.
Hints of coconut, bergamot, and cedarwood, not too sweet and not too masculine either.
The perfect mixture that I’ll happily coat myself in.
The scents that make Tatum, Tatum .
Now dried off, with my hair brushed and lotion applied, I’m walking through the still, eerily quiet house. I expected to hear a peep from her by now, and I get a sinking feeling deep in my gut, but quickly disregard it. I’m sure Tatum is just out running or maybe went to the store…
I busy myself by grabbing the laundry baskets out of each room and start a load, and when I look out the window of the laundry room that overlooks the driveway, Tatum’s car is missing.
My hands start to shake, but again, I brush it off, trying to calm myself.
She wouldn’t have left me in the house alone, especially if she planned on being gone for a while.
With unsure hands, I close the washer and decide to just be a grown-up and find my phone to call her.
Maybe there’s a text waiting for me explaining where she ended up going.
I just hope she’s okay…
Her name fills my screen with the cute saved contact picture I took of her that first day, and I’m smiling like a fool looking down at it.
My stomach falls out of my ass when I hear her phone ringing from across the hall.
Her room.
Why wouldn’t she have her phone with her?
Even if she went for a run, she would’ve taken it, especially if she drove somewhere to do so. Any woman knows running outside is a dangerous gamble, one that you usually you take a weapon of some sort, but at the very least, your phone.
I’m back in her room, and on her nightstand, sitting there, still ringing, is her phone.
I’m racking my brain, thinking of where she would’ve gone in such a rush, but nothing is making sense.
Though not knowing her long, Tatum gives the exact opposite of drop everything and run vibes.
She’s incredibly levelheaded and seems to have her life together more than anyone I know.
I take a couple of deep breaths and try to center myself. The care I hold so deeply in my soul for this woman already is at a scary level, but I can’t shut it off. If anything, it’s getting heavier and heavier, and I’m tired of holding my feelings back.
But what if she doesn’t feel the same…
Her words from last night echo in my head, “Come for me, break for me, and you can have me. Whatever you want, baby, it’s yours.” And I want her. I want to live like this every day. I don’t think I could survive if I didn’t have Tatum in my orbit now.
And of course Josie too.
Josie, fuck, has something happened with her?
With Tatum not having her phone, I have no way of contacting her or even her parents. I don’t think she gave me their numbers, with them living so far away.
I feel fucking useless, and the need to comfort and help Tatum in any way is like a string tied around my heart, pulling. And that string seems to be unraveling the longer I’m not aware of what’s going on.
But when it comes down to it, I’m just the nanny.
What if she didn’t want her parents to meet me? Is she possibly even embarrassed?
The what ifs could go on for days, and they do in my head, for the rest of the day, and well into the night. The thoughts stalk my every movement while completing my weekend routine that Tatum had given me for the start of the week prep.
I’m in her house… God forbid something did happen to Tatum; I’m going to be suspect number one. But she has cameras in here, they would?—
She has cameras in here!
I’m off the couch and running to the computer she has set up in her office, praying to the devil herself that the thing isn’t password-protected for some stupid reason.
Shaking the mouse, I nearly pass out from excitement when the unlocked computer screen pops up. I go to the little app on the screen that has the camera surveillance icon and am graced with hours of footage.
I scroll to the bedroom camera, back to the fuck-fest that took place right before we passed out. Now fast-forwarding, I see her phone screen lighting up a few times. Tatum doesn’t stir until the third call, and I watch as she picks it up and her face goes ghostly white.
I find the volume, because of course Tatum’s cameras would have audio access too. I turn it up, right on time to hear her shaking voice. “Get her to the emergency room. I’ll be there as soon as I can, and have them call me if they need any permissions.”
It has to be Josie…