Chapter 7 Eris
The camera blinks at me, a small red dot in the upper corner of my bedroom ceiling. Not intrusive or even obvious. Just… there, watching me like a quiet voyeur intent on not interrupting the scene.
It should make me feel weird, but instead, it makes me feel wanted and safe in a twisted way that I don’t have the energy to unpack tonight.
I open the HimLock app, thumb hovering just long enough to admit what I’m doing is probably crazy. Call me an addict. Obsessed… but I’m not pretending this is casual anymore.
I want them.
And I’ll have them…
As soon as Daniel is dead.
Maybe before.
The screen lights up beneath my fingers with a notification from one of my guys. It’s like he knew I was thinking about them and got tired of waiting for me to message.
Locke:
You look like sin tonight.
And I’d do anything to confess.
I smirk, dropping onto my bed in a cropped band tee, a lacy thong, and fuzzy green socks.
It’s laundry day, and the quilt beneath me is still warm from the dryer.
My apartment echoes soft instrumental music I left playing in the living room, drowning out the downtown Bay traffic as the city comes alive.
Eris:
Do you say that to all the girls you monitor through cameras?
Locke:
Only the ones who wear black when they know it makes me weak.
The socks, though? They’re really doing it for me.
They’d look great on the floor.
Or the doorknob.
Eris:
Can you see me rolling my eyes? Or is the effort wasted?
Question… Unrelated to those.
You said you’ve seen me in person. Or one of you did…
Locke:
I have. A few times…
But that’s not a question.
Ask me what you really want to know.
My stomach tightens at his command, and it sort of pisses me off. How does one sentence in an app give me butterflies? I lean against my pillows, stretching my legs out as I glance up at the camera.
Eris:
If I’ve already met you, why do we keep talking here instead of through text messages or phone calls? Or in person…?
Why the app?
The seconds tick by, his reply coming slower this time. I wonder if I’m talking to Whisper since he was flirty until shit got real. I think it’s he who takes more time to be deliberate in his word choice.
Locke:
Because it’s where you trust me most.
And it’s our place.
Here… You never look away.
A shiver slides down my spine, caught somewhere between my risky behavior and the thrill of being hunted. It’s not quite fear or excitement. The emotion is much sharper, like the tip of a knife pressed against my throat.
Before I can second-guess my actions, my fingers are already gliding over the keyboard and hitting send.
Eris:
Then come over.
Locke:
Say it again.
But ask nicely.
A smile tugs at my lips, rounding my cheeks in a way that makes the expression difficult to hide. Ask nicely, he says… Like he isn’t watching me right now. Like he didn’t just reference the color of my underwear and casually mention putting a sock on the doorknob.
Eris:
Come to my apartment.
Show me who you are.
I don’t even bother typing my address because I know they’ve got it by now… But before I can mention that, an unsaved number pops onto my screen, green button glowing for me to answer.
I decline it.
Two seconds later, another call comes through.
Decline.
A third call, perfectly timed with the others, has my brows furrowing and my irritation sparking hotter than any worry I might feel.
I hit decline again, teeth clenched as I wait for the next call.
He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.
Then a text comes through, and for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t read as Probably Daniel. It comes from a five-digit number.
76381:
I see you.
Everything in me goes still. I stare at the screen, breath held like I’m waiting for it to blink first or break into song and dance. It does nothing, and I glance out the window of my bedroom as I open the HimLock app… Just to be sure.
I’m on the second floor, but that doesn’t mean much.
Eris:
Was that you?
Locke:
No.
That wasn’t me.
Eris:
Are you sure?
Locke:
Do you feel safe?
I don’t answer.
There’s no need.
I’m not scared, but I am angry that Daniel is pushing again. Boundary after boundary, like he’s daring me to snap. He won’t like it when I do.
I slide out of bed, socked feet soundless on the floor. The rest of the apartment is dark, and I leave it like that. I want the shadows on my side.
The room I go into first is the bathroom, straight to the sink on autopilot. Bottom drawer. Lift towel. Check cartridge.
If Daniel breaks in, I have a plan… And that includes cornering myself in the bathroom so I can kill him without the actual murder being on camera. Then I’ll clean myself, trash the cameras, and dispose of the body. It’s pretty simple, but there’s plenty of wiggle room should shit go wrong.
Like a knife tucked under my nightstand…
Or three men watching me through cameras they installed in my apartment without consent who will see if I’m knocked out and abducted.
I reach the living room threshold and pause to peek around the corner. Not hearing the door open and knowing the door didn’t open are two very different things… Now, the door needs an alarm.
My attention turns toward the balcony. And my entire body goes rigid.
White flowers sit on the tiny table. It’s been moved to block the path through the sliding door, like he wants to make sure there’s no way I’ll miss the bouquet.
He didn’t leave it at my front door or in the hall where my neighbors might see.
My second. Floor. Balcony.
More than a dozen fresh, white roses.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache, but I stealthily move forward, caution keeping me light on my feet as I survey the shadows beyond the floor to ceiling windows.
With slow and measured intentions, I tug on the cord that attaches to the massive blinds covering the rest of my view, daring him to jump out at me. My pulse thunders in my ears as each inch of my balcony is fully revealed.
But he’s not there.
Not that I can see.
I still don’t unlock the door to find out if he’s below me on the sidewalk or hanging onto the side of the building…
I stand safely on the inside of the glass, fogging the pane with my breath as I stare at a bouquet of fucking roses that shouldn’t be reachable without a ladder or a death wish.
Daniel got close.
Too close.
He wants me scared.
All he’s doing is pissing me off, getting one step closer to crossing the invisible line I drew at the end of my fuse. My patience is wearing thin, but I can hold out longer than he’s expecting.
If not for any reason other than spite…
I wish he would come inside so we can have some real fun.
My phone pings, the sound of the HimLock app dragging me from my thoughts.
Locke:
Tell me what’s happening.
Eris:
There are flowers.
White roses on my second-story balcony.
He was here just now. I didn’t see him, but I don’t need to have eyes on him to know this was him.
As soon as my last message is sent, a reply pops up.
Locke:
You’re not alone.
One of us is outside.
My spine snaps straight as I study the street beyond the sidewalk of my apartment complex. I don’t see anyone.
Eris:
Which one?
Locke:
Does it matter?
You’re safe. He’s gone.
Right now, that’s all that matters to us.
My fingers hover as I look toward my front door. The hall beyond should be silent at this time of night. Too still. Holding its breath and waiting for the next move.
I could open it. Leave. Meet Daniel at his apartment and kill him as quietly as possible.
Or…
I could let one of them in. Let whoever is out there step into this darkness with me.
For a moment, the idea curls warm and reckless around my ribs.
Eris:
Should I let you in?
The question has too many meanings. It’s rhetorical and hypothetical and too straightforward to be anything other than honest.
Locke:
Do you want to?
The reply is equal and opposite, a sharp juxtaposition to the hammering heart in my chest.
Do I want to?
I stare at the door. At the camera in the corner of my living room. At the shadows that feel less empty than they should.
Eris:
I do, but I sleep better when I know I’m being watched.
The answer is in our chat before I can take my eyes off the screen.
Locke:
Then sleep, Eris.
I’ve got you tonight.
We aren’t going anywhere.
We’ve got you now.
Always.
The worst part of this entire situation isn’t the stalking ex, or the stalking guys hiding behind an app, or the fucking butterflies still fluttering around in my stomach.
The worst part is…
I believe him.
I think I’ve believed them since the beginning of this madness.