Twenty Crazy
Sienna
Monday mornings are only marginally easier to deal with after a weekend of mind-blowing sex. My whole body feels like jelly and my mind is too sated to give a shit about anything I’m staring at right now, so I do something kind of unprecedented for me and decide to call it quits early. That’s what time off is for, right? Recovery after marathon sex?
Once I’m clocked out, I make sure Osiris is still off mowing grass for the neighbors then call Lydia to fill her in on the best weekend I’ve ever had. I don’t even care if she says she told me so, though the “Oh, you’re alive,” I get when she answers makes me chuckle.
“Yeah, I’m alive. Definitely alive. Are you?”
“Yes, but I was worried sick. Do you know how many times I tracked your location this weekend just to make sure I could? You can’t text a bitch back anymore?”
“Not when I’m spending the weekend getting absolutely wrecked by a horny ex-con. You get it.”
She has no argument there. “Jesus, I bet he was insatiable. No, not going there right now. Did you ever find out more about how the hell he even got there? It seriously makes no sense, and I did some Google detective work, Sienna. There’s literally no way for him to be on parole in a house that wasn’t checked.”
My smile fades, but only slightly. I know she’s just looking out for me. “Well, he’s here somehow. I talked to his parole officer and he basically said they were slammed and Si told him we were married or something.”
She chuckles, but I can hear there isn’t any actual humor in there. “This sounds crazy. Does it not sound crazy to you? I — look, just call his P.O. when he isn’t around. You’ll probably get more answers.”
It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I’m a well-educated human being, I know when two plus two stops equaling four. But maybe I’ve been intentionally blind here, ignoring the obvious signs because I wanted this to be true. “What did Google tell you?”
“Well first of all... his crimes.” She sounds almost sheepish at that admission because I specifically asked her not to look him up. “Sorry. I had to. But aside from that, it says that going on parole is a long process because someone has to come out to the residence before it’s ever approved. Even if he put the paperwork in the day you messaged him, there’s no way he was able to get approval — especially to cross state lines.”
“Maybe they wanted rid of him,” I mumble as my stomach sinks. The timeline was the one thing I refused to look too closely at, and mainly because I know she’s right. It never added up that he told me he hadn’t even applied and then showed up on my doorstep only a month later. “Or maybe it was rushed because of overcrowding or something.”
“Maybe,” she says in a placating tone. “Technically I don’t know anything about his personal process there, it just really doesn’t add up. I hate doing this to you, and honestly I hope I’m wrong. I just think you should look into it a little more before you fall in love with him. We can’t forget he’s killed before.”
She whispers the last line like she might be overheard even though Si still isn’t back. The defensiveness I feel for him tells me it may already be too late to stop this train, but she’s right. He’s living in my house. What harm would it do to just confirm everything is on the up and up? My fears would be assuaged, Lydia would be able to relax when I go two hours without responding, and maybe I could work with his P.O. to help find him a job landscaping on a larger scale since he’s actually pretty good at it.
Honestly, I have plenty of reasons to call and zero not to.
“Okay,” I say finally. “He used my phone to call last time, so I should have the number. Let me see what I can find and I’ll call you back.”
After a quick good luck from her, I hang up and scroll back through my recents. It’s not hard to figure out which number is correct since I don’t make many outgoing calls, so all that I have to do is hit call.
I just... have to convince myself to actually do it first.
Come on, Sienna. He’ll confirm what you already know and you can move forward. There’s no way Si lied to you, not after everything. And what’s the alternative, anyway? He broke out? He wouldn’t have a parole officer if that’s the case. Just call.
Slamming the number, I close my eyes and put it on speaker so I can sit on my hands. Anything to stop myself from backing out.
Like the last time, he answers with so much noise in the background it’s hard not to assume he’s at a party or something. Maybe he just likes having his music loud?
“What’s up?”
“Is this Officer Ridge?” I ask, pulling it off of speaker phone so I can hear better. “Hello?”
“Oh shit.” I hear him move the phone away to mumble, “Turn that down, it’s my P.O.” before he returns. “Hey, sorry about that. Everything okay?”
His P.O.? What the hell?
“Umm... this is Officer Ridge, right? Maybe I have the wrong number.”
“Wait, what?”
“That’s your P.O.?” a woman’s voice cuts in. “Isn’t she a bitch?”
“Fuck off,” he growls, and when he talks again I can tell he left the room. “Yeah, this is Ridge. You don’t usually call me that. You okay?”
My own voice sounds far away as I ask, “What do I normally call you?”
“Uh, Cohen. My first name,” he chuckles. “Wait, you sound different. Did you catch a cold? Who is this?”
Cohen. Like Osiris’ former cellmate. It’s not that common of a first name, and given the rest of this conversation, I don’t think it takes a detective to work out that I’ve been duped.
My stomach sinks when I realize just how far Osiris went to pulling one over on me. He must’ve had it planned for a while if Cohen was in on it, but the timeline really doesn’t matter anymore. He lied no matter what.
“I don’t have a cold, and this isn’t your parole officer. This is Sienna Conley, Osiris Soto’s... friend. And you’re not his P.O. either. You’re his fucking cellmate.”
“Fuck!”
Click .
My heartbeat speeds up and then slows almost to a dead stop. I let a criminal into my house without doing an ounce of homework on him or how the hell he came to be standing in front of me when he was supposed to have a decade left on his sentence, and the layers here? The fake P.O., the fake paperwork, the clause about having to sleep in a real bed?
Holy god, I’m gonna be sick.
My phone clatters to the ground as the lock on the front door clicks, and I barely get myself up off the couch before it’s swinging open and Osiris is walking in with a wide grin.
“I’m all dirty. Wanna shower with me?”
My libido nearly takes over again when I see how fucking hot he looks, but not even that can erase what I just found out. Steeling my nerve, I shake my head. “No, we don’t have time. Your parole officer just called and said we have to go down to his office right now. Something about a random drug test? Anyway, he said you’d know where to go, so I’ll drive.”
I might have overlooked the guilt written all over his body before this, but now that the truth has slapped me in the goddamn face I can see it as clear as day. He’s avoided talking about parole this entire time, and the few times that I managed to bring it up he had the same look in his eyes that he does now. “Are you sure it was Officer Ridge?”
What kind of a question is that? How many parole officers does he think I believe he has? “Yes, it was Officer Ridge. He said it’s just standard protocol and nothing to be worried about, but he’s just as busy as ever so it’ll be easier if we go to him. You can shower after,” I say flatly. “Let me grab my purse.”
I leave him standing there like an idiot as I get my things from the kitchen, then take a deep breath before walking back out. I unfortunately don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing and why I’m not outright calling him out, but here we are.
“Ready?”
He holds up a finger and disappears into the room, and as much as I want to light a fire under his ass I take the opportunity to breathe as he cleans up. It takes him about ten minutes to come back out of the room in some fresh clothes, and he doesn’t say a word to me as he leads the way to my car.
It’s so unlike him I’d know something was up even if I didn’t well... know .
“So how’d it go?” I ask, getting in and trying to act like I’m not making a bad situation worse. I should’ve just called the fucking cops on him, but I think part of me still hopes this is all some giant misunderstanding. Maybe he’ll take me down to a parole office and it’ll be some other Officer Ridge and the Cohen thing was just a coincidence.
Or maybe I need therapy and for someone to hit me in the head with a brick a few dozen times.
Honestly, I don’t hear a word he says until he tells me to turn right at the first stop sign. He’s taking me somewhere, but fucking where? All the wishful thinking in the world won’t suddenly make any of this true. “Right?” I repeat. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, right. Did he tell you something different?”
There’s a hint of defensiveness in his tone that makes me want to pull the car over and smack his nose, but I don’t. I made it this far, so let’s see how far he’ll push it.
“No, I just assumed the parole office would be close to the courthouse which is to the left. I don’t know anything about them though, so I guess they could be anywhere.”
“Oh. Yeah, well that makes sense. I don’t really know this town like that so... maybe try that way.”
He shrugs a shoulder and slumps against the door to bite at his thumbnail, nearly making me feel bad for him.
Nearly.
This motherfucker lied his way into my personal space, my bed, my body, and my heart. He manipulated me and used me in just about every way a person could be used — and yet all I can see is the devotion in his eyes when he put me on my knees in the bookstore.
Some of this was real. Just not the right parts.
“Okay, we’ll go that way.” And drag this on further for no reason. “Then what?”
I can see all of the signs of his anxiety as his leg shakes, and his fists tighten. “He said I have to have a drug test? Maybe — I just have to go to the courthouse I’m sure, so just go that way. Are you hungry? Want to grab something first? The Winchesters gave me a nice tip.”
He’s almost as desperate as I am to extend this before the tension snaps and the truth comes out, but that’s stupid. Waiting will only make it worse. “I think they close soon, maybe we’ll go after.”
I watch him nod from the corner of my eye, but even from here I can see he isn’t hearing anything but the ticking of a clock about to tell him time is up. “Can you pull over?”
For the first time, fear creeps up my spine. We’re not in a very busy part of town since we’re only about halfway to the courthouse, so there won’t be many witnesses if he decides to kill me. Still, I pull over anyway and carefully put my car in park.
He sits there still for a brief moment, then undoes our seatbelts before I even realize what’s happening, and suddenly I’m being pulled onto his lap.
He immediately tries to distract me with a line of kisses up my neck, shocking me in a way I wasn’t expecting. The sudden shift has me gasping. “Si, what—”
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Sienna. How am I supposed to keep my hands off of you?”
He pins me to him and begins marking my neck, leaving traces behind whether I want him to or not.
Fuck.
“Si,” I say more insistently, but his hands slide into my pants to grip my ass. “Osiris, stop!”
“Why?” he almost whispers. “Just... why? I’m yours. You’re mine. Fuck everything else.”
I can feel he’s already hard under me, and when he adds teeth into the mix I nearly just let it all go.
But he lied.
Anger coils in my gut until I’m wrapping my hand around Si’s throat and pinning him back against the seat. “No, fuck you for lying to me. You’re still trying to manipulate me.”
There’s pain in his eyes as he lets me have the power here, both of his hands raising as he holds my gaze. “Don’t do this.”
I’m not really squeezing, but I still can’t bring myself to let go. It’s giving me a very false sense of security. “Just tell me what the fuck is going on, Osiris.”
For a moment we just sit there breathing heavily as we stare at each other, and when he finally speaks I want to actually strangle him. He isn’t giving me any real answers. “I just want to be with you.”
“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before you made me look like a dumbass,” I snap, shoving the passenger door open so I can climb out and get some space from him. “And you’re still not telling me the truth.”
“What happened?” I hear him turn the car off and toss the keys on the seat before he climbs out to follow me. “We were fine this morning. Where is this even coming from?”
“It’s coming from the fact that nothing you said has added up, so I called Officer Ridge to ask a few questions. Only as it turns out, he thought I was his parole officer.”
His face drops completely. “Fuck. Okay... fuck .” Both of his hands fly to his head and he begins his annoyingly endearing pacing once again. “Goddamnit, Cohen! He had one fucking job.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later. Or not,” I grumble, stomping over to my side of the car again.
“Sienna. Wait.” He rushes over to the driver’s side just as I climb inside, and he grips the door before I can close it. “Don’t do this to us. We have something good. Something real. Look me in the eyes and tell me we don’t.”
With the last little bit of resolve I have, I meet his gaze. “No, Osiris. You had something good and I had a fucking lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie. I only lied so I could stay with you, because I was already falling for you. Don’t throw everything away over one thing. Hit me, yell at me, toss me in the dog house for however long you need. Just don’t fucking leave me.”
I can’t wrap my head around the fact that he just said it wasn’t a lie then admitted to lying. “How the fuck are you out of prison?” I yell. “Just answer the question.”
“I got out,” he replies a little breathlessly. “I served my time, Sienna. I was fucking sixteen when I fucked my whole life up, and I took a deal to only have to serve eight years. I wasn’t lying when I said the release date you saw was wrong. I served every single day of my time.”
Which means him being here isn’t an escape attempt or a violation of parole, which means I can’t really turn him in.
“Congratulations on being free. But being free means you can go wherever you want, which means you don’t have to stay with me.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere else. I want to be with you.”
He finally releases my door so he can drop his head back with a frustrated growl, giving me the opportunity to slam it. The whole damn car shakes as I fumble with the keys and try to get it started, and the way he stares at me through the window has a shiver working its way up my spine. He isn’t going to let this go. “Sienna, stop acting fucking crazy.”
My eyebrows shoot up so fast I’m surprised they don’t fling themselves out of the car and smack him in the dick.
I know he didn’t just say that.
“Okay. Bye now,” I sing-song, jerking the gearshift into drive and stomp on the gas pedal. The tires squeal as I fight the urge to cut the wheel and show him what crazy really is, but as I drive away and get a little distance between us, I have a feeling neither of us really know yet.
I don’t believe in god, but I’m praying I’m not the one who finds out.