Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Never in my life did I think I’d be walking a skunk in a stroller in rich suburbia past nine at night.
Thank fuck it’s late because I don’t need people looking inside and seeing an electrocuted feather duster with a fart box.
However, apparently Princess wants his evening walk, so Princess gets his evening walk.
And he’s not happy about the method. I’m fairly certain he’d be frolicking in the middle of the road if I didn’t have him attached by a leash to his fancy prison.
There’s a huff from inside.
“I’m sorry, bud, I know.”
He’s silent. Because of course he is. His dad disappeared, and a strange man is humiliating him in front of the world. Life isn’t fair. But Micah is the boss, so if he says Princess takes a walk, then walk we will.
Micah talked a lot. Like, a lot. He has the energy of a goddamn puppy, super excited, super energetic.
Fairly certain he’s sent me more emojis than I’ve ever seen.
I didn’t even know there was more than one color heart, let alone like six.
I’m trying not to read into it. Maybe he’s always like this. Flamboyant.
Thank fuck he talks, though. It’s been fairly easy to lie my way through this, and fuck, the pay is good.
Stifling a yawn, I turn the stroller around. “Your carriage is being directed across the street, buddy, so you can look at these neighbors now.” It’s slightly chilly now that the sun has gone down, and I’m glad I grabbed my hoodie.
In the silence, my mind wanders like it always does. Then, there’s a crack of noise across the street. I jump, my heart racing, immediately scanning for the source of the sound.
It’s a neighbor shutting their trash lid.
Fuck. I suck in a breath, but that black cloud that follows me is back.
I just have to keep my mind busy. I push the stroller faster. Maybe when we get back, Princess will want to chill, and I can numb my mind on socials to pretend like the cloud doesn’t exist.
Only, it does. As soon as we’re back and I get Princess all unclipped, I pad to the living room and look for the remote. When I see it, I freeze. It’s a black remote with a little red power button and a long, skinny shape. It’s the same one that he had.
Suddenly, that storm that’s been chasing me is wrapping my mind in chaos. This isn’t safe. Nothing is safe! Why the hell am I in another man’s house getting all comfortable as if it won’t happen all over again?
My gut churns, noises fade, and I bite the inside of my lip, relishing the pain that keeps me grounded. Keeps me here, in this townhouse, not the old apartment. I’m not there anymore. Is it hot? Why is it so hot? I rip my hoodie off, but that’s not enough.
“Honey, I’m home!”
I jump straight up, whirling around to see Micah coming in the front door. He flashes me a smile, then crouches down to greet Princess.
I feel like I’m going to throw up. I suck in a few deep breaths, the nausea followed quickly by anger. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“How was he?”
I pull in a breath and plaster on a smile. “Great.”
“Great? I don’t believe it.” Micah fluffs Princess’ fur. “Have you already buttered him up so he lies for you?”
I check my pocket for my keys. Not only do I feel sick, but I see Mr. Parker at the ass crack of dawn, and I just know I’m going to be exhausted, that is, if I can sleep.
“Did you know Princess usually hates men?” Micah does a hop step around the skunk. “Ah, fiddlesticks, I forgot the food.” He freezes, and an odd silence fills the room.
“Oh.” I’m not good at filling silences. “Well, he’s good with me.” I cringe. “I mean, he doesn’t seem afraid.”
Micah snaps his head up, and his eyes look…scared. Immediately, I glance behind me. What does he see?
Micah chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry! Long day at work. Uh, yeah, he seems really good with you, actually. There was a time he attacked one of my exes.”
I can’t figure out why Micah’s acting the way he is. He’s almost acting freaked out by something, although he’s smiling and acting all cheerful. Either way, it makes goosebumps prickle on my skin. I need to go home. I’m probably just overtired.
I creep toward the door, but Micah doesn’t stop talking. “I wasn’t in the room, but I heard him yell, and when I came down, he was bleeding on the floor.”
I acknowledge the pronoun. He. So Micah does like men. And then I register the bleeding.
“Had to take my ex to get stitches.” Micah rubs the back of his neck, and I hate the way I notice how it makes his forearm flex under those dark tattoos. “Princess hates socks. Always has, always will.”
I can’t help but feel relieved that it wasn’t Princess getting hurt in that story. Quietly, I grab the keys from my pocket.
“Can always count on him to have my back, though. Not many you can say that about.” Micah gets a faraway look in his eye.
Absently, I count down the hours. If it’s ten now, it’ll take five minutes to get home, but it’ll be at least eleven before I’ve eaten something and get in bed to fall asleep, maybe twelve if I can’t wind down, and I have to get up at five thirty…
Micah looks up at me. “Fudge, I’m sorry.
I’m talking too much, I just…” he trails off, and for a second I see that fear again in his eyes.
It’s a look I’ve seen in the mirror before.
My stomach twists, and I’m broken out of my own worries.
I want to ask him what’s wrong. To ask what–or who–made him feel like that.
Then, I yank myself out of it. Micah is my boss, and it’s none of my goddamn business. Instead, I move to the front door. “Let me know the next time you need me.”
There’s a brief pause, a moment where our gazes lock, and the fear melts from Micah’s gaze. He nods. And in that moment, I feel the tightness in my own chest loosen.
Then, I’m outside and practically running to my car. Because I know better than to trust that feeling. I need to get away and fast. Cranking the key over, I move my hand to shift gears, and that’s when I realize the engine doesn’t start.
I turn the key again.
Nothing.
“Fuck!” I pull the key all the way out, then put it back in and try again. Nothing.
That feeling of impending doom presses down on my chest until it feels like I can’t breathe. Why can’t anything fucking work?
Pulling out my phone, I Google what could be wrong with my car.
Google tells me all kinds of things, including a dead battery, a problem with the ignition, and all kinds of other expensive issues.
All the money I’ve gotten from Micah so far has gone to bills.
I check to see if tonight’s pay has hit my account.
It hasn’t.
Fatigue washes over me so hard that I drop my head on the steering wheel. The knock makes my upper molar throb. I groan.
For the tiniest second, I consider knocking on Micah’s door and asking for help, then immediately I table that. What the fuck am I going to do? Ask for money? And get fired on day one?
The thought makes my stomach turn over, and my fingers grow cold. Fuck that. I don’t ask for anything. Ever.
I’m sure this paycheck will hit my account in the morning. I’ll just walk home, and I can call a tow when I have the cash. I’m not parked behind Micah, so I won’t be blocking him because, of course, he has a fancy two-car driveway.
The more I think about it, the scarier it gets, so I just get out of the car, prop the hood so Micah doesn’t call the cops or some shit, and start walking. The air has a slight chill to it, and that’s when I realize I must have left my hoodie.
Fuck it. I’m leaving it. I’m getting home no matter what. I’m not useless. I’m resourceful. I’ll figure something out.