15. Zela
The window!
How could I have been so stupid to think a lock would be enough?
Slamming my window shut and locking it takes me longer than it should with the way my hands are shaking.
I stand frozen, unable to look away from the window or drop the knife that I can feel digging into my fingers as I try to force myself to keep breathing.
Panic sits heavy on my chest, and I know if I let it, I’ll fall into it head first, but I can’t afford that right now.
Not in a house with them, not when he could come back any moment.
After what feels like a lifetime, I pry my fingers open and let the knife drop to the ground before stumbling back to the bed to grab my phone.
The blood smears on my screen, and I have to punch in my code when it can’t read my fingerprint.
Shit, I let panic get the best of me; I’m better than that.
I need to wash up and treat this cut.
Moving to my bathroom, I scroll through my phone, unsure why I even grabbed it.
What am I going to do? It’s not like I have any friends, and even if I did, it’s not like I would drag them into…whatever the fuck this is.
The one person I want to talk to isn’t an option, and I curse myself as tears well in my eyes.
Promise to call if you need me. Reed’s words ring in my mind, and I know I shouldn’t; he’s their employee. For all I know, he could run right back to them.
Or worse, he might be on my side. I’m not stupid enough to know that would be dangerous for him. The last thing I want to do is pit him against them, employers or not.
I stand frozen in the bathroom, unsure what to do, my fingers frozen over the screen, a message to Reed blank but there.
Damn it.
Shaking my head, I slam my phone on the counter and turn my attention to the mirror.
I can’t bring him into this.
Shit.
I look terrible.
My face is a mix of blood and cum; it’s in my hair and on my shirt. It’s disgusting, but it doesn’t even come close to the way I feel. Knowing he was in my room, watching me…
I shiver thinking about all the things he could have done.
‘It could have been worse,’ I tell myself and force out a breath before moving to grab the first aid kit from under the sink.
It sounds silly even to my own ears, but I know it’s true. Jace is unhinged on the best days; he could have just as easily carved me up and raped me…
No!
I force the thought away and back to the task at hand.
Clean the cut, then shower to clean the rest of me.
One step at a time.
Thankfully, the cut on my hand isn’t deep. I’d been worried because with the adrenaline pumping through me, I couldn’t even feel it, which isn’t usually a good sign.
I clean it but leave it unwrapped. I’ll handle it after I shower.
Peeling off my shirt, I wipe my face with it and toss it in the trash.
Turning the knob to the shower, I give it a second to warm up when my phone vibrates on the counter, and I damn near jump out of my skin.
I’m tempted to ignore it.
Nobody I know would message me at this time, which means it’s probably one of them, and they are the last people I want to communicate with in any way.
I turn my back to the phone and move toward the shower, only for it to vibrate again.
“Ugh!” I groan, snatching my phone off the counter and pulling a face when I’m met with the bloody screen.
I forgot I’d made a mess of it.
Digging my shirt out of the trash, I wipe it down and almost drop it.
Fuck.
This whole night has just been a dream, right? I’m going to wake up in bed, not covered in cum from my psycho stepbrother with a text from Reed…
I’m a fucking liar, just like he knew I was. His number is in my phone, but I never intended to use it! It was more like a security blanket.
Who is this?
Those three dots of doom appear at the bottom of the screen, and I’m aware that I’m wasting all the hot water and once again bleeding on my phone, but I can’t seem to move as I wait for whatever he has to say to come through.
My only saving grace is that he obviously doesn’t know my number, and why would he? I don’t go around sharing my phone number.
Wait…
My breath gets stuck in my throat when I look up and see that I’d somehow sent him a text. A simple period, seven minutes ago.
How is this my life?
The blood! My phone had been covered in it from my hand. I should have known better than to even open a message to him.
Calm down, breathe. I’m nobody, just a random number that sent punctuation. People get numbers wrong all the time.
Vix?
FUCK!
Of all the things he could have said. I always knew he was smart, but this has to be a lucky shot in the dark.
He can’t know it’s me, not really, but it’s a good guess given our most recent conversation.
I need to message him back and tell him I accidentally messaged the wrong number, or better yet, ignore him and let this die away.
But I can’t.
Fuck I don’t want to…
I’m so pathetic and lonely that even just him knowing it was me is enough to make my chest feel tight.
I’m not supposed to let people in. I know what happens when I do, but Reed’s not like everyone else.
He’s been around forever and has always looked out for me. So long as I don’t get too close, he won’t leave.
Texting him isn’t too much, right? We’re still practically strangers, nothing more than just a few digital conversations.
Sorry, bloody fingers made me misclick…
My fingers fly across the screen, and I don’t even think about what I’ve just said until I’ve already pressed send.
“Shit,” I breathe.
And this is why I don’t have friends.
I smack a hand to my forehead and cringe harder when the sticky blood makes a wet sound against my skin.
Shower first, then I can sort this new shit show out.
Maybe he’ll think I’m joking, or better yet, not want to get involved with my shit and leave me on read.
I can’t be that lucky, though, and his next text comes back less than five seconds later.
Blood? Are you okay? Do you need me to come get you?
Crap.
I give him the short of it. I cut my hand on the knife he gave me after dealing with a less-than-savory visitor in my room without too many details. He doesn’t need to know my visitor lives in the house with me, is my stepbrother, or his boss.
It’s all good now, though. Cleaned it up, and now I’m going to pop in the shower.
I chew my lip and try to think of a reason I had to message him. I’d wanted comfort, and he’s done that even without knowing it, but I don’t want him to feel like he needs to come and save me.
I can handle these assholes, and I don’t want to put him in danger.
I just wanted to say thanks for the knife, saved my ass.
My cheeks heat, and I regret it the second I hit send, but it’s done now. Putting my phone on the counter, I strip off my underwear and hop in the shower, ready for the water to have run cold, only to find it’s still not only warm but hot.
Ugh, rich people shit.