22. Chapter 22 #2
“She said it was important,” he interrupted, acting as if the matter were settled.
“Right.”
“She said when someone is going through a transition, you show up for them. You don’t wait to be asked.”
Something about the way he said it made my stomach do a weird little drop.
“Right,” I said again, because apparently this was the only word I had left. “That’s … very thoughtful.”
“It is,” he agreed, completely serious.
Then he smiled again, too wide.
“Now,” he said, clapping his hands together like we were about to start a team-building exercise, “what’s the system?”
“The system?”
“For packing,” he clarified patiently. “Categories. Priorities. Sentimental versus practical. You can’t just throw things into boxes, Adelaide. It creates disorder.”
I blinked at him. “I’ve been doing okay so far.”
He glanced at the nearest box and his smile faltered.
“Oh no, that won’t do. Don't worry, we’ll fix it,” he said gently.
Everything about this situation was uncomfortable and I had no idea how to get out of it.
“I’m not sure it needs fixing,” I said, stepping between him and the box like I suddenly felt weirdly protective of my own chaotic system.
He tilted his head, studying me like I was the confusing one. Then, after a second, he softened again, like he’d consciously adjusted something.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
My stomach tightened.
“Worry about … packing?”
“Worry about doing things alone,” he corrected.
Oh my God, he’s totally gonna wear my skin as a blanket, isn’t he?
I forced a small laugh. “I mean, I’m not exactly alone. I have friends. And — people. You know. Around.”
“Not here,” he said quietly.
I shifted my weight, suddenly very aware of how quiet the apartment had gotten. The TV was still on in the background, the low murmur of voices filling the space, but it felt far away.
“I’m here, though.”
I swallowed. “Yeah. You are.”
After a moment, I slowly turned back to the boxes, because if I didn’t distract myself, I was going to spiral.
“Okay!” I said brightly. “So! Since you’re here and very committed to this … apparently… you can, uh, maybe tape boxes?”
Eric’s face lit up. “Yes! Yes, that’s good.”
Relief flickered through me. Great. Contained task. Limited interaction.
We’re fine. Once he’s done, I’ll just send him on his way. No harm, no foul.
I handed him the tape gun, which he took carefully, almost reverently. Our fingers brushed for half a second and I pulled back quickly.
Too quickly.
Something shifted in his expression. “You’re nervous.”
My laugh was a little too high-pitched. “What? No. I’m just … this is just a lot.”
Eric nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. My insides twisted.
“Okay,” I said, forcing a smile as I took a step back to create a little more space between us. “Let’s maybe … start with the kitchen before we tackle everything.”
There was something about the way he said it that made it sound less like agreement and more like a temporary compromise. I quickly turned away and crouched down next to another box, trying to keep my hands busy.
Behind me, I heard the slow, deliberate unraveling of tape.
My hands were moving automatically. I had initially written him off as harmless. Helpful. A little strange, sure, but not … this. Not whatever this was slowly starting to feel like.
“I’m so glad I came to help. I don’t think you understand how vulnerable you are,” he said from behind me.
A small, uneasy laugh slipped out of me as I turned around. “Vulnerable?”
“Yes. People take advantage of that,” he continued, accompanied by the sound of tape being pulled. “Girls like you. Kind. Trusting.”
Something cold slid down my spine.
“I’m not that trusting,” I said, my voice sharper now as I looked at him.
Eric tilted his head.
“Adelaide,” he said softly, like we were sharing something intimate, something private, something I absolutely had not agreed to, “you let me in.”
My grip tightened the containers I’d been stacking into a box.
“Yeah … because you offered to help.”
More like forced his way in here, but it didn’t feel smart to point this out right now.
“And I did,” he said quickly. “I am helping.”
I shifted, pushing myself up from the floor, crossing my arms again. “I think I’ve got it from here, actually—”
Eric stood as well, his movements too fast. Suddenly, he was too close.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, stepping toward me. “I know you’re overwhelmed. I can see it. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”
“I’m not—”
His hand came up to rest against my arm, its weight uncomfortable.
I froze. “Stop.”
He didn’t move.
“You don’t mean that,” he murmured. “You just don’t know how to ask for help.”
My stomach dropped. “I asked you to stop.”
Of how close he was standing. Of how he was looking at me.
“You’re scared,” he said softly.
I blinked, still half in my own head. “What? No, I—”
“It’s okay,” he cut in gently, misreading everything. “Anyone would be in your situation.”
My brain lagged behind the words as he stepped closer.
“But I’m here to help you. I can take care of you.”
Something twisted in my chest.
“If you let me.”
This was wrong. So fucking wrong.
“I’m not scared,” I said, trying to pull my arm back.
His grip tightened just slightly. “You don’t have to lie.”
Okay. Nope. This was not happening.
“I don’t need—”
His other hand came up and brushed across my cheek. That was the moment it clicked, and I went completely still. This man was neither awkward, shy or harmless.
He was dangerous.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said quietly, like it was something good. “You don’t even realize how special you are. How much attention you draw.”
All my instincts finally kicked in.
“Take your hand off me,” I hissed.
Eric smiled, like he was indulging a toddler throwing a tantrum. “You don’t mean that.”
I stepped back, preparing myself for a fight, when I noticed movement behind him.
The bedroom door opened and a tall, broad figure emerged from the dark room. I tried to suck in a breath because I should have been screaming bloody murder, calling for help or at least running for my life. But there was no fucking air in this room, and my feet were still cemented to the floor.
Oh my God, this was so bad. Having two men with questionable motives inside my apartment was infinitely worse than having one.
My thoughts were racing as I tried to make sense of the situation. The chances of this being just your run-of-the-mill criminal with astonishingly bad timing breaking into my apartment were slim to none.
The TV was still rambling on in the background, swallowing up any sounds the figure might have made as it moved across the threshold.
The door clicked shut behind him and it was like a starting gun, kicking off a race.
Eric’s hand dropped from my face and his head snapped toward the sound.
“What the—”
The other man entered the room with measured steps. Once he stepped into the light, I saw he was wearing a mask. Green crosses slashed across his eyes and a wide, eerie smile covered his mouth. There was no way of telling who was underneath it.
He didn’t say anything at first, just continued to advance.
Eric stumbled back immediately. “I-I wasn’t … this isn’t—”
He turned, like he was going to run — fucking coward — but the masked man caught him before he made it two steps. One gloved hand fisted in the back of his sweater vest and yanked him back to drive him straight into the wall hard enough to rattle everything hanging on it.
I flinched, rooted to the spot.
Apparently, I really wasn’t a flight kind of person.
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” the intruder said mildly, almost bored. “You were just explaining how she’s safe with you, yes?”
Eric struggled, panic setting in fast now. “I didn’t do anything—”
“Mm.” The masked man hummed. “That’s interesting, because my men have been watching you follow her for weeks.”
My brain stuttered. “What?”
The mask’s sinister smile turned my way briefly, like I’d just spoken out of turn in a meeting.
“Yes. I know. Shocking.” His attention turned back to Eric. “They’ve been very patient,” he continued conversationally, tightening his grip just enough to make the smaller man choke on his next breath. “Letting you build your little routine. Your little … obsession.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he cut in calmly. “It’s actually impressive how well you blend in. Disturbing, but impressive.”
Then he shifted his grip and punched Eric straight in the face. I gasped as blood shot out of Eric’s nose, but the masked man showed no mercy. He reared his fist back again and again as though it barely exerted him at all.
I stood there, frozen, trying to process literally any of this.
“I was going to let them handle you,” he went on, like we were discussing something mildly inconvenient. “But then I thought…”
Another hit.
“No.” A pause. “This is personal.”
Eric sagged in his grip, gasping and whimpering, as blood dripped from his mouth.
I found my voice, though it was barely more than a whisper. “W-what do you mean you were watching him?”
The mask turned to look at me again, just for a second.
It was all Eric needed. He twisted, slipped out of his blood-stained sweater vest and pushed hard, managing to break free.
The masked man’s head whipped back to him. In a move so fast it was surely practiced, he was suddenly holding something long in his hand. It wasn’t until I heard the dull thud that I realized it was a gun with a silencer attached.
Eric screamed, dropping to the floor and clutching his knee. His khakis were bloodstained now, too.
“Agh! Oh my God, you shot me, you lunatic!”
The masked man was on top of him in the blink of an eye. He pulled something out of his pocket, bound Eric’s wrists and stuffed fabric into his mouth to gag him.
“Only in the kneecap.” He shrugged, patting Eric’s cheek patronizingly. “You’ll live.”