Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
She’s my lifeline. Literally.
“Vi, honest, I mean it. You need to ask the manager for fewer shifts. You look out of it lately.” She takes a sip of her coffee as she grabs some books she left on the kitchen table, where she usually studies.
We live in a run-down one-bedroom apartment that we moved into recently, after the guy who used to rent us his attic tried to drug us with his homemade wine. It’s a couple of streets away from our previous place, and we were lucky to find it after the old man who lived here died and his son rented it out to us for a bargain. It’s way better equipped than the attic and we pay almost the same rent.
Honestly, both Dahlia and I think we’ve hit the jackpot. It even has a balcony, can you believe it? I’ve never lived anywhere with a balcony, so these past few weeks have felt surreal.
I usually sleep in the living room, having insisted Dahlia take the other room so she can focus on her studies. She wanted us to share it, but it’s small and I don’t want to disturb her healthy sleeping schedule with my erratic, nightmare-filled one.
“I’m actually earning a bit more from my job now that I’m working extra shifts in the summer.” She shoves the books into a tote bag. “I’ll help out more.”
“Spend that money on your studies or your expenses. I’m truly fine, Dahl.”
She throws the bag over her shoulder and frowns. “No, you’re not. You’re just saying that so I won’t worry. Your back pain is flaring up again. Don’t think I didn’t notice the heat patches you’re using on the regular now.”
“It’s a chronic injury. It’s bound to flare.” I hand her the sandwich she left on the counter. “You’ll be late.”
She kisses my cheek. “I’m totally helping out more. See ya!”
And then she’s off before I can reply.
Since she said she’ll help out, I can’t stop her. I guess I’ll buy her some necessities in return. Starting with a new pair of her favorite white sneakers—her old ones are so beat up, they look gray.
Maybe I’ll design and embroider her a medical-themed patch for one of her bags.
My classes start late today, so I spend an hour or so sketching some ideas in my journal while making food for Dahlia for the rest of the week. I haven’t eaten anything since last night, but I’m used to this constant sense of starvation. I consider it intermittent fasting—apparently, it’s good for you.
I would definitely rather Dahlia eat than me. Seeing her well-fed, well-dressed, and crushing it at school brings me joy and a sense of accomplishment of sorts.
I’m apprehensive as I leave the apartment, even though I’m dressed in my signature hoodie and jeans. My strawberry-blonde hair that reaches just below my shoulder blades is gathered in a bun and hidden by the hood.
I’m also wearing my thick-framed glasses and carrying one of Dahlia’s tote bags.
Although it’s daytime, I can’t help glancing around corners, expecting the stranger to appear out of nowhere.
He doesn’t usually, not during the day, but I’m panicking a bit about his threat.
I contemplated telling Dahlia about the whole thing earlier but decided against it. I didn’t in the past, because I refused to put her in danger, and I wouldn’t now, because knowing her, she’d definitely confront him, and I’d never survive if he were to beat her to a pulp like he did Dave.
Or maybe even kill her.
No. Dahlia can’t know about this.
Thankfully, the stalker isn’t around, and I spend an uneventful day in class, going through the motions until I have to leave for work.
My shift starts in the early afternoon today, and I still release a breath when I don’t see his motorcycle or large frame close to HAVEN.
The need to constantly be alert is starting to take a toll on me. I don’t know how long I can survive looking over my shoulder, giving myself a pep talk every time I go to work or even step foot out of the apartment.
I’m organizing the bar when Laura comes over squealing.
I plaster a smile. “Good news?”
“The best!” She shows me two hockey tickets. “Boss gave us these for the Wolves’ first game next season. He can be so sweet when he’s not getting on my last nerve.”
“Nice. Who are you taking?”
“Um, you! Boss said it’s one ticket each.”
I line up the glasses on the shelves. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Girl, spill.”
I lean over and whisper, “I don’t really like hockey.”
“The blasphemy! We live in Wolves territory, where hockey is huge.”
“I know, I know. How dare I?”
“Uh-huh. We need to have you checked and consult the priest for an exorcism and shit.”
I laugh. “How about you take little Karly instead? She’d enjoy it much more than I would.”