kisses me on the cheek.
“None of this is your fault, Raindrop. You know that, right?”
I nod, but I don’t answer. Logically I know this, but guilt doesn’t care about logic.
“’Night, love you,” I tell him instead as he ruffles my hair.
“Love you more, Raindrop.”
I know, that’s why I’ll do everything within my power to keep you safe.
Chapter Eleven
Reign
I listen to the sound of my dad getting ready for bed as I watch the last twenty minutes of an old episode of Friends until, finally, the house goes quiet.
Switching the TV off, I make my way into the kitchen for a glass of water before heading to bed myself. I realize I left all the stuff I brought from my place in the trunk of my car, but I’m not going to traipse out there now like some crazy chick from a horror flick who’s asking for trouble.
I take a quick shower to freshen up and brush my teeth using the spare toothbrush I found in the cabinet, before slipping on the T-shirt my dad loaned me yesterday to sleep in.
With my new underwear and my hairbrush still being in the car, I’ll have to make do without until morning. I pull the comforter back and snuggle deep into the pillow, expecting to find it difficult to sleep, but I must drop off faster than I realize. The next time I wake up, the clock’s bright red numbers tell me it’s 3:13 am.
I roll over and stretch, surprised I managed to get in a solid four hours, when my hand lands on paper.
Frowning, I flick on the lamp and come face to face with a photograph of me sleeping. It takes my befuddled brain a moment to process what I’m seeing—the T-shirt I’m wearing in the shot, the flash of red panties peeking out from beneath, my leg tucked up under me.
As I slowly process everything, the horrifying reality crashes down on me, making me rush to the bathroom and throw up everything I ate earlier. When I have nothing left inside me, I splash cold water on my pale face and stare at myself in the mirror.
That photo tells me all I need to know. This psycho has been inside this room while I slept. Once last night—I’m wearing the same T-shirt in the photo that I’m wearing now—and once tonight to deliver the photo and the message. The message is that he can get to me anywhere and no alarm system, no matter how state of the art it is, will keep him out. My dad being a cop is no deterrent.
Shit, Dad! In my shock, I forgot there is more than myself at stake. Swallowing down a new wave of bile, I creep slowly out of my room to my father’s, terrified of what I might find. Thankfully, when I push his door open with shaky hands, he’s snoring away, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding around him.
Pulling the door closed quietly, I weight up my options here. I could wake him up to tell him what’s happened and have him call my brothers, but nothing will change. No, the only option is to leave and remove the target of my stalker’s obsession away from my family’s trajectory.
Hurrying back to my room before I can change my mind, I pull on my jeans and shoes, slipping the baggy sweatshirt I had on earlier over the T-shirt I slept in.
I brush my teeth and pull my hair up into a ponytail before snagging my bag and keys. Making my way to the kitchen on silent feet, I scribble a note for Dad on the notepad on the counter beside the fridge. I bite my lip as I try to be strong, but even so, my tears drip onto the paper as I tell him why I have to leave and that I love him. Hesitating for a moment, I leave the note on the kitchen table and, with a heavy heart, walk silently down the hall, disabling the alarm and rearming it once I step outside.
So much for not running into danger.
I get in the car, thankful now that I was too lazy to empty it earlier, and swipe the tears on my face before locking the car doors with shaking hands.
Am I really doing this? I look up at my childhood home, a home that is usually filled with laughter and happiness but that has now been tainted, leaving me feeling violated and dirty. My safe haven has been