by Grey, S. R.
As I’m walking out to the parking lot, I notice Lars slightly ahead of me.
I catch up to him, and we begin to talk.
We rave about Graham for a minute or two, and then he asks how things went out at the house.
Reaching our vehicles, we stop at the rear of the Escalade.
“Actually,” I begin, “it was kind of odd.”
Lars crosses his arms. “Yeah? How so?”
I tell him about the strange noise I heard upstairs when I first walked into the house, and then the creak from inside the closet when I was in the bathroom.
“Huh. That is weird,” he agrees.
I nod. “It was.”
“Do you think it was an animal?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I checked around and nothing looked disturbed.”
“What about inside the closet?”
Sighing, I admit, “I never got to it. I was about to check shit out in there, but that’s when you called. Still, I don’t think it was anything, probably just the house settling or something. I’m sure if an animal had gotten stuck in a closet, it would’ve been going ballistic.”
“Good point,” Lars says. “Even so, I’d get your alarm system up and running as soon as possible. You’ll know for sure then that everything is okay.”
He’s right, and I share, “Yeah, the plan was to install it in another week or so. But you know what? I’m moving up that date.”
“I think that’d be wise, Zane.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “You can never be too careful.”
We part ways, and once I’m in my SUV, first thing I do is call my security company to let them know I want the alarm system installed right away.
Animal or person, no one is getting in or out.
Hot and Bothered
After Zane leaves the house, what’s left of the day goes by quietly.
I engage in my usual end-of-the-day routine of refilling my many water bottles at the sink in the beautiful, recently completed black-and-white kitchen.
Then I eat dinner.
Tonight it’s a big bag of barbecue potato chips that one of the workers left behind on Friday.
Mmm, yummy.
Hey, what can I say?
Beggars can’t be choosers.
I eat leaned up against the finished center island.
As I crunch away, I glance around at all the state-of-the-art appliances I can never touch.
If I did, I’d most likely be found out.
What a shame, though.
It’d sure be nice to have a hot meal once in a while.
Sighing, I close up my potato chip bag, prudently saving some for tomorrow.
I then head upstairs.
I feel like hanging out in the master bedroom for awhile.
Though my sleeping spot is in the area behind the unfinished wall in the bedroom next to the master, I like Zane’s future bedroom better.
Something about it just appeals to me. Maybe because it’s nice and roomy, mostly completed, and just waiting for furniture.
I drop off my chips in my hidey-hole and pull out my toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste—which is running dangerously low—from my bag. I also grab a roll of toilet paper from the stash I’ve pilfered from the worker porta-potties outside.
After a quick stop in the en suite bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, I return all my items to the bag.
Now I’m ready to hunker down in Zane’s future bedroom and relax.
First, though, I nudge the smudgy window up a bit, the very one I was observing hot Zane from earlier.
Damn, that man is fire.
Sighing, I lie back on the hardwood floor so I can enjoy the light evening breeze blowing in.
It’s a welcome relief after the heat of the day.
The only negative is I wish I had something to read.
I’m out of luck, though.
I had a couple of cheap paperbacks at my apartment, ones I’d picked up at a local thrift store, but in my rush to get out of there, I completely forgot about grabbing them.
I could smack myself.
One was a really good romance novel.
I hope a worker leaves a magazine or a newspaper this week.
Until then, though, I’ll have to rely on my imagination to pass the time, waiting for darkness to fall so I can go to sleep.
With my auburn hair fanned out around my head on the floor, I twist left and right, glancing around the large room.
There’s enough light seeping in from the setting sun to assess the beige walls, white trim, and dark wood floor upon which I’m lying.
I start to pretend this is my house and think about what I would change if I could decorate this room my way.
Speaking out loud, because it’s too damn quiet, I say, “First, I think I’d change the color of the walls to a nice light sage green. I’d keep the white ceiling and trim, though. It’d be a nice contrast. I’d also find a nice coordinating rug to match the green walls and the deep grain of the floor. Oh, and I’d hang some awesome artwork on the walls.”
In my head, money is no object, so I add a giant king-size bed and some soft, fluffy top-notch bedding.
“Speaking of which…” I groan as I shift my weight, one ass cheek having fallen asleep. “A bed of any kind would be so much more comfortable than this stupid floor. And a pillow would be nice.”
Hey, wait, I can fix that.
I don’t have a pillow, but I have something that may work as a substitute.
Jumping up, I scamper to my secret spot in the neighboring bedroom and retrieve the big towel I’ve been using to dry off with after showering.
Thanks to the heat of the day, it’s nice and dry.
I fold it once, twice, then head back to the master bedroom.
I place the towel on the floor by the window, ready to use it as a makeshift pillow.
Lying down once more, I allow my thoughts to drift from decorating to Zane.
I don’t have my romance novel with me, but I can write one in my head. One that’s just for me.
Zane is truly gorgeous, so it’s kind of fun to fantasize about him.
Though it’s silly and way out of the realm of possibility, I start thinking about what it would be like to have him as a boyfriend—my boyfriend.
“Yeah, right.” I snort, coming back to reality. “Like that would ever happen. What would a guy like him ever want with someone like me?”
Besides the clothes on my back and what little is in my stashed bag, I have nothing to offer him.
Also, let’s not forget I’m also a woman on the run from an abusive ex.
Oh, and I’m squatting illegally in Zane’s freaking house.
And though I’ve been told I’m pretty, I know it’s in a simpler kind of way. I’m not all about makeup and fancy clothes. I’m freshly scrubbed skin and au naturel.
I’m just me.
Zane, the rich football player, could do so much better.
Still, it’s fun to fantasize.
Plus, I have nothing else to do.
So I let my imagination run wild, the romance novel in my head coming to life.
I think about how big and strong Zane is. He certainly could pass as a book hero.
He’s so alpha, just my type.
Oooh, and I bet he could keep me safe from my ex.
No, I know he could.
I start to imagine a scenario where I’m living here with Zane and Neil shows up. Not only does Zane kick his sorry ass, but he has my nasty ex carted away by the authorities.
“He’ll never bother you again, baby,” he tells me. “I’ll always have your back.”
“I know you will,” I reply.
Turning to my side, I close my eyes and conjure up something lighter—like Zane and I decorating the house together.
We’d do that if we were a couple, right?
You bet your ass we would.
In my fantasy, wouldn’t you know it, Zane loves my sage green paint idea. He’s also
open to checking out rugs together. And we choose some nice artwork for the walls.
Our tastes are so similar.
And we rarely disagree.
On those rare occasions where we do get into it, we take a hike through the surrounding forest and talk things out.
I love that this house is pretty much by itself.
Besides romantic strolls, I’m certain Zane and I could think of many other fun things to do to pass the time.
I know I sure can.
Opening my eyes, I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling.
“Damn, I’m lonely,” I mutter.
I am.
It’s true.
I spend far too much time alone.
I did so even before I went on the run.
I never really went out anywhere besides to the diner for work and to the grocery store to shop.
If I were with Zane, we could do lots of things together, including going out on dates.
We could go to dinner and to the movies.
Those are things crappy Neil never wanted to do during our six-month marriage.
Another cool thing is, since Zane is a football player, I could go to games and cheer him on.
And when we got home…
“Yeah,” I whisper, “I’d be the best girlfriend.”
Too bad it’s a fleeting dream, a fantasy, a made-up story in my head.
“This is so stupid,” I say at last, brushing my ridiculous fantasies aside.
The only good thing is I’ve successfully passed a big chunk of time.
It’s dark out, the sun having set. I even hear the crickets chirping. Or whatever those bugs are that make all the noise at night in the summer.
Standing, I gather up my towel and close the window.
I wish I could just stay in here all night.
But I can’t risk getting caught.
So, sighing, I trudge to my secret spot for another night spent in hiding.
I wake in the morning to the sound of a power drill being used downstairs.
I think it’s coming from the entry hall.
Wherever it is, it’s loud as hell. There will be no more sleep for me.
I wonder what they’re doing down there.
I can’t think about it, though, as I’m far too hungry. Those chips from last night aren’t holding me over.
Hopefully someone will leave behind a sandwich today.
For now, though, it looks like breakfast will be cheese-filled crackers I found a few days ago.
They’re probably stale as all get-out, but who cares?
Lifting my head, I listen to hear if anyone is upstairs.
All appears quiet.
Good, I can eat my breakfast without fear of getting caught.
Sitting up, I reach into my bag for the partial pack of crackers.
Can you believe a worker tossed these into a trash bag?
What a waste!
There was nothing gross in there, just some construction debris, so I dug out the crackers.
Good thing too.
They’re surprisingly tasty.
I can barely tell they’re dried out.
As I munch away, washing the crackers down with copious amounts of water, I think about how I wish I’d woken up earlier so I could’ve showered. I’ve found that if I get up right about the time the first sliver of light creeps into my hidey-hole, I have time to clean up before any workers arrive.
But, alas, I slept in today.
That unfortunately means I have a long, boring day ahead of me, spent hiding out and listening to the muffled conversations of the workers for entertainment.
Ugh!
And it’s so freaking hot in here already, stifling even.
I still have on my shorts and tank from yesterday, so that’s good.
Anything heavier, like one of my few pairs of leggings, and I’d be dying.
Hell, my hair is already sticking to my neck.
I finish with my crackers and dig for a hair clip in my bag.
Once I find one, I pin my locks up in a messy bun.
Ahh, that’s better.
I am able to make one sneaky run to the bathroom, but it’s quick and then I’m back in my space.
And, man, do the hours ever pass slowly.
Things heat up even more, to the point I’m ready to pass out.
I try fanning myself and drinking lots of water.
Good thing I refilled multiple bottles last night.
Still, I’m running dangerously low.
Oh, and I have to pee again like crazy.
I’ll just have to hold it in.
Trying not to think about that, I listen to the conversations of the workers. They’re talking about their families and what they did over the weekend.
I place my ear to the floor and close my eyes.
One worker attended a family picnic, two spent time working in their yards, and another went to an amusement park.
I wish I could go to an amusement park.
I can’t think of the last time I had any kind of real fun. There were no good times to be had with my ex in Florida, and this past year I’ve been too busy working, living paycheck to paycheck, and just trying to get by.
Fuck, I’m sweltering.
If I could just get out of this enclosed space…
I know I’m trapped for sure, though, when I hear a worker arrive upstairs.
Whoever it is, he’s messing with the windows in each of the rooms.
What in the hell is he doing, anyway?
It’s so damn hot—it must be over ninety by now—that I end up nodding off.
When I wake up, I assume from the lesser amount of light flowing in that some time has passed.
I listen carefully.
It’s quiet.
All the workers have left.
Thank God!
Slowly, and feeling beyond dizzy, I crawl out of my hiding space.
When I try to stand, however, I just can’t.
I pretty much collapse down onto the hardwood floor.
I make a quick bathroom run at one point, still feeling light-headed, and then I lie back down on the floor in what I consider my room for a while, just trying to cool off and feel better.
Though it’s hot, it’s nothing like being stuck in that space between the walls.
Since I’m feeling so off from the heat, I can’t eat just yet.
I’m far too nauseated.
Eventually, after several minutes—or maybe it’s an hour, I don’t know—I muster enough energy to stand.
Unsteadily, I reach back into my hidey-hole for my towel, four of my water bottles, my toothbrush and toothpaste, and a disposable razor.
I haven’t shaved my legs in days, so I may as well do so now while I have a chance.
I can’t wait to just stand under the cool water for a while.
That’ll be nice.
Padding once more to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, I refill my water bottles at the sink, and then brush my teeth.
I take a nice long shower before heading back to the spare bedroom.
After brushing out my wet hair, I change into clean underwear, a fresh pair of running shorts, and a lime green tee.
I don’t bother with a bra, though.
I estimate it’s probably close to eight by now.
Nighttime isn’t too far off.
After this day, I think I’ll take my chances and sleep under the open window in the master bedroom.
I just can’t stomach the thought of being tucked away in that hot space behind the wall.
It actually makes me shudder.
As long as I wake before dawn, I’ll be safe from detection.
Hell, it’s worth the risk at this point.
Grabbing one full bottle of water, I head back into the master bedroom.
I know once I get the window up and start breathing in some fresh air, I’ll feel much better.
Even though the house isn’t as hot as during t
he day, it’s still pretty toasty upstairs.
Once I’m situated in the master bedroom, I set my provisions down on the floor and reach to open the window.
But wait!
Something awful has happened.
“That’s what the worker was doing up here,” I cry out. “He was installing a freaking alarm system.”
There is definitely a sensor on the window, one that will surely make the alarm go off if I mess with it in any way.
And then what would happen?
The police would arrive and arrest me.
Or I’d have to run again, which I just have no energy to do at the moment.
Suddenly feeling trapped and panicked, I jump up and race downstairs.
That makes me even dizzier.
Sure enough, confirming my fears, I find a newly installed keypad on the wall by the door.
“Shit, I don’t know the code. What am I going to do?”
I’m now completely trapped in this house, with no ability to get any fresh air at all.
And it’s still freaking summer!
Trudging back upstairs, beyond defeated, I crumple down onto the floor by the secured window in the master bedroom, feeling sicker than ever.
I can’t even think about what I’m going to do, as the weight of everything—too much heat, not enough food, and now this—finally catches up to me.
Closing my eyes, I just give up and allow myself to pass the hell out.
Not the Intruder I Ever Expected
The security company informs me that they can install the alarm system this afternoon.
The rep says, “It shouldn’t take more than an hour to get all the sensors in, Mr. Tinsbury. But we won’t be able to place more than a couple of the outdoor cameras, due to work still being done on the outside of the house.”
“That’s fine, that’s fine.” Raking my fingers through my dark hair, I lean back in the driver’s seat of my Escalade and add, “Just having those sensors in means a lot.”
I’m pleased, but mostly I’m relieved. Now if anything untoward is going on at my house, I’ll know.
I’m given the code, which I type into “Notes” on my phone as I end the call.
With that taken care of, and feeling a whole lot better, I drive out of the practice facility parking lot.
I run a few errands, banking and some other boring stuff, and grab a sandwich to eat on the go.
