Page 13 of Bed of Roses

I almost laugh.

The most danger he’s presented is fraying my last nerve.

Maybe if I give him a real chance, a third fresh start, things will be different. I can be friends with an ex-con. A surly one. A rude one. I mean, there has to be a reason he is the way he is, and maybe if I remain cheerful and fun, I can help him through whatever haunts him and turned him this way.

I’m determined to make the best of this.

Satisfied with that solution, I shut the shower off and wipe my eyes. I’m just about to whip the curtain back and grab my towel, but I stop. And so does my heart.

Silhouetted through the thin plastic curtain is what can only be a man. A tall one, at that.

Amid the steam of the bathroom, I wait with my hand hovered near the edge of the curtain. My stomach is in my throat, and my breathing is shallow and loud to even my own ears.

“H-hello?” I whisper.

I receive no answer. The figure stands there, and I blink really hard to make sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing.

“Cole?” I try again. He could have returned. Maybe he’s a pervert and wanted to see me naked. I mean, he wasn’t shy about telling me in a roundabout way that he was sexually attracted to me. Maybe he came back to keep his word.

Somehow, I know that’s not true. He would have grunted by now.

I squeeze my eyes shut and gather all the courage I can muster. Quickly, I whip back the curtain and pop open my eyes. If I thought I felt fear before, it’s nothing comparedto now because nothing, absolutely no one, is standing there.

Tears prick my eyes, and I snatch my towel off the vanity. Wrapping it around my middle, I step out of the tub and wildly search for a weapon of any kind. I still haven’t put away my bathroom stuff. They’re in a duffle bag against the wall, so I quickly rummage through it and close my fingers around a pair of hair shears. It’s not the best weapon in the world, but it’s the only thing I have.

Releasing a slow breath, I poke my head out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. No one is there, and everything is as I left it. As I tiptoe to my bedroom door, the floorboards creak in one area, making me stop for a moment to cringe.

“Hello?” I call out with a shaky voice. I receive no answer.

“Of course not, Tegan,” I grumble to myself. “What murderer would answer back?”

Slowly, I creep into the hallway, staying close to the wall as I peek into the other bedroom and then head to the living room. I check all the closets and behind all the furniture, and once I reach the kitchen, I’m about at my wit's end. Confused, I drop my arm that had the shears poised to strike.

I saw someone. I know I did.

I glance at the back door and make a mad dash to it. I fiddle with the knob, but it’s locked, and I know I locked the front door. I distinctly remember doing so.

Stumped, I head back to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. The shears plop back into my bag, my mind reeling too much to care about what it might have stabbed.

“It could have been anything, Tegan,” I tell myself as I brush my hair in the mirror. “Anything at all. Light tricks,even. And-” I scream at the top of my lungs when my phone starts ringing on the vanity.

Hand over my heart, I put down the comb and brace my other hand on the vanity to keep me steady. My entire body is shaking, and I let out a nervous laugh at how ridiculous I’m being. The fact that I’m alone in the middle of nowhere is playing tricks on my mind. Making me see things that aren’t there. That’s all this is.

My breath whooshes out of my flared nostrils as I release it before I pick up the phone. Tori’s face comes into view as soon as I accept the incoming video call.

“Hey beau-” she frowns. “Are you laughing? I hope it’s not at me.”

I laugh again, both out of lingering nervousness and out of new humor. It was the exact distraction I needed because she looks utterly horrid. “What’s all over your face?”

“A clay mask!” she says defensively. Everything on her face is covered in a layer of brown minus her eyes and mouth. “It’s supposed to restore skin.”

“Sure,” I say. “And the curlers?”

She touches them gently. “Trying something new I saw on a video.”

“Right,” I chuckle. I pick up my comb and drop it back into my bag. I should unpack this stuff, but honestly, if I put it away in the drawers, I’ll just have to move it all again when we rip this horrendous vanity out. I really see no point.

“How was your day?” I ask as I set the phone back on the vanity and pull out my bottle of lotion. It’s scented like mangos that an ex-boyfriend said complemented the smell of my skin. I took that to heart, and even though we broke up, I still believe him. It’s not a bad smell. I actually prefer an almond scent, but . . . Once you getcomplimented about something, you tend to keep doing just that.

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