Page 116 of The Pact

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I’m sitting in the living room when I hear someone at the front door. It’s entirely foreign. I can’t recall anyone coming to the house since I’ve been here.

Glancing around, I wait to see if someone else is going to open it. Damian is home, so I’m not sure if it’s inappropriate to answer the door. However, when he doesn’t come, I decide to.

Through the window I see a young man, looking around aimlessly.

“Hi, can I help you?” I ask the gangly kid as I peek my head out. He can’t be more than twenty. His head is a mess of blonde hair. There’s an even lighter dusting of wisps above his lip. In his hands is a bouquet.

His voice is pitchy. “Yes. Delivery for Thea. Is that you?”

“Uh, yes.” He shoves the flowers into my hands and then asks me to sign for it.

I close the door with my foot, cradling the glass vase in the crook of my arm. Plucking the note from the plastic holder in the center, I wonder if they’re from Cassie.

We still haven’t spoken much and even less since I’ve been sick aside from her sending a clipped text saying she hoped I’d get well soon. Maybe she feels bad and wants to extend an olive branch.

Flipping it open, I read the scribble of black ink.

You’re mine. Keep acting like a slut and getting sick will be the least of your worries.

The vase falls to the floor. I distantly hear it shatter. I think some shards have cut my foot because I suddenly feel a trail of warmth over my toes. But that doesn’t matter. I reread the words two more times, my eyes blurring with wetness until the letters blend together.

“Jesus, what happened?” Damian’s voice barks out from behind me. “Thea, you’re bleeding.” I want to react. I want to say something. I want to clean up the mess so that no one else gets cut, yet I’m paralyzed as the pieces slowly connect.

Gavin called me a slut at the carnival. Also in the texts. He sent flowers…flour…my recent sickness. Did he somehow…contaminate my food? Is this confirmation that he’s been in this house? My stomach churns at the thought.

It doesn’t matter how he did it. His confession is clear.

Damian takes the note that’s still between my fingers and reads it. “That fucking piece of shit.” He’s scooping me up, breaking me from my trance. Putting me on the kitchen island, he stares at me with all seriousness. “Princess, does this mean what I think it does? Did he—” I nod before he can finish. “How? You’re either at the studio, bookstore, bakery, or here. You don’t go anywhere. How would have tampered with your food?”

I can’t answer him. If he finds out that my theory is that Gavin has a key…I don’t know what he’ll do. If he finds out I’ve been lying this whole time…. The thought both hurts and scares me. I’m vaguely aware of the hot tears that start rolling down my face. That familiar numbness is warring with anger, fear, and the need for revenge—making it all spill over in the form of crying.

“Hey, hey,” Damian soothes, cradling my face in his hands. “He won’t get away with this.” His pale blue eyes have softened around the edges, but I can see the fury just below the surface.

“What do you mean? He’s gotten away with everything? Who’s going to stop him?” The questions pour out of me in choked sobs. “He isn’t afraid of you. Can’t you see that? I live here, surrounded by all of you, and he still made me sick.” I’m careful not to reveal too much.

He drops his hands and shakes his head. “I didn’t want to say anything until I had some information to tell you.” My eyes narrow, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “After your landlord sent the picture of the note, I started working on tracking down Gavin.” Damian holds up his hands to manage my interest. “I don’t know much yet, but as soon as I do, you’ll be the first to know. Like I said, he won’t get away with this.”

I believe that he thinks he can stop Gavin, although I’m not sure if he actually can. I’ve been brushing off my ex’s behavior, fooling myself into believing that he’ll get bored with me. He’s not. If anything, he’s becoming more obsessed. Something deep down tells me he won’t stop until he gets me…one way or another.

Damian turns and reaches into a drawer behind him, pulling out a first aid kit. Carefully, he removes the tiny shards of glass from my skin before disinfecting and bandaging the cuts.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He’s mostly ignored me since the day I left to go to Cassie’s, when he told me not to. I figured he was upset with me, but I didn’t think it would last this long.

His brows pull together. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be? You’re hurt.”

“Well, you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for a week and a half. I’m not sure why you’re helping me now. I can do this myself.” I try to grab the bandaid from him. He pulls it away.

His face smooths in understanding. Damian puts the last bandage on, swatting my hand away when I try to do it. Then he steps away, leaning his back against the counter across from where I sit.

His hand runs over his jaw—the scruff is a bit longer these days. I notice that his eyes look tired as well. He hasn’t been sleeping well or at all. Is this from the work drama Wesley mentioned? Or is it from trying to find Gavin?

“I’m not giving you the cold shoulder.” My chin tips down and I raise a brow. “Fine, maybe a little. You didn’t listen when I told you to stay here. Considering everything going on, I don’t want you getting hurt. I’m trying to protect you and you’re…you’re being stubborn.”

I can’t argue with him. It’s clear I’m not safe when I don’t know where Gavin is lurking or what his next move will be. He’s put his hands on me, broken into my workplace and possibly my temporary home, and essentially poisoned me. However, I don’t take well to being given orders. Damian wants me to fall in line like the others do.

That day in the gym, I was vulnerable and told him I’d work on needing him more, letting him care for me in his own way. He didn’t believe me. I’ve asked him to show me something real. He hasn’t. Damian wants all the benefits of having me depend on him without giving me anything in return.

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