Page 124 of Remy

Tonigth

I frown at my cell screen.

His texts have always been elaborate. Downright flirty at times. This one hasn’t even used autocorrect.

I grab a hair tie from the nightstand, throw back the covers, and snatch my car keys from the dining table as I pass.

I don’t bother changing out of my pajamas. I won’t be leaving the safety of my vehicle. I just want to see that he’s at the funeral home. That things are under control like usual.

I eyeball the digital clock on my car’s dash as I drive, the early hour seeming like another oddity to list next to the weird text.

Maybe it wasn’t a kill confirmation.

Maybe he’s tired of the sexual taunts and has switched to unintelligible gibberish for the sake of efficiency.

God, I hope not.

I can admit my body’s response to his previous messages isn’t healthy. That the way my blood automatically runs hot whenever I wake to a text in the middle of the night is majorly problematic.

But those messages have become a highlight to a dreary existence.

Even though Dad refuses to speak to me about his cancer, I know the chemo isn’t working as well as it could. He’s losing weight and energy. I can see it in his eyes despite his continued placations that he’s doing well.

Ivy and Allison can see it too, especially after he confessed to being sick last week. Not that he could hide it anymore. There’d been too many days where he hadn’t turned up to work until lunch only to leave a few hours later.

That devolved into my best friends acting differently. They now handle me with kiddie gloves. Like one wrong word or look will send me into an emotional spiral even though they’ve never seen me shed a tear.

It’s only natural Remy has become a sickening thrill.

One I’ve vowed to experience from afar.

I drive into the funeral home parking lot and around the back of the building. But there’s no other cars apart from my dad’s Audi and the hearse. The delivery door is closed. The place is quiet.

Goddamnit.

I knew the timing was off. The message ridiculously uncharacteristic. I dragged my flimsy, satin-pajama-wearing ass out of bed for nothing.

I sigh and park in the spot opposite the overhead door, reversed in like usual, then reclaim my cell to stare at his message.

Remy

Tonigth

I keep staring for minutes that feel like hours, the heavy sense of disappointment making me hate myself because I can’t even find the will to drive home. I want to wait. Just in case he’s on the way.

“This is toxic.” I lean back against the headrest and sigh.

I don’t think I’m here because of safety and security anymore. I never go inside. Never step out of my vehicle. My only motivation is to watch Remy. To gain a glimpse of him.

It’s sick.

But even acknowledging my illness doesn’t make me inclined to leave.

Instead I sit wondering if my dad would know what’s going on. I scrutinize the second-floor windows for movement. Contemplate whether tapping on his door and having the awkward conversation about why I’m here in the middle of the night is worth gaining information on Remy’s whereabouts.

It’s pathetic.

“To hell with this.” I reach for the ignition, my finger almost poised to tap the button when the sound of another car approaches.

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