Page 108 of Heart So Hollow

One Year Ago

After keeping my eye on Brett for a while, it becomes clear that I’m not the only admirer she has. And admirers come in all forms—including jealous ones. I’ve seen Hannah Bailey go into that house far too many times when no one is home to let her get away with it. So, one lovely spring evening, I decide to pay her a visit.

For some reason, she’s late getting home today, so I have to wait.

Typical.

I play with her cat and eat the last of her chocolate covered pretzels as I watch for her car from the sliding glass door. And when I finally see her silver SUV pull into the spot out front, I stroll back to her bedroom and settle myself against the wall next to her bed to wait…again.

Hannah’s so thrilled to be home, she bursts through the bedroom door singing some broken rendition of Dua Lipa and starts rummaging through her dresser for a change of clothes. Then she turns on the bathroom light and starts peeling off her scrubs.

I stare at her from the shadows, scrunching my face in disdain as she goes. Her body’s nice enough, but pure, unadulterated loathing makes everything look bad. At least she’s quick, pulling on a pair of black sweatpants and a yellow tank top before turning to the mirror and pulling her hair back into a high ponytail.

What I should do is cut it off...

Instead, I watch her, simultaneously shocked and impressed that she can have so little situational awareness. By the time she finishes in the bathroom, I’ve been watching her in silence for a good five minutes. But when she steps back into the bedroom and reaches for the lamp on the dresser, she’s met with the shock of her life.

When the yellowish glow floods the room and Hannah sees me standing opposite her, dressed in all black, with my hood shadowing my face, her soul all but leaves her body.

She lets out a shrill scream and flies backward into her bookshelf with a crash. Arms and legs flailing, she continues screaming, tumbling onto the floor behind the bed. All I can see are hands and feet popping up and down like goddamn puppets while she tries to scramble upright.

It takes all I have not to laugh my ass off.

But I remember why I’m here, and that’s no laughing matter.

I let Hannah flail around on the floor a bit longer, crashing into the nightstand and slamming more limbs against the bookshelf, until she’s finally able to stand and brace herself against the wall between the dresser and the bathroom door.

Seconds away from hyperventilating, she stares at me across the room and I see the exact moment in her eyes when she recognizes me.

But she’s not relieved.

“H—how’d you get in here?” her voice shakes with panic.

I can’t help but smile at her, “Didn’t you hear? I make house calls now.”

She stares at me as though she’s seen a ghost, “Why are you here?” she whispers, the utter dread in her voice giving me a deep satisfaction.

Because, bitch, I’m the ghost of Christmas fucking past and I’m here to remind you of your transgressions.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” I look her up and down with a smirk. “You used to love when I’d come around.”

The color drains from her face as it contorts into a nauseated grimace. And, as much as I love watching Hannah lose her mind, I don’t have all night.

“So, here’s the thing,” I sniff and adjust my stance, “Brett means a great deal to me. She’s the only person I care about in this world—other than my family, of course,” I shrug, and then settle my gaze on her like a ton of bricks, “but you already know that, don’t you? So, imagine my dismay when I find out you’ve been sneaking around trying to fuck with her in the one place on earth where she should feel safe. Do you think that made me very happy?”

She stares at me like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi, barreling forth to turn her into a fine pink mist.

“Answer me!” I swing my heel back and kick the nightstand with a resounding crash, knocking the lamp, books, and anything else on it to the floor.

Hannah gasps and braces her trembling body against the dresser, “No!” she croaks, trying to pacify my wrath. “No…”

I cross the room in three strides, towering over her as I lean into her pinched face, “No, it doesn’t. Because if my girl’s not happy, then I’m not happy. And you and I go way back, so you know what happens when someone makes me angry, don’t you?”

Hannah stares at my chest, refusing to look at me, lest she crumble into a wilted pile on the floor. But that’s how she’s always been; she’ll poke the bear and talk shit, but as soon as the claws come out, she runs scared like a little rabbit. Because, in the end, she’s a fucking coward.

“If I see you go near Brett or that house, I’ll bury you on that property,” I tilt my head, leering over her, “because you have a habit of coveting things that aren’t yours. You let your eyes linger too long on things they’re not supposed to, on things you can’t have…” I bend down until I’m looking at her dead in the eyes, “and it makes you do things you thought you never would.”

I stare at her for the longest time. Her eyes dart to mine and then immediately fall again, over and over, until finally she settles into a catatonic gaze on my chest. I straighten up and take a step back, confident I’ve made my point.

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