Page 213 of Texting Dr. Stalker

Empty.

I brushed my fingers over the cushions and recoiled.

Cold.

He’s been gone a while.

Scrambling to my feet, I glanced at the clothes scattered on the floor. His t-shirt tangled with mine, but his trousers and boots were gone.

My heart turned into a lump of ice.

No…

Wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, I stumbled into the kitchen. The cupboards were still closed, the fridge tucked tight instead of flung open by a ghost. Scanning the countertops, I searched for a note or a sign that X hadn’t vanished. That he hadn’t upped and left without a goodbye.

My phone.

Darting back into the living room, I grabbed my jean-shorts and fished my phone from the pocket. Swiping it on, I scanned the social notifications and noticed a few messages from Lily but nothing from X.

Not a single word or apology or explanation.

A slithering, stinging agony crept through me, coiling around my organs and climbing up the step ladder of my ribs.

He couldn’t just leave…not after what we’d done.

Not after what we’dfelt.

Hot, blistering tears threatened to fall, but I sniffed them back.

No.

I wouldn’t cry.

Not over this.

Not because of him.

He might be coming back.

I clung to my mind’s excuse.

That’s right.

He might have left to grab some dinner. He was coming back and—

He didn’t take his t-shirt.

Where could he go at this time of night shirtless?

He might be upstairs…

I gasped and tore toward the corridor. Taking the steps two at a time, my blanket flaring like a cape, I careened into my old bedroom, the office, and finally my new room at the front.

Each empty.

Each dark and dangerous with shadows.

Goblin-Milton stalked my thoughts, ready to throw nasty slurs into my ears. The house cracked and settled, making me prickle with the urge to check behind the doors and hide in the bathroom.

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