Page 50 of Hey, Daddy

Ben had dropped me off at the bottom level of the four-apartment building where I lived on the top floor with Nastya. The downstairs neighbor, a man that was in his late twenties and smoked so much weed that I could smell it in my own apartment, was the one that’d greeted me.

“’Sup, Julius. Haven’t seen you in a bit,” I said as I walked over to him and offered him my hand.

“Tell that bitch next to you that her cryin’s keeping me up,” he grumbled.

I frowned. “You work last night?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “She fuckin’ got really loud earlier, too.”

I sighed. “Well, she was crying because her dog died. And the commotion earlier was from some sick fuck that decided that he wanted to put his hands on my daughter.”

Julius paused. “No shit?”

“No shit,” I confirmed.

“I was wondering.” He shook his head. “She made a lot of noise getting that dog out of the elevator then. The goddamn delivery truck also parked outside my apartment for goddamnever today. I’m gonna die tonight trying to get through this shift.”

Julius wasn’t exactly the nicest person, but he was a watcher, and he always knew exactly what was going on in his hood.

“The delivery truck is Nastya’s, too. She’s an Amazon Reviewer or some shit,” I said. “And a secret shopper.”

“God help us.” He left, heading to his truck, an old beater that looked like it could stop working at any second if you breathed on it wrong.

I had to laugh when he started it up and it backfired, making it sound like a gunshot had just gone off.

He’s sitting there talking shit about Nastya’s deliveries when every time he started his truck, it sounded like gunfire that for sure woke me up, likely like it did our neighbors.

A smile stayed on my face until I headed for my bed a half hour later.

It slid right off when I heard the obnoxious sound of not only Nastya’s phone making noise, but my own as well.

I glared at the notification on my own phone.

I hacked into her account and had all the same apps that she did on her phone now after seeing how little she cared about her health.

I received a hundred thousand comments in the hours since I’d linked our phones, but I kept the notifications on for one reason and one reason only.

Her utter lack of caring when it came to her health.

As a type one diabetic, she should have way more control over herself and her blood sugar than she did.

But it was like she just didn’t care.

She silenced her notifications. She dismissed them.

She ate what she wanted, when she wanted, then dealt with the consequences later.

I fucking hated it.

My type A personality couldn’t handle it.

That was why I’d cloned her phone, so I could see when she was high.

And right then, she was very high.

So high in fact that it sent an instant jolt of terror through me as I got up and went to the monitors that were on the shelf in my closet.

She was asleep in bed, and she was lying completely still, unaffected by the noise her phone was making.

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