Page 28 of Oblivion

Right now, they’re probably at a party, and Starling, January, and Bunny will be arguing with the guys about what they’re wearing or how they should be allowed to go for a girls’ night without the guys tagging along.

They could be having dinner in the kitchen, family style, laughing and joking like the actual family they are. Or they might be camped out in the small family room watching crappy reality TV, or just be hanging out in their rooms, happy and together.

Even though I know I can’t cling to that life anymore, a part of me wishes I was there. I miss Starling and the girls. I miss Hunter’s food, Clay’s jokes, and Sebastian’s insanity. I even miss Evan. I miss the way his eyes were always on me, even though he barely ever spoke to me.

My gaze drops to my ankle and the gold anklet I really should have had cut off by now. I haven’t told anyone else about it. Or about the earrings and clothes that keep appearing while I’m asleep.

Darting my gaze to the ceiling, I search for hidden cameras or some sign that he’s followed me here, and instead of revulsion, I feel…hope. I don’t want him here. I don’t. But he’s a connection to the life I’ve left behind, and the part of me that still craves the kind of world-destroying toxic love that Starling and Sebastian share is hopeful that he’s already here somewhere, waiting to sneak into my room and leave me some new, odd gift.

In the last week, he’s stolen all of my jewelry, and I’ve woken up wearing stunning new earrings in my ears twice. He’s taken my clothes and replaced them with gorgeous, sexy, but stillconservative pieces that have somehow managed to merge both Samantha and Sammy’s styles together into a new version of the old me.

He’s come into my room every night, taken something, then replaced it with something else, and I still haven’t seen him. He wants me to know he’s been there, but he hasn’t woken me up or contacted me.

I don’t understand this game he’s playing, and neither does Starling. We’ve spoken more in the last week than we have in the last three months, and now that I’ve stopped trying to put distance between us, I honestly don’t know how I thought I could live my life without her. She’s the only person I’ve confided in about Evan, and even though she’s the most well-versed person I know on the crazy way Sebastian’s friends behave, she still looked perplexed when I told her about the things Evan has taken and the things he’s left behind.

I don’t understand what he’s trying to do by giving me beautiful jewelry and new clothes. The only thing that’s marked the gifts as coming from him is that they all have the letters E and M on them at least once. All of the shoes have the same monogram that’s engraved onto the padlock charm on my anklet burned into the leather of the sole, and the clothes all have it sewn into the fabric. The earrings have it engraved into the metal, and one pair even has the monogram just visible through the perfectly clear diamonds.

I might not have been a victim of the guys’ crazy brand of love, but I have borne witness to Sebastian, Clay, and Hunter laying claim to their women, and none of them have ever done anything as subtle as having their initials put into their clothes.

When the others have set their sights on a woman, they’ve bulldozed their world, assumed complete control, and obliterated all arguments and opposition. Which is why I don’t think these gifts have anything to do with Evan trying to brandme. But if he’s not trying to make me his, what is he doing, and why am I just letting him do it?

I love Drew, I honestly do, but Evan creeping into my bedroom while I’m asleep and leaving me gifts feels like him making the first move in a game where I don’t know the rules. I know that I shouldn’t want to play anything with another guy, but I’m too intrigued to just end the game before I’ve even taken my turn.

It’s why I’m still wearing the anklet, why I haven’t told my family, or reported his visits and gifts to the police.

Sebastian watched Starling for two years, and maybe that’s what Evan is doing. Maybe he’s just watching me, the same way he’s watched me since we met.

Turning to look out the window, I wonder if he’s watching me now. My new bedroom looks out over the row of almost identical houses on the opposite side of the street. As I stare at the room that mimics mine, in the house directly across the street, the light suddenly turns on, and standing in the window, staring back at me is Evan.

Blinking, I look away, then back out the window again, wondering if I’m imagining things. But when I turn my gaze back to the house opposite, Evan is still standing there, staring back at me.

Pushing up from the bed, I cross to the window and mirror his position. Even from across the street, I can see the corner of his lips pull up into an amused smirk as he lifts his hand and curls his finger, beckoning me to him.

I don’t even realize I’m moving until my feet are in my shoes and I’m standing on the street, staring at the house opposite, still unsure if he’s actually here or if I’ve imagined him.

When the front door opens, I track his movement as he steps outside. “Hello, Wild One.”

“Evan?”

Turning his back on me, he steps back into the house, and I follow after him even though I know I shouldn’t go. I know that no good can come from following Evan anywhere, but my feet steadily move until I’m inside the house and he’s closing the door behind us.

“Evan, what are you doing here?” I ask, still following as he moves farther into the house toward a brightly lit kitchen.

“Here,” he says, passing me a bottle of the wine cooler Starling and I have taken to drinking back at Kingsacre.

“Evan,” I snap, taking the bottle from him while he avoids answering me. “Evan, why aren’t you at school?”

“Congratulations on your engagement,” he says, reaching for my hand and tilting it from side to side to admire the diamond.

“Thanks,” I whisper, suddenly uncomfortable.

“When are you bringing him to meet us? I know Sebastian has some questions for…Drew.” Evan’s tone is completely cordial, which is oddly more sinister than if he’d outright threatened my fiancé.

“He’s busy. He has school.”

“Then it’s a good thing that between us, we have access to four private jets. You can fly in for dinner and be home in time to sleep in your new bed,” he says, smiling widely at me.

“I’m not sure we should use your family’s private jets,” I mutter.

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