Page 15 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

It doesn’t appear that anything is missing. It’s not like I have much of value anyway, so there isn’t a whole lot to take, but my TV and jewelry box remain untouched. There are clothes and shoes strewn across the floor, broken glasses and dishes in the kitchen.

What hurts the most, though, is my bookshelf. It has been knocked over on its side, and all my books are now scattered about the floor, their covers bent or torn, some with pages ripped out or their spines broken.

I bend down, rummaging through the wreckage, and find a few that might be salvageable, but most are ruined. My nose burns and my chest aches as I try to make it make sense.

It looks like someone threw a massive temper tantrum but didn’t actually take anything—maybe what they wanted wasn’t home?A shudder rocks through my body at that thought.

Archer comes to stand beside me, the toes of his glossy black dress shoes blurring through my unshed tears.

“Wh—why would someone do this?” I ask, choking back a sob.

His hands reach for me, and I allow him to pull me to my feet as he cradles me tightly in his arms. I sink in to him, resting my head against his firm chest, soaking up the warmth emanating from his body.

“Shh…” he breathes into my hair as he rubs soothing circles with his palm on my back, and that is the start of my undoing.

I fall apart in his embrace, the fear and the stress from the past few hours finally catching up to me. And even though I know my tears and snot are ruining what feels like an expensive shirt, he never once complains. He just continues to hold me, allowing me to cry it out.

Once the tears have dried up and I have regained some semblance of control, I pull away, wiping my face with the backs of my hands. I’m sure I look a mess right now, with my face all red and puffy, but if I do, Archer doesn’t show it. Instead, he studies me cautiously, as if waiting to see if I’m going to break down again.

“You okay?” he asks, and I give a jerky nod.

“Yeah. It’s all good,” I say with a double thumbs up. He raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips twitching.

I mentally smack myself on the forehead for being so awkward. I’ll just chalk that one up to stress.

My chest hollowing, I let out a long sigh before answering truthfully, “No. I’m not. I don’t understand why anyone would do this,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you think it’s the same guy from earlier?”

He stands there, face grim, lips formed in a tight line,and that’s all the answer I need. “But that’s good, right? Cause that would mean they already caught the guy. So that means I’m safe?”

He gives me a blank look, and I wonder why he isn’t saying anything. What I am missing?

My stomach lurches as the pieces finally come together and realization dawns on me.Oh God—that would mean…I clutch my stomach as nausea rolls through me.

“He knew where I lived,” I say, giving voice to my thoughts. “So—this wasn’t just some random attack.” He shakes his head. “So…I was targeted by someone. But why?”

“That, I don’t have an answer for.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, sounding like a broken record, but I can’t for the life of me comprehend why someone would do this tome.

“Do you know anyone who might want to hurt you? Any one you might have upset recently or made angry?” he asks, and I shake my head. I honestly have no clue.

I don’t have any enemies. Hell, I barely have any friends. My life consists of work, home and helping Jane when she needs me. That’s it.

The only person I would even consider my enemy would be my ex, Chad. Although, if social media is correct, he just got engaged—to the woman he cheated on me with, no less—so I’m sure to him, I am nothing more than an afterthought.

So, no. I can’t think of anyone who would be angry with me enough to do something like this.

I avoid confrontation at all costs. Afraid it will bringme too close to the dark entity that lurks under my skin. Terrified that if I let all those emotions free—all the pain and hurt I keep bottled up—I will actually have to deal with them, and I’m not ready to face my demons. Not yet, anyways.

Probably not the healthiest way to cope, but it has worked for me so far.

I go out of my way to be nice to people, sometimes to the point of sacrificing my own happiness. Also probably not healthy, but when you fear rejection as strongly as I do, you find it hard to speak up for yourself.

“Has anything happened lately? Anything strange or unusual?” he continues, staring at me intently, like he is searching for something. For what, I don’t know.

I swallow hard at the feel of rough, calloused hands on my thighs, images of crooked tobacco-stained teeth, and blood…so much blood. I gulp, shaking my head.

No—that was a dream. A nightmare. It wasn’t real. But let’s just pretend for a second itwasreal. If it was, then that man would be dead. There is no way he could be involved.

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