Page 114 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

“It was fine,” she says with a smile. She’s such a sweet girl. “How was your day?”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “The usual. Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

She puts her phone in the pocket of her scrubs.

“How many other clients do you have right now?”

She frowns slightly, caught off guard. “Um…just a few. Why?”

I pretend to think about it. “Well, I’m wondering if you’d be okay if we had to let you go.”

The air in the room shifts.

Faith blinks, looking between me and Daddy. “Let me go…permanently?”

Daddy’s head turns toward us. Full attention now. A small, strangled sound gurgles in his throat. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but I hear it. I notice the way his eyes dart between me and Faith, his fingers gripping the arms of his wheelchair.

The fear in his eyes sends a warm sensation through me.

“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “I’m only asking because I may be moving.”

Faith’s sad eyes make me feel bad. Kind of.

“I’d give you plenty of notice,” I add.

“So it’s not a sure thing?”

I shake my head. “But you’ll be the first to know. I promise.”

Daddy’s breathing has gone shallow, his shoulders hunched, his knuckles white. Oh, he’s terrified.

Good.

My hot shower had to be warm tonight. I’m tough, but I have my limits. The film over my tattoo did nothing to lessen the discomfort.

Now, I’m on my side in bed. The house is quiet. Too quiet. I pick up my phone and navigate to Ace’s Instagram. He blocked me on my real account, so I go back to the burner account he never knew was me.

No new posts since a few days before he left me.

I’m torn. On the one hand, good. Suffer. On the other, I want my fix.

I have no choice but to stare intently at my wallpaper of him in the pool, drifting off to sleep with him on the pillow next to me.

It’s dark when I wake up. I’m not sure how much time has passed. Something woke me, but I don’t know what. My ears perk, but there’s only silence.

Then—

Creeeeeak.

My stomach drops.

The sound is distant and outside my door, but I know exactly what it is. Thestairs.

My breath catches in my throat.

For a moment, I’m not here. I’m younger, small and afraid, curled up in bed with my dolls as I hear the same slow, deliberate creaking. My body locks up, heart hammering in my chest, fingers curling into the sheets.

The creaks get louder.

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