Page 29 of Done Waiting

Daya laughs. “Smart girl. I love my baby so much, but sometimes…” She gives me a grin. “I still wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

I grin. “I know you wouldn’t.”

As the morning goes on, I find it therapeutic to throw boxes of books down and savagely rip them open as my thoughts return to Ben and Chloe this morning… then Ben savagely fucking me in his bed a week ago.

“Are you still able to close tonight?” Daya comes over, pulling me from my thoughts. “It’s not too late for you, is it?”

Glancing up at her from my spot on the floor, books spread around me, I grinned. “Daya, 7:00 p.m. isn’t late. I’ll be fine.”

She bites her lip. “It’s just… it’s getting darker earlier and with those articles….”

“You mean about the serial killer?”

She nods, her brows pinched together.

“Daya, I’m not a student at Falls Creek College. I haven’t set foot on that campus in months and I’m cautious. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Just make sure you are. I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”

Getting to my feet, I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Thanks. I appreciate the concern.” Wrapping my arms around her, I give her a hug, trying to reassure her.

When we pull back, she smiles. “Sorry. I’m a mom now and I worry.”

I grin. “You worry more than my mom. I called her and we discussed it briefly. She basically said they were working around the clock, looking at the evidence and to remain vigilant.”

Daya’s brow wrinkles. “Well, that’s good. Although, I can’t understand how your mom isn’t more worried about you. You fall into the profile of women he likes.”

Hiding my shiver, I wave my hand dismissively. “But I don’t go to college, so… I’m good.” Giving her a reassuring smile, I look at the mess on the floor around us. “I better get back to it.”

She chuckles. “Yes, I’m sure you have more boxes to assault.”

I giggle. “Sorry. It’s therapeutic for my teenage angst. Since we’ve been slow and have only had a few customers….”

She waves her hand. “I get it. I’ve been known to throw boxes and rip them open, too. It’s usually when I’m pissed about something, but whatever.”

“Well, I am pissed. My friend and boyfriend seem to be spending more time together and are sometimes a bit too cozy for my tastes.”

Daya winces. “Sorry, Maddie. Listen to your instinct. I felt the same way in my previous relationship. I repeatedly ignored all those uncomfortable feelings nagging me when I watched the two of them together. They got worse the more time they spent together. And then bam—I walked in on my best friend riding my boyfriend’s dick.”

“Ouch.” I wince, feeling the pain I imagined Daya felt.

“Yeah, it cut like a knife. Luckily, I didn’t give up on love, and look where I’m at now.”

I smile as her husband comes through the door, holding a container full of coffee for the three of us. “Yeah, you two are inseparable and very much in love.”

Daya turns to me, her entire face lit up with happiness like the lights on a Christmas tree. “Don’t settle for less than you deserve, Maddie. And pay attention to your gut instincts. They won’t lead you astray.” She winks, and we turn as her husband comes over, kissing her before he starts handing us our coffees.

Turning away, I’m envious of how secure Daya is in her marriage and wish I felt the same way in my relationship with Ben.

Taking a long drink of my coffee, I shoot them a wave, then grab another box of books. Slamming it down, I rip the box open, unpack them, and put them on the shelves, trying to distract myself from Ben’s weird mood swings. One minute he’s so cold and distant, and the next, he’s concerned about my safety and continually checking up on me. It’s weird.

We haven’t had sex since Ben was rough with me and I thought about my stalker. I’m still struggling with my guilt.

I do my best to lose myself in my work until my phone starts vibrating like crazy. Pulling it from my back pocket, I see five texts from Chloe, bitching at me for avoiding her. But the resentment is still there, especially after carpooling with Ben all week. Anger flares inside me.She doesn’t need Ben’s protection. She doesn’t fit the blonde-haired, brown-eyed profile the serial killer favors.

Daya and her husband leave for lunch, so I move to the counter to check out a customer. Daya loves watching the news, and her iPad sits on a shelf below the register. The news is depressing and drives me crazy. Once the customer leaves, I reach down to turn it off but freeze when I hear another student is missing.

Picking up the iPad, a picture of Brittany Smith, a nineteen-year-old student at Falls Creek, is on the screen. She was last seen on campus two nights ago. The reporter’s voice fades as I study her blonde hair, brown eyes, and happy smile.

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