Page 88 of Choke

Like I’m a fool.

My blood boils as the seconds tick by, my hands fist, and I could punch a hole through this fucking TV. I check the cam app. Her apartment is still empty, and the only movement is her freaky cat as it wanders around the countertops. I’m about to throw my phone across the goddamn room when a message notification pops up—Cally.

When I click the notification, my hand squeezes my phone so tightly that I’m impressed it doesn’t fold in half. The edges bite into my palm, and the muscles in my jaw lock. It’s a photo of Lex. She’s smiling, laughing, in a way she’s never done with me.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile at me.

She’s sitting at a booth in that fucking coffee shop with Greg the fucking Grizz, who’s also laughing. He leans into her, leaning on his elbows. They look so happy. The blood in my veins turns molten. I don’t even register that I’m moving until wood splinters, the coffee table shattering against the wall with a deafening crack. My visiontunnels. My pulse pounds in my skull, drowning out everything but the roaring in my ears. My hand lands on my chest, squeezing at the pain that’s blossoming inside of it: it’s unbearable, and I fall back onto the couch, struggling to catch my breath.

I can’t fucking breathe.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, dropping my head slightly and forcing myself to take deep breaths. I pick my phone up from the floor in front of me, look at the photo again before closing it, and hammer out a message to Cally.

“When the fuck was this taken?”

The bubbles pop up and then disappear three times, and I’m ready to lose my mind when he finally replies,“This morning. 20 minutes ago.”

She came back.

When did she come back?

Did she come back when she was told and then sleep at his fucking house?

Has she been fucking with me this whole time?

I realize I must have stood because now I am pacing back and forth, deciding whether to go to her to find Greg. Looking for Greg will probably end with me in jail, with Cally pulling strings to get me out. Again.

Decision made. I’m going to find her.

I open the cam app on my phone again, and she’s there. She moves around her condo, feeds that damn cat, tidies up, and then collapses onto the couch, pulling out her phone. The sight of her makes me seethe. I zoom in as much as I can, searching for some sign, any sign, that he has put his hands on her.

It’s all been a fucking game.

I reach for my hoodie draped over the kitchen counter. I look around; the apartment is almost empty. There’s a small cluster of boxes I haven’t bothered to unpack, a shitty sofa. Thereused to bea coffee table, but now it’s in pieces against the wall. Aside from the chaos of the broken wood pile, the space feels sterile and cold. I stepout the door, slamming it behind me without bothering to lock it. Nothing inside matters anyway.

I take the stairs, stomping on each step, hoping it will calm my rage, but to no avail. I exit through the fire escape and take a deep, ragged breath. The late morning sun blinds me temporarily, and the sounds of the city assault my senses—horns blare, brakes screech, and two delivery drivers argue over parking. Kingsport was much quieter, but it’s also a fraction of the size. I don’t bother with my truck; I could use the walk, and it would take me longer to reach the parking garage than to get to her condo. Minutes later, I stand in front of her building. The in-and-out traffic is light at this time—most people are at work for the day. I approach the door and press the intercom button. A head pops up from behind the desk. The kid looks about twenty years old and seems like he might have been asleep. He buzzes me in, and I make my way over to him.

Calm. Stay calm.

“Hi, I’m Captain Liberty, and I am here to do a routine check on some of your systems.” I force a smile and flash my badge.

The kid barely looks at it before waving me in.

Building security really is a goddamn farce.

I shake my head as I walk toward the elevators. He didn’t even have me sign in. There’s no chance he remembers my name and no record of me being here. I keep my head down and my cap low. At this point, I’m very aware of the security cameras high in every corner of this building.

I advance with deadly purpose. I don’t hesitate when I reach her door, pulling out my keys and sliding the one for her door into the lock. I push it open, then slam and lock it behind me. She screams and jumps up from the couch, sending that light pink cat scrambling into the bedroom. I spot the coffee cup on the counter, cold and empty. Her place is nothing like mine; it feels like a home—warm, comfortable, and lived-in. It smells like her, like vanilla, sugar, and nostalgia. That scent, which usually makes me smile, smells vile today.

“Adrian, what the fuck!” Her tone is panicked, and she’s already backing away.

I close the gap between us, my hand landing on her throat and pushing her back to the wall. She stumbles, but my grip is so tight that she doesn’t fall. My heart jackhammers, and if I were a worse man, I’d…

Is this really better?

I push that thought out of my head as soon as it enters. Reaching into my pocket for my phone, I open the photo and hold it a few inches from her face. She looks from me to the screen, squinting to focus her eyes on the close-up device. I see her register and know that she’s been caught.

“You’re scaring me.” Her tone holds no fear.

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