Page 16 of Whispered Desire

In its place is the nervous bunny again.

What is she hiding up there?

CHAPTER NINE

MATHIAS

It doesn’t take long to figure out why she was so hesitant.

The stench of dogs, urine, and manufactured vanilla hits me as soon as I step inside the apartment after Allison locks the dogs away in her roommate’s room.

Dirty dishes lay scattered around the kitchen while tufts of gray fur form an army of dust bunnies on the floor. A black cat saunters out of a door that lets out a little jingle from the bell on the knob, and the smell of piss becomes stronger.

What the fuck is Allison doing still living here?

Because this is far worse than I imagined.

I thought I’d find outdated appliances and peeling paint—and those things exist, but they’re not the most pressing reason why it’s unsafe to stay. It’s the beginning of aHoardersepisode that concerns me most.

My attention snaps to Allison, ready to point out the ridiculousness of forgoing a nice, clean apartment for this dump, when the watery haze filming her eyes stops me in my tracks. Shame pours from her hunched body as if waiting for the humiliating blow of my judgment, and I take a moment to study the apartment again.

Yes, paper plates with half-eaten pizza crusts are stacked on the counter, but a tied trash bag rests against a kitchen cabinet.Rubber gloves and a sponge rest beside the full sink, soap bubbles attesting to the fact that they were recently used.

And yes, the overwhelming aroma of animals and a dirty litter box speaks to a lack of care, but then there's a vanilla candle flickering on the coffee table attempting to mask it all. Kitschy artwork and knickknacks decorate the walls and furniture as if someone tried to create a cozy home amidst the chaotic mess.

"Would you rather go back outside?" she asks quietly, her knuckles white as she hugs tight fists around her waist.

"No, here's fine.” There’s a softness in my tone that I’ve never heard before, but it feels like speaking above a soothing baritone might shatter the fragility draping Allison. “Where do you sleep?"

"At the end of the hall." She points to a closed door where a cheerful Valentine’s Day sign hangs over the back. It's out of season now, but clearly, that's the least of her problems.

Striding toward the room, I notice the other three doors in the hall are closed as well, and I wonder what state of disarray they’re hiding.

Bits of glitter fall off the cheap sign as I swing the door wide and get my first glimpse of Allison's room.

It smells fresher here. A window by her bed lets in a cool breeze, and there's one of those fragrance plug-ins on the wall by her nightstand.

The cat follows us inside and hops onto the mattress, turning in a circle before plopping down on the comforter and promptly beginning to bathe its paw.

It seems Allison isn't the main contributor to the mess outside her room, since there looks to be attempts at being neat. Folded clothes, bed made, ensuite bathroom counter clear.

Though there are still spots of half-done chores.

I'm not judging her, but the lack of cleanliness worries me. I don't want her living this way. Especially when it can't be healthy breathing in the dust and animal byproducts floating in the air.

Allison gathers a small pile of clothing from the desk in the corner and hurries to a packed walk-in closet.

"Sorry for the mess. If I'd known you were coming by, I would have..."

I raise my hand to cut her off. "An apology isn't necessary. Just tell me what you need." It’s not what I expected to say, but it feels right. Allison obviously requires help. It’s just a matter of figuring out what is top priority.

“Need?” Her brow wrinkles. Like no one has ever asked how best to support her before.

I wouldn’t have guessed that was her background. Sure, she didn’t grow up in a sick bastard’s makeshift mercenary school like me, but I figured she had a semblance of a happy childhood based on her past academic achievements and two parents who were still married rather than divorced.

Obviously, I was wrong, and those didn’t count for shit.

My hands cover hers where they're fiddling with an empty water bottle from the nightstand, and she freezes at the contact. Her face remains averted, until I gently hook her chin between thumb and forefinger and guide it upward.

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