Page 9 of Psycho

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.” I tried again.

“No one can help me.” She whispered finally and dared to peek back up at me, “I messed up. I can’t take it back.”

“The Hell Eaters aren’t the biggest and baddest monsters out there, Olivia.” I ran my thumb over her cheek again in a weird, intimate way I’d never used on a woman before. “You’ve found yourself in the company of one of the worst.” Her eyes rounded even more, and her full lips parted, “I’ll protect you from whatever haunts you, Little Storm. Let go of some of those secrets and let me help.”

“I—,” She stopped and reluctantly took a step back, dropping my gaze as my hands fell from her cheeks. There would be no point in making her stay in my embrace, so I let go. “I can’t.”

“Fine.” I sighed and took a deep breath. “This entire apartment is yours to do with as you please. And I’m across the hall if you need me.” I moved toward the door, intending to leave her be in the solitude she created for herself.

“And the codes?” She called out as I got to the door. “For the elevator and the doors.”

And now she was going to make it difficult for me. “You won’t be needing them. If you leave, I’ll be with you.”

Her eyes squinted with anger, “So I’m a prisoner.”

“You’re protected.” I challenged, “There’s a difference.”

“Excuse me if I don’t see that difference right now.” She dropped her hands off her hips and turned away from me.

“When you’re ready to share what you know about the Hell Eaters, so Dane and I can eliminate the threat to you, let me know.”

I knew she wouldn’t fold right away; Olivia’s backbone was too strong to let someone help her that easily.

It was just anyone’s guess how long she’d carry the weight on her shoulders alone.

Chapter 6 – Olivia

Eight days.

Eight fucking days inside the perfectly perfect apartment that Maddox sequestered me to with a full stocked fridge and pantry somehow stuffed with every single food I could ever dream of. Plus, a streaming service overflowing with movies and shows I’d been planning to watch, and a bed—an exact replica of the unbelievably comfortable one I’d left two weeks prior, its plush comfort still vivid in my memory.

What more could a girl ask for, really?

Oh yeah, independence and autonomy.

Those were nowhere to be found.

Sure, Maddox hadn’t actually shown his face once since he left me in the loft that very first day, but I knew he was around.

He left methings.

On my doorstep.

Only because there was a kitchen chair and umbrella jammed under the doorknob to block the entrance, creating a makeshiftbarricade; the pressure of the wood against metal felt as stubborn as my resolve against his potential entry, even if he had the code.

Without it, I wasn’t sure he’d respect my space.

But every single morning, when I dared to take a peek through the peephole in the door, there was always something waiting for me.

The first day was food.

Sweets to be exact. Cakes, brownies, eclairs, cookies and even a still perfectly frozen tub of ice cream. As if he somehow knew when I would grab them off the welcome mat.

The next day there was a stack of DVDs. They weren’t new blockbuster movies, but they were oldies. 90s Rom Coms.

My guilty fucking pleasure.

The day after that, salty snacks. Pretzels, chips, popcorn and pickles. Which was trippy and weird, because the night before I’d been up for hours craving pickles.

---