Page 97 of Prey for You

But when it grew dark and nothing had changed I started feeling scared. Suddenly, all that blackness around the house wasn’t a hedge of protection from a world that celebrated things I couldn’t bear to see. Suddenly it was the kind of shadows I hated. The ones that held threats you didn’t see until they were on top of you.

I couldfeelthe oppressive weight of the darkness outside. All the creatures out there—animalandhuman. Any one of them might decide to come for me. If they did, I was screwed becauseno oneknew where I was. Not even Sam.

I was losing my mind.

It wasn’t until I found myself curled up in the bottom of the shower, knees to my chest and water dripping off my hair that I realized it wasn’t worth it.

My father wasn’t worth living like this.

Sam wasn’t worth giving up.

Being alone wasn’t worth being lonely.

I was on my feet and drying off before I’d even made the decision. I ran naked and still half-damp into the bedroom and dug through my bag for my phone.

It didn’t have coverage.

On the verge of tears, I held it up and walked through the house, waiting for those bars of coverage to flicker.

They finally did in the living room, standing right in front of the big window and looking down the mountain.

Two bars.

Then my phone wentcrazy.

Text after text after text. And they all said the same thing.

Where are you?

I’m worried.

Please. Bridget… please.

The screen blurred over and over as I read through them, but then I got to the one that said to listen to his voicemails.

Three. No, four of them.

Sam was desperate if he was leaving voicemails. I’d told him how much easier they were for the Feds to search because they were much bigger files and there were far fewer of them. He knew it was a risk, and he’d done it anyway.

I couldn’t listen fast enough. I mistyped the code three times, then it tookforeverto connect because the coverage was so patchy. But finally, finally I was hearing his voice—tight, worried, deep, beautiful, and soothing something in me that hadn’t felt soft since I drove out of my garage.

The first one was kind—he was worried. Sad. Afraid I was mad at him. Trying to connect.

But then…

“Babe… I just figured it out… what today is. I’m sorry. I’msosorry. I never looked it up. You should have—I mean… I want you to tell me. I want you to know you can tell me when this stuff is happening. I won’t freak out. I promise. But… fuck, Bridget, I’m scared shitless. Where are you? Where the fuck are you? Tell me, I’ll come. I promise. I’ll make it work. Just… please… tell me. I love you. Call me—anytime. Day or night. Just call me.”

His voice was deep and rough, like Cain—but so soft. Tender.

Something in my chest broke.

Self-loathing.

Disgust.

Hate.

Sam was only in trouble because of me. He was only stuck at home because of me. He had every reason to have told me where to put my crazy. And instead he was losing sleep and voice-cracking because he was scared I would hurt myself.

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