Page 82 of The Tenant
Despite how grateful I am to her, I’m starting to get annoyed. “Blake is not going to kill me. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“I saw it!” she insists. “I…I haven’t had a psychic vision that strong in years. But it was clear as day.” She reaches out to grip my wrist, her fingers biting into my skin. “He’s going to kill you, Krista. You need to get out.Now.”
I get a chill down my spine. I don’t believe in any of this crap, but there is something about the certainty in the old woman’s face that is creeping me out. She genuinely thinks that Blake is going to kill me. She thinks he’s going to stab me to death in my own living room.
Which is ridiculous.
I manage to wrench my hand away from her. “Okay,enough.”
“Krista…”
“No,” I say firmly. “I’m fine. Whatever this is… You don’t have to worry about me. I promise.”
Quillizabeth is very reluctant to leave, and for a moment, I’m worried I’ll have to call the police. But then she gives me one last fearful look, and she ambles down the street. I stand there, watching her, making sure she doesn’t linger on our block. Or, God forbid, try to come back.
I always thought that psychic stuff was bullshit, but it seems like Quillizabeth might really have the gift. Because something terrible is going to happen in that house. Except it won’t be Blake standing over my dead body.
It will be me, standing over him.
53
Amanda has been livingwith us for a week.
I have already caught Blake and Amanda sitting together on the sofa in the middle of the night, a little bit too close, watching television together. If they’re left alone, it’s only a matter of time before something would happen between the two of them—once a cheater, always a cheater.
But that’s not in the cards. Because by tomorrow, Blake and Amanda will despise each other.
I wake up very early this morning, while Blake is still sound asleep in bed. I wanted to make sure he slept through the night, so I baked him some cookies yesterday laced with sedatives. I got them last week when I convinced my doctor to prescribe me by making up a story about sleep problems. It wasn’t hard—I’ve lost some sleep since realizing I was engaged to a cheater anyway. I tried a cookie, and if you’re really looking for it, there is a bit of a bitter aftertaste, but it’s barely noticeable. Blake didn’t notice when he ate three of them last night.
I wanted to make sure he was asleep, because there’s a lot I need to do.
I overheard him offering to let Amanda partake in his Frosted Flakes. Of course he would be nice to the pretty girl. Well, Amanda is about to take advantage of his kindness. I grab the box of Frosted Flakes off the counter, which is nearly half full. Then I pour the contents down the garbage disposal.
My next move is to take two of the apples on the counter and place them in a small paper bag. I climb up on the counter and stick it on the top shelf in the cabinet. It will take a little while, but those apples will rot. We already have a tendency to get fruit flies here, and with a little encouragement and a food source, they will be everywhere. Blake is a sucker for cleanliness, and this will drive him out of his mind.
My next stop is the bathroom, where I systematically empty his soap and his shampoo as well as most of his toothpaste. I leave my own products alone. He can use them if he wants, although he mentioned how much he hates “smelling like a girl.”
Lastly, I retrieve a bottle of laundry detergent that I purchased and hid in the hall closet. Blake is highly allergic to any fragranced detergent, especially ones containing a chemical called limonene. I found that out early in our relationship when I decided to wash some of his clothes to be a good girlfriend, and he freaked out because I used a detergent with limonene.I get the worst rash from even a small amount.As it turned out, that was a very useful piece of information.
I carefully pour about one tablespoon of my own detergent into Blake’s hypoallergenic bottle. I close the bottle and shake it to distribute the limonene. I open it up again and take a sniff. I don’t smell the citrus, but it will get all over his clothes the next time he does a wash.
He won’t suspect me of any of this. After all, he and I have been living together for months. Amanda is the only one new to the equation.
Pretty soon, they won’t be flirting with each other anymore. They’re going to hate each other.
And this is only the beginning.
54
Blake is alreadyin bed that night when Amanda comes home from working at the diner. He’s scrolling through his phone, so he doesn’t seem to notice when the door slams.
I wonder if he still talks to Stacie. I haven’t checked, because it doesn’t really matter. What’s going to happen to him will happen either way.
“I’m going to go downstairs and get some water,” I tell him. “Want anything?”
He shakes his head no. Maybe he’s texting with Stacie. Or some other woman.
When I get downstairs, Amanda is in the kitchen, drinking water from one of our glasses. Despite the fact that we told her it was okay to do so, I feel a surge of irritation that she is using our stuff. It’s one more thing that she has borrowed from me and that I will soon take back.
