Page 33 of Ghosted in Arkadia
I didn’t want to.
The words make my chest ache while my head fills with voices from the past. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to think for a moment that I could actually have any of the dreams that popped into my mind as he asked that question.
Ghost is a killer. My future with him would likely look like being chained in a basement while he took out all his energy on me. Either that or I would have to spend my life looking to the side every time he added to hisotherbody count.
Sorry to be such a disappointment. What changed your mind? Did you get tired of having to tie women up to keep them from running away from you?
I’m breathing heavily as I look over the words, watching the icon spin.
Unable to send.
“Fuck.” I throw my phone across the front seat. It lands somewhere amongst the bags.
Rex whines and I turn toward the back seat to see him sitting up, his head cocked to the side, as if questioning my sanity.
“He drives me fucking crazy,” I tell the dog, not helping myself to feel any more sane.
Rex appears to smile, lopsided and loose, before laying back down on the seat for the rest of the ride home. He hurries through the door, pushing it open wide as I waddle in with the groceries plus Rex’s bag of food slung over my shoulder.
“You could make yourself useful and learn how to shut the door,” I say, using my foot to show the dog.
Police dog training might be amazing, but it wasn’t enough to make Rex get up from his spot in front of his empty bowl.
“Give me a few,” I chastise as I pass to haul the groceries onto the counter.
Rex patiently waits for the ten minutes I take to put everything away, but the reward of a heaping scoop of the new food disappoints him.
“I told you, you should have come in to pick it out yourself.”
The dog looks up at me with his large, soft, brown eyes while the darker fur above his eyes moves in a humanlike expression. Concern. Rex whines, looking at the new chunks of food inside his bowl, before turning around and heading straight for the couch.
With a sigh, I grab his bowl and pour the bits back into their bag before getting a scoop of his old food. He watches me through side eyes but doesn’t get up from the couch when I replace the bowl. I understand how the dog feels as I look over the new foods fresh from the store and still choose to put a frozen pre-made meal in the microwave.
Oh well. It’s like the saying; Atlantis wasn’t built in a day.
I am having a hard enough time drinking enough soda to quell the burning in my throat. Ghost’s messages run through my head, and I grab my phone out from my purse to read through them once more.
I can’t help it; I’m drawn to the pain.
I sigh. Yet again, the entire message thread is missing. I should have known. My body takes over the routine task of eating while I’m left with nothing more than my memories of the encounter while I try to sort through and figure out where we stand.
Not we.I.I need to sort where I stand.
I refill my glass of soda before heading into my bedroom, deep in contemplation over a subject that should be simple.
He didn’t want me. He kills people. He’s psychotic.
Maybe he expects me to kill people with him.
Did I kill him or did you?
The names he has encouraged me to give him. He’s been training me since the moment he started communicating. Bloodthirsty kitten, that’s what he had called me, and my love starved body had reacted like a thirsty bitch.
I might be fucked up, but I’m not that kind of killer.
Did You Want Trauma with That?
The weather breaks, making refreshed promises as I do the same. My work consumes me. I meticulously examine documents on my tablet and even bring it home for evening activities to distract myself from thoughts of Ghost. I’ll prove to him I’m not that kind of killer by taking down Bill Roman the right way.
