Page 160 of The Hookup Situation
My underwear drawer isn’t just open; it’s been picked through. I know because I organize by color, and now it’s chaos. Black mixed with nude, lace mixed with cotton. He’s touched every piece.
The photos of Nick and me from the festival that Autumn took were on my dresser. They’re all ripped in half. And there, in the center of my bed, where I can’t miss it, is a note written in his familiar handwriting.
He’ll leave you, like they all do. You always comeback to me. You always will. No one will ever love you, Julie. Only me.
“Fuck you, Craig,”I whisper, my voice breaking on his name.
Nick is still on the phone with dispatch, but I see his free hand clench into a fist so tight that his knuckles go white. The muscle in his jaw tics. I’ve never seen him this angry—not even when Craig confronted us at the festival.
“Someone broke into my girlfriend’s apartment,” he says, voice controlled but full of fury. “Yes, we’re safe. No, we haven’t touched anything. We need officers here now.” He gives my address, then adds, “The intruder left a threatening note. We know who did this.”
I sink onto my ottoman chair—the one my grandmother gave me when I was a little girl—unable to stop shaking. Craig was in my bedroom. He touched my panties, my photos, and my bed. The violation of it makes my skin crawl, and I want to shower for hours. I want to burn everything he might have touched.
“Hey.” Nick crouches in front of me after ending the call, taking my face in his hands. His touch is gentle. “Look at me. You’re safe. You’re okay.”
“He was in here. He touched—” My voice cracks.
“I know. I know, sweetheart. But you’re safe. He’s gone.”
“The restraining order. Do you think he was served and this set him off?”
“Possibly,” Nick says. “I don’t know what he’s thinking.”
The police arrive ten minutes later, though it seems like hours have passed.
There are two officers—Grady, who’s older with tired eyes, and a younger one who looks fresh out of the academy that I’ve never met before. His name badge saysOfficer Sanders. They take photos of everything, dust the doorknob and light switches for prints, and bag the note as evidence with gloved hands. They’re professional, but their questions make me think I’ve done something wrong.
“Any security cameras?” Officer Grady asks.
“No,” I say.
“Alarm system?”
I shake my head.
“Witnesses? Neighbors who might have seen something?” he continues.
“I don’t know. Maybe. You can ask them.”
“Okay,” he says, but his tone suggests they won’t find anything useful. “Any idea who might have done this?”
“Craig Downing,” I say. “I literally filed a restraining order against him today. He’s my obsessive ex who’s been stalking me.”
The officers exchange glances that make my stomach sink.
“Without proof he was here—” Officer Sanders starts.
“Who else would leave that note?” Nick’s voice is dangerous. “Who else has been stalking her? Showing up at her work? Driving by here at night?”
Grady starts. “We understand your frustration?—”
“Do you?” Nick steps forward. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re more interested in making excuses than catching the person who did this.”
Officer Sanders clears his throat. “With all due respect, sir, without evidence placing Mr. Downing here?—”
“The note is evidence. The pattern of behavior is evidence,” Nick says.
“We’ll look into it,” Officer Grady says in that placating tone that tells me nothing will happen. “We’ll talk to him, see where he was tonight.”
