Page 105 of Property of Necro
Don’t message again.
Necro
“This is their first exchange?”I ask.
“Yep. There are thirty or so more that sound the same. Short and to the point with increasing agitation.”
He claimed me as theirs from the first email. Had I not seen the evidence, I would have never believed it. I’m home now. With them. Where I belong. Then why the fuck did they make me leave without so much as a goodbye?
Ugh.
Men.
I’ve never even dated one, and they’re already on my last nerve.
If I mattered so much, then they should’ve kept me. They could have asked. We could have, I dunno, figured it out together.
I exhale a loud sigh and hand Kali back her phone.
What a mess.
But what’s done is done.
They made their choice, and I have to live with it. I’m not some desperate woman who will crawl back just because I miss them. I didn’t ask to be put in this situation in the first place. How was I supposed to know I would end up liking them despite their fucked-up flaws? I have plenty of those myself. Nobody’s perfect.
After thanking Cell for her help and Kali for hersupport, I slip out of the alcove and return to my bedroom. Tossing myself onto the bed, I stare up at the industrial ceiling.
I’m giving myself today.
One last day to be sad.
One last day to think of them.
When tomorrow comes, I’ll let them go.
Tomorrow, I’ll shut that door to open another, where I hope to find myself.
One. Last. Day.
I let the tears fall.
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Stretching fresh dough into a rectangle,I force it to retain its shape before sprinkling brown sugar and cinnamon over every square inch. Then, to keep the mixture inside, I roll it into a log and cut thick, uniform slices before I tuck them into a buttered pan. I’m making cinnamon rolls. I’ve been baking a lot—a lot, a lot—and it’s one of the few things that takes my mind off those who shall not be named.
It’s also part of my new routine.
I wake up and have breakfast in the apartment kitchen, on a stool, by myself, wishing a certain chef was here to keep me company. After I’m done, I get on with my day—baking and meal prepping to feed the sisters. In the afternoon, I cozy up on one of our three couches to read smut. Once I’ve gotten sufficiently horned up, I take care of business in my bedroom with one of the three sex toys I’ve recently purchased—the rotating textured cock being my favorite. I shower at some point, cook dinner, and at night, I watch a horror movie in the living room. The scarier, thebetter. Even if Cell, who is usually down to watch anything, has recently been traumatized byDead Alive. Apparently, she draws the line at a gazillion gallons of blood and an intestine monster. Which I thought was cute. The monster, not the blood. The movie is far too over-the-top to be taken seriously.
It’s been eight weeks and two days since I left Kings Cursed, and I’m finding my groove. It was a bit bumpy at first, but now that I’ve gotten this routine down, I’m sailing along.
Till pops her head into the kitchen just as I slide the cinnamon rolls into the preheated oven and shut the glass door. “Do I smell cinnamon?”
“You do.”
“Can you save me one of whatever you’re making?” She eyes the oven.
