Page 98 of Intense
“Well, why are you here?”
“To make sure you get home safely.”
My heart picks up speed.
“I don’t need babysitting. I’m perfectly capable of making it home.”
He sighs.
“And that’s why you called me thinking you had a stalker from the club, isn’t it? These places aren’t safe, love.”
He’s got me there.
“Fine. Well, as you can see, I got in my car safely. You may go now, bodyguard,” I huff.
He chuckles again—and my chest squeezes in a way I don’t understand. Or maybe I do.
“I’ll follow you home. Watch you get in. Then my job is done. No arguments, please.”
Part of me—the independent, abandoned part—wants to tell him to fuck off.
But the other piece?
The piece that’s tired.
Tired of fighting. Tired of looking over her shoulder. Tired of doing everything alone.
That piece wants to let him stay.
That piece wants to be protected. I hug myself.
“Thank you, Finn,” I say, and cut the call.
I kickthe door shut behind me, dropping my bag in the hallway. The house is silent, just how it always is. It’s how I enjoy life, being alone. Or so I thought.
At least I know I will never let myself down.
I peel off my jacket and head straight for the kitchen.
No lights on.
Just the soft hum of the fridge and the sound of my own breathing.
I grab the bottle of red I keep for nights like this, the ones where I feel lost. And in this case, edged to the extreme.
Leaning over the counter, I put on some heavy metal on the speakers and sip my wine, staring at the black boxes in front of me. Taunting me.
After I finish my first glass, I lean over and grab one of them.
The ones I swore I wouldn’t touch.
Not until the annulment.
Not until I got rid of him.
But I need to see it.
Taking them, with the wine, to the couch, I sit down and place them down beside me. Refusing to open them, because if I do, it might become real. I might start to believe in this twisted fantasy more than I should.
