Page 208 of His To Erase
Of course there is.
And just like that, he’s gone.
I head down the hall, every step heavier than the last, and plug my phone in before even sitting down. No new messages. No missed calls. Which is a little weird. At least for Sarah.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the screen like it’s supposed to tell me what the hell I’m doing. My reflection stares back at me in the black glass and I hit Sarah’s name, it rings once then goes straight to voicemail.
Rude!
I don’t leave a message, I just stare at the screen like an idiot, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why I came, why I stayed. Why I keep lying to myself, and that this isn’t exactly what it looks like?
Frank hasn’t done anything wrong. Not technically. But there’s just something about him that is starting to make me feel uneasy.
I don’t know how long I sit there, picking at the skin around my thumbnail, before the thought hits me like a slap. I don’t know why I’m sitting here, I want to leave.
How do you walk away without being rude when someone’s been nothing but… good? Pushy lately, yeah. Intense in ways that feel like more than just interest. But still—he’s been constant. I’ve known him since the night I rode with him in the back of the ambulance and he’s done nothing but show up for me since. And now I’m here, in his house, staring out his window—and plotting how to sneak out without a goodbye.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The only reason I haven’t left yet, is because I want to tell him we’re not going anywhere. That I don’t like him like that. That whatever this is, it needs to stop.
I grab my phone and shoot Sarah a quick text.
Me: Are we hanging out at work tonight, or are we hanging out at your place?
The message sends, but there’s a weird delay—just a spinning circle before the “delivered” finally pops up. It takes a full minute before my phone buzzes, which is unlike her.
Sarah: My place tomorrow if you don’t ghost me again You good? You kinda disappeared.
Perfect.
I move toward the window and part the curtain with two fingers, peeking out at the driveway. I can hear his voice from somewhere downstairs, so whatevermeetinghe was having, he’s still not done.
Frank’s voice drifts up again—probably on another call, planning another surprise like we’re characters in a movie I never agreed to star in.
On my way out, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look calm, but that’s the lie. Under the surface, I’m vibrating. That brittle kind of tension that only shows up when something’s about to snap.
I slip out of the room like a ghost with my phone gripped tight in my hand. My heart hammers in my throat as Frank’s voice murmurs faintly from his office down the hall. I don’t know why it suddenly feels like this. Like a trap wrapped in kindness. But it does.
I move toward the door with my breath shallow, as my fingers brush the handle.
“—she’s useful,” Frank says, keeping his voice low. He still has that edge of charm, but it’s different now.
I freeze again as another male voice responds, “Useful doesn’t mean reliable. You sure she’s not going to bolt again?”
My lungs stop working.
Frank laughs. Not loudly, but it’s enough to make my stomach twist.
“She’s not going anywhere, she’s too wrapped up in the story I gave her. She still thinks this is about us.”
Us?Is he talking about me?
“I mean hell, she’s a good girl when she’s distracted. I’ve been patient long enough.”
“You sure you’re not getting soft?” The other voice says.
“I’m protecting my investment.”
