Page 85 of The Night Shift
Terror floods my veins. I feel an intense pain, as if someone’s sliding a razor blade along my guts. I scream for help. I scream for Theo. But there’s no response.
I look down. A scalpel, cold and sterile, rests in my hand. My grip tightens on it, but not by my own will. A primal fear, a desperate urge to break free, courses through me. Before I can even comprehend the action, the scalpel plunges down. A sickening squelch of flesh parting echoes in the silence.
Aanya’s eyes widen. Raw pain flickers through them. She smiles. Then the world explodes into color.
My eyes shoot open. I jolt upright, drenched in sweat.
The room spins. My entire body feels like it's been tossed in a dryer on high heat. I release a hard breath through my nose, then drive my hand through my hair. What thefuckwas that? Hot shame pricks at me. Slowly, everything starts coming into focus. My room is still dark, with just a little sliver of light creeping in from underneath the curtains. There’s a throbbing ache in my arms and legs. Last night’s clothes cling uncomfortably to my cold, sweaty skin. My hair is a greasy disaster, and even my mouth feels like it's been lined with cotton.
“Theo?”
No response.
I peep down to see if he’s still asleep on the floor.
He isn’t.
My eyes land on the digital clock on my nightstand. 6:32 a.m. Shit. My shift starts in an hour. I need to shower. Rubbing my face, I fling my covers back to get out of bed, when something falls to the floor. A sharp clattering sound. I look down and see a photo frame.
Bits and pieces from last night come back to me and every muscle in my body feels coiled tight. The building. The graves. The text. Theo. Aanya.
Aanya.
The ache from my limbs spreads to my chest, threatening to crush me from within. I’m unable to stop staring at the picture. I remember this day. It’s us at a park. Unruly windblown hair getting in each other’s mouths. Her arm over my shoulders, mine on her waist. Faces frozen in timeless joy. I can almost feel her. I can almost hear her voice.
A pressure builds behind my eyes until it literally stings. My phone buzzes, snapping me back to reality. I grab it from my nightstand, and the brightness of the screen stings my sleep-blurred eyes even more. Two texts. Unfortunately, none are from Theo.
April: Come over by 6. We’ll get ready together. Love you! xx
And another from Camille.
Cami: update on the theo situation?
My fingers hover over the keyboard and I type out a response to Cami.
Holly: Same as last night.
Gray typing dots appear and disappear on my phone screen, then two seconds later Cami’s face pops on my screen. She’s calling me. I immediately disconnect it. She’ll just ask me about Theo again and I’m not awake enough to lie right now.
I’m not sure how she’ll react when she finds out that he stayed the night any more than I’m sure why I even lied to her about it in the first place. It wasn't possessiveness exactly. It was just me being protective about my own sanity. I don’t want her to give me shit for something I had no control over. What’s infuriating is that I didn’t even want Theo to stay the night. Of course, not —
My phone stops ringing and buzzes with a new text.
Cami: pick up!!!
Putting my phone on silent, I flip it face down on my lap.
I shouldn’t have let Theo stay the night. Not with such heart-stopping ease. But it was like trying to think my way free of gravity, or to stand unmoving in the swell of a tsunami. I was paralyzed. By his touch. By his words. By all that talk about Aanya and Nate and just…
Has he really been released?
There’s a burning in my nose. A lump in my throat. My fingernails dig into my bedspread, and I get a sudden urge to scream. I can see myself doing it, screaming so loudly that the glass over the frame goes flying around the room. My throat constricts. I clench my jaw, willing the feeling away. A single, hot tear traces a path down my cheek. The mere feeling of it, so pathetically weak, only intensifies my frustration. I pick up the frame and fling it across at the wall. The glass shatters and the frame falls to the ground. A sharp sting goes up my palm. I look down. A crimson stain blooms on my skin just below my thumb where one of the glass shards has pierced me.
Plucking it out, I grab my phone and stumble out of bed, wrapping my blanket around my cold shoulders.
“Theo?” I call out again, dragging my feet towards the living room only to find that he isn’t on the couch either. He’s actually gone.
The silence stretches, punctuated only by the distant hum of my heater and a weird, almost familiar emptiness settles in my chest. I’m not sure what to think or feel right now. Why would he just go like this? Not that I have any issues with it, I mean, I should probably be glad that he’s gone, right? I should be less worried about Theo Carter and more worried about the other, more dangerous (possibly psychotic) stalker on the loose.
