Page 75 of Forget Me Not

“Rhea darling,”Gladys sings from outside my door, her relentless knocks growing louder and louder. “Are you awake?”

“Uh-huh,” I grumble into my mattress with my pillow held tightly over my head.

She knocks again, this time even louder. “Rhea, you’ve got mail.”

I toss the pillow off me, lifting my head with my tired eyes still closed. “You can leave it outside the door.” I drop my head back down and add, “Please and thank you.”

I have manners when I want to. I’m actually learning to use them more. Not that I feel it’s necessary at… I open one eye to look at the clock on my nightstand. “Twelve p.m.”

I’m not sure how I slept so late. Guess I needed it. Knowing I’m sneaking off to a party with Tyler this evening, I decide to close my eyes again and get even more sleep. There’s no saying what time I’ll be strolling in tonight.

Except my brain has other plans. It wants to start analyzing every situation and person in my life again.

Six days ago, I did a search on Alaric and found out there is a lot more to him than just an obsessed stalker. It was actually intriguing. I went to bed that night feeling worthless and intimidated by his presence. He’s gold, and I’m paper.

Now when I talk to him, I feel myself tense up. I haven’t been acting like my bratty self lately. My responses have been short and I’ve made it a point to keep our interactions to a minimum.

The only thing I can assume is that I feel immense guilt for destroying his business deal. But that’s ludicrous. I shouldn’t care. I don’t give a damn about Alaric. Do I?

Why is he even on my mind…again!?

I roll sluggishly off the bed, shoulders sagging, and in my best Eeyore voice, I grumble, “Why bother?”

Pulling open my door, my eyes immediately drop, landing on a large envelope and package at my feet. Who the hell would send me mail, let alone a package? No one even knows I’m here. I guess it could be something about my taxes since I had to fill out a W-something or other for Taryn. I was even able to give her a legit social security number once Dex finally found it. Had I known my stalker would follow me here, I might have taken a different approach.

Regardless, I’m here now and so is he and I’m making the best of a situation I have no control over.

I bend down and swipe up the package and envelope, surprised at how heavy the box is. Then I return to my room, closing the door behind me.

Starting with the envelope, I read the text on the front. The sender is a business called Newport Online Education, and when I see the recipient's name, I gasp.My wildcat.

My heart feels like it's going to explode from my chest. Every second that passes only adds to my anxiousness. How does he know where I am? Is he following me, too?

I slide my finger under the flap of the envelope and peel it open. Inside is a packet about my current enrollment at Newport Online Education. Inside there is also a paper receipt for my payment into the GED program for…

“Six hundred dollars!”

This is crazy! He doesn’t even know me, and he certainly shouldn’t know the address of where I’m staying. There is no personal information about me on that app.

A wave of emotion surges through me as I read over the details. Classes begin the first week of December and run for six weeks. Once they conclude, I have to take a test. If I pass it, I get my GED.

I should be in awe of his kind gesture. I can’t believe HawkEye did this for me. But it’s hard to get excited when this guy has details about me that he shouldn’t.

Laying the envelope on my bed, I grab the package, giving it a shake to try and guess what’s inside. It sounds like a large book. Maybe something that will help me with the classes I’ll be taking?

I don’t have any tools or scissors on hand, so I tear into the box, ripping the top completely off. When I see what’s inside, tears well in my eyes.

My first ever computer—or laptop, rather.

It’s beautiful.

I’ve never even used a laptop before. I’ve only ever used the hotel computers that are in a small room for guests. When I was a kid, I loved typing stories on them. Only to delete them once I finished. I remember one story in particular about a ten-year-old girl named Jasmine who lived on a horse farm. She had three sisters who were her best friends and every day they’d go riding together. I didn’t grow up playing with baby dolls or babies, so writing stories was my favorite way to pretend.

I set the box back down, my new laptop still inside, and I grab my phone to message HawkEye.

Wildcat: How did you get my address?

HawkEye: I’m very resourceful.

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