Page 21 of Blindsided

“And the one time I greeted her first, Sergio scratched my hand.” I raise my eyebrow in Desmond’s direction. I know it’s rude to talk to your cat before the person who has gone out of their way to care for them, but Sergio can be an asshole, and I was gone for weeks.

“That’s also true.” Mrs. Esposito comes to stand next to me. “Have the police found the guy yet?”

My shoulders deflate. “No, they haven’t said anything about my case. I’d be surprised if they’re still investigating it.” I don’t truly believe that’s the case, but it feels like it in some ways. I haven’t heard a single scrap of news from them. The lack of information is starting to make me itchy.

“We’re going to pack up her stuff today. Have you noticed anything since the break-in?” Desmond asks.

She shakes her head, and they continue to talk about how annoying it is that they can’t do anything to push my case forward. I focus my attention back on Sergio, his fluffy gray fur and yellow eyes giving me the comfort I haven’t felt since I was staying with Matthew.

Texting him over these past two weeks has been both surreal and exhilarating. He’s wittier than I ever knew. All it takes is one wrong word and the man can turn what I said into something dirty. Those texts got me through fashion week better than anything else ever has.

Desmond has noticed me giggling at my phone several times since I got back to New York, but each time, I’ve stopped short of telling him who I’m texting. I’m not entirely sure why I’m keeping it a secret from him. It’s not like there’s anything between me and Matthew. We aren’t dating or saying anything that scandalous. But… I can’t deny that the crush I’ve had on him all my life has blossomed into something out of my control.

Before we started texting, I could barely base my crush on anything but lingering teenage hormones. We’d only ever talked at random family get-togethers until now. I had no idea who Matthew was as a person. I just knew I found him attractive. He’d always been kind to me, even when Desmond was being mean because he didn’t want me to hang out with them.

“Tills, you ready to do this?” Desmond asks. I take in his amber-eyed gaze that’s so similar to my own. He looks back at me with nothing but confidence on his face. Whether it’s confidence in his own strength to get me through this or confidence in me, I’m not sure. Either way, it’s exactly what I need to take this next step.

I look at Mrs. Esposito. “When we’re done, I’ll come back and grab Sergio on our way out.”

“Take your time, dear. You know he’s my favorite.” She smiles in the motherly way she always does when she looks at me.

I nod my head and follow Desmond across the hallway. He unlocks my door, and we both freeze in the entryway. My jaw drops at what I can only call chaos.

“Jesus Christ,” Des says under his breath.

I walk into my apartment as if I’m in a dream. Every single thing has been destroyed until it’s practically unrecognizable. My mattress has slashes in it that look like a wild animal shredded it. All my clothes are in tatters, strewn across the floor without a single care.

Then my eyes catch on the red paint splatter on the wall. There are trails of paint dripping down, giving the scene a rather macabre effect. The message is more frightening than the visual.

How dare you leave me. You’re mine.

Shivers race down my spine. I can’t do this.

With a hard swallow, I turn toward Desmond, who is talking on the phone. He holds out his hand, and I race toward him until I’m cocooned in his arms. My face presses into his chest, the smell of his cologne familiar and calming. Tears burn behind my eyelids, but I breathe through them. If I let them fall now, they’ll never stop.

Who is doing this to me? What have I done to deserve to be treated this way?

We wait in Mrs. Esposito’s apartment for the police to show up. Having Desmond by my side this time helps more than I could put into words. His solid strength seeps into me and gives me the courage to face this situation head-on, even if I’d much rather stick my head in the sand and pretend it’s not happening at all.

The police arrive, and I recognize one of the officers from the first time my stalker made himself known. She gives me that sympathetic expression that says everything and nothing at the same time. They know there’s not much they can do, but they’re still going to do their best to find the guy if they can.

Looking at the mess a second time, I’m able to process what I’m seeing. This guy was in a rage. His only goal was to destroy every possession I own. There’s very little that wasn’t touched in my apartment. I’m going to have to buy new everything.

What an exhausting thought.

A detective comes over to where Desmond and I are standing in the kitchen. His face is a mask of indifference. “Miss Areneto, I’m Detective Preston Oliver.” He holds his hand out to shake mine and Desmond’s. “I’ve been assigned to your case, given the escalation pattern. Have you given any more thought to who might be doing this?”

I shake my head. “I’ve gone through every person I know. Not a single one of them has made me feel uncomfortable or as if they might be more interested than usual.”

“We’re in contact with your agent to help screen your fan mail. I’ve gone through a few of the worst letters, but they all have alibis for the first break-in.”

“So you have no leads.” Defeat threatens to weigh me down until I won’t be able to get back up.

“We’re doing everything we can to find this guy. The obvious escalation means you’re in serious danger. If you’re able to stay somewhere else, that would be best. I’d also suggest upping your security: cameras, recording devices, whatever you can add. That would be ideal. Make sure you’re paying attention to your surroundings, and do not post on social media about your whereabouts. I’m sure that seems like an obvious warning, but you’d be surprised.”

“My agency handles all of my social media accounts. I only get on them when they tell me I have to.” I’ve never liked being on social media. I do the bare minimum I’m required and leave the rest up to the agency.

“I’ll see if they’ve received any threatening messages recently.” He writes that down in a notebook and then turns to look at the officers cataloging evidence. “We should be done processing your apartment soon. Let’s hope your stalker left some DNA after making this mess.”

---