Page 2 of Blindsided

His fuzzy gray face is too adorable to stay mad at.

“How was your day? Did you get up to any mischief?” I give his head some scratches, making a purr rumble through his body. Sergio meows in response, letting me know he’s been a good boy, as usual.

I dump some food into his cat bowl and then go about making some dinner for myself. My options are limited. The bare dregs left in my fridge aren’t all that appetizing. I’m tempted to order a curry, but that would mean a double workout tomorrow.Hard pass.

I settle for the last portion of chicken tacos I’ve already eaten three times this week and pop it into the microwave.

What the hell am I going to do with myself for the next week? I can’t remember the last time I had this much time off. Staying busy has always been preferable to sitting idle because it meant I was sought after. At this point, there’s no need to work as much as I do, but I’ve gotten used to the fast pace. I don’t mind bouncing from one place to another. It’s how I’ve gotten to see more of this world than I would’ve if I’d stayed in the tiny town I grew up in.

I loved growing up in Sonoma, North Carolina. My parents still live there when they aren’t traveling. There just weren’t a lot of opportunities for a girl like me, who didn’t want to go to college. Modeling was my out, and I haven’t looked back since.

When I’m finished with my dinner, I move to change into comfier clothes. My butt is about to get reacquainted with my couch. I just need to decide what show I’m going to binge-watch while I veg out.

My eyebrows furrow at a red rose lying on my comforter. That’s strange. There’s a large white envelope underneath it, and I pick it up. Inside is a series of Polaroids that I drop as if they’re on fire.

“Holy fuck.” They’re all of me, walking down the street or shopping for groceries. But it’s the last few that have terror shooting through me like lightning.

They’re of me sleeping. In my apartment. As if the photographer was standing right next to my bed. That can’t be possible. Did they take them through my window? I’m sure there have been nights when I left my blinds open. But I’m on the tenth floor. No one should truly be able to see through the window.

With shaking hands, I pick up my phone to call the only person I know who would do anything for me.

“Hey, Tills. I’m out with the guys. What’s up?” My brother’s deep voice allows me to take a calming breath. Of course, he’s out with the guys. His hockey team has away games right now.

“Des, someone was in my apartment.” The words come out raspy but clear enough that Desmond immediately understands the seriousness.

“Fuck. Are you sure?”

“There are p-pictures. Of me. On my bed.”

“Goddammit. Okay, go over to Mrs. Esposito’s and call the police right now.” Desmond groans. “Of all times to be on a stretch of away games. Fuck.”

In a haze, I scoop up Sergio and walk across the hall to knock on my neighbor’s door. When she answers, her weathered face creases in confusion. “Tilly? What’s going on?”

“Someone was in my apartment. I’m talking to Desmond, but he told me to wait here with you.”

“Well, come in, then. We’ll get things sorted.” She waves her hand through the air, inviting me into her apartment. It’s identical to mine, and I move toward her couch in a daze. Distantly, I hear Mrs. Esposito on the phone with the police, asking them to send some officers. The only thing I can focus on is the image of those pictures scattered on my bedspread. I feel dirty. Violated in ways I didn’t know was possible.

“Talia!” Desmond’s shout pulls me out of my spiral, and I realize he’s been talking this whole time. “How did you find out someone had been there?”

“They left a stack of pictures of me on my bed. Des… I was sleeping in a couple of them. As if they were in my apartment while I was asleep.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. It’s not safe for you to stay there. I’d say you could go to my apartment, but my contractor is renovating the bathroom since I was going to be gone this whole week. It’s a mess right now.”

“It’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”

Two police officers knock on Mrs. Esposito’s door, and I tell Desmond that I need to sort this out with them. The panic has started to recede, leaving a numb sort of indifference. I’m sure it’s my brain’s way of coping, and I’m not mad about it.

“Call me back. I want to know what they say.”

I hang up the phone and lead the officers back to my apartment. My body physically refuses to walk any further than my kitchen. The officers ask me questions about when I found the photos, if I’ve noticed other weird occurrences, and who has access to my apartment.

It takes them over an hour to go through every scrap of possible evidence until they determine there’s no more they can do here. They’re going to analyze the photos for any potential evidence, but I’m not hopeful there will be anything left to find. There’s been no indication of how the stalker got into my apartment. If he’s smart enough to get in undetected, he’s smart enough not to leave a print on the photos.

The officer’s main advice is to change the locks or move.

Super helpful.

Once they’re gone, Mrs. Esposito helps me pack a bag. She offered her couch to me earlier, but it is barely big enough to allow two people to sit on it. My five-ten frame would hang off the ends if I tried. Plus, I think I should get some distance from my apartment. This is all too fresh to attempt to sleep right across the hall from where someone violated my privacy.

---