From Yesterday (6 page)

"I can see by the freaked out expression on your face that you don't remember falling asleep on the couch a few hours ago. Don't worry, you didn't snore, but you do have a tiny bit of a drooling issue."

Brady gestures to the corner of his mouth. My hand flies up to my own and I immediately try wiping non-existent saliva away. There's nothing there. The jerk starts laughing hysterically.

"Ha! I totally had you going. You should have seen your face. I really wish I'd taken a picture of that. Priceless."

"I'm kind of starting to hate you again, Brady. I really am."

He reaches over and pats me on the head like a little kid. "Come on, Paige, don't be sensitive. You look adorable in your little pink panties and top. Hot, actually. And remember that I'm here to make sure you don't slip into a coma from your little concussion earlier. I'm the good guy, right?"

His grin is irresistible, but I still feel like smacking him. "These are boy shorts, Brady, not panties. All women hate that word, by the way. And I do not have a concussion, for the last time. Nor am I sensitive."

I roll my eyes at him, but I can't resist flashing a small smile to show him I'm not angry. "What time is it?" I ask.

Brady looks at his phone. "Five thirty. Do you have classes today?"

"No. Do you?"

"I have Contemporary Lit at three this afternoon. I teach Spinning again at five. Interested?"

He looks hopeful and I do want to go. The question is, should I? Is this too much too soon? I have to limit how much of me he can see, and he already sees too much. He's very insightful, which will lead to him asking questions that I'd rather not answer.

"I'll try to make it, I just have some things I have to get done this afternoon."

Brady gets up and starts folding the blanket. "I'll give you some privacy, Paige. Thanks for indulging me and letting me know you were okay. Are you sure everything else is fine? Be honest."

He's terrible at folding a blanket so I take it from him and start refolding it into a rectangle, not whatever misshapen thing he was creating. "Yes, Brady, everything else is just fine."

At the door, he turns around before leaving and puts his hand on my arm, just under my shoulder. That familiar warmth starts to inch its way into my skin. "I know you're not telling me the truth about that envelope, Paige. I'm sure you are just trying to keep your business to yourself, and I respect that, but it's never a bad thing to ask for help. You can talk to me about anything, ok? I won't judge you, I promise."

I'm grateful that he doesn't wait for a response because I'm not sure I could speak without my emotion coming out in my voice right now. I close the door and lean against it. What have I gotten myself into?

CHAPTER TEN

I don't go to Brady's spinning class. I spend a good chunk of my morning staring at the necklace that was sent to me. I can't let go of the creepy feeling I get just from touching it. The packaging had my name and address on it, but no postage or return address. I suppose that makes sense since the guard did say it was sent by a private courier, and who would send such a sick thing to someone with no way to contact them? No one that I can think of. It's the kind of sick joke I'd almost expect Nicole to pull. That is, if my sister was still alive. She always did have a very twisted sense of humor.

Part of me feels like I should be scared to be in my apartment alone. First the lipstick; now this. They are not friendly gestures. The thing is, I'm not afraid. It's a particularly stupid way to feel when it's clear that someone wants me to be afraid. I should tell somebody, maybe take the evidence to the police.

Then I think,
evidence of what?
I washed the lipstick off of the mirror that very day and threw out that tube of it. The envelope from the necklace is tossed as well. Brady threw it out at the restaurant last night at my insistence. If I went to the cops, they would either laugh at me or start asking questions about who the necklace belonged to and that would lead back to my parents.

No.

Not an option.

I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself.

Finally, around two o' clock, I make myself get up and I go to campus to get some studying done. I stop in the food court area and grab a coffee and a veggie wrap, stuff it into my bag so I can get into the library, and go find a nice secluded spot on the third floor. For some reason, no one ever comes up here, it's as quiet as can be. The hours fly by as I study for a Calculus exam that is being so thoughtfully administered on the first day of the second week of school. Calculus is just so much fun and so very easy. Or not, but it does manage to distract me for a while until I look at my watch and notice it is 5:15 and I am missing the cycling workout. I feel a tiny twinge of regret; I do enjoy seeing Brady in workout gear with sweat gleaming all over that body, but it's probably for the best. I don't need him thinking I'm so obsessed with him that I'll show up everywhere he is at anytime. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all of that.

I really have to stop thinking about Brady in any kind of capacity that could include something other than casual friendship.

It is still light outside by the time I walk back from the library. I try not to walk alone at night, because it is a long stretch of dark road that could prevent a driver from seeing me or conceal an axe murderer in all the shrubbery and trees. Also, I'm not that stupid. When the time changes, though, I'll ahve to come back earlier because it will be dark by 6, which is the time now.

"Good evening," I call out to the front desk guard as I walk through the lobby.

"Evening, Miss Kerimov."

He nods and smiles at me and I give a small smile in return before stepping on to the elevator.

My phone goes off, signaling that I have a new text message as I'm riding up to my floor, but I ignore it for the moment. I kind of feel like ordering Thai takeout, despite the fact that I ate it last night and that particular meal didn't have such great memories for me. Or, it kind of did, but it didn't end quite as well as it began.

When I step off of the elevator, I see Elyse's red mane disappearing into her apartment. I wait a minute before getting completely out of the car; the doors try to close twice, and then I breathe a sigh of relief that I missed her. I am going to dinner at her place next week, but that doesn't mean I have to chat with her all the time. It would be too much.

I turn the key in the lock and that feeling of unease starts to prick it's way back into my skin. First my arms develop gooseflesh, and then the chill starts to caress the back of my neck. There is something not right here. A sane person would not go inside, I think, but this is just me being ridiculous. No one has a key to my place other than the landlord, who spends the entire summer in Italy, so he's not even in the country right now. Nor has he ever violated my privacy by dropping in unannounced. There's no one here.

Just to double check, I go through the apartment to each room and glance in to make sure.

Not a soul.

I walk my paranoid ass into my office and start looking for the takeout menu to the Thai place. I've almost located it when I hear a creaking noise, and then the distinct sound of a door handle being turned. The only place in this condo that makes a sound like that is the guest bathroom right across from this spare room. Chills breaking out across my body again, I very quietly walk to the door of this room, grabbing the three foot tall pillar candle off of it's base as I go. I think better of it and take the base instead; it is much heavier.

Then the front door closes and I know for sure that is the sound I heard because that door is very heavy and it slams if you let go of it, but if you don't it has a loud clicking noise as it sets in place. I hear the click. I rush out of the spare bedroom and no longer terrified, I run to the entrance and out into the hall.

There is no one there.

Impossible, I know I heard someone. Both elevators are resting on the first floor and there is no way they had time to get that far, nor could they have reached the stairwell without me seeing them first.

No. No. No.

I won't start questioning my sanity, not this time. I'm sure my ears didn't deceive me. I am not crazy.

I am not crazy.

I run back to my apartment and slam the door shut behind me. I feel frantic; sweat pours down over my forehead and into my eyes making them sting. A feeling of complete helplessness shudders through me and I cave; giving in to the doubt and shame of the people who were supposed to love me. The things they said I did, the things they told me I made up; I let myself believe it. It crushes me with the memory of a locked door and a room with white walls and no windows.

A knock on the door brings me back to myself and as quickly as I lost control, I regain it. A look through the peep hole and I breathe a sigh of releif so big the air could last me for an entire month. I open the door and fling myself into the arms of a very surprised Brady.

"Paige, what's going on? Are you okay?"

Not trusting my voice, I simply nod against his chest and I practically wilt like a tattered doll as he hugs me a little tighter and walks us both into the foyer.

I breathe in his scent once more before I pull away and step back.

"Not that I mind, Paige, but what just happened? And don't say nothing because you are the most resistant of any girl I have ever met and you're flushed and sweaty. You look like you saw a ghost."

I shake my head. "Can we please just not talk about it? I just, I'm having a bad day is all."

I turn and head to the living room without waiting for a reply, knowing he will just follow me without an invitation inside.

And I am right, because he's practically at my heels. "No way, Paige. You have to tell me something. I promise I will not judge you. If you need help, you can ask me. You know that right?"

I whirl around to face him and angrily hold my right hand up in the air. "I don't need any help, Brady. I just need you to be my friend and not ask so many questions, okay? Can you please just--"

I don't finish my sentence when I see what's been left for me in front of the couch. I missed it before because you have to walk around the couch from the hall to sit down.

There is a doll with features eerily similar to my own laying there, and a gun is positioned in her hand with what looks like blood extending out from the gun and covering a large area of the rug. Like the pool of blood you might find next to the body of someone who had been shot in the head.

The gun is mine.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Between dodging Elyse and trying to dissuade Brady from asking more questions about the terrifying little doll and the gun in my apartment, Saturday feels like the best thing that ever happened to me. I sleep until ten thirty. When I am finally awake, I remain in bed and enjoy the quiet calm of my bedroom. When I go to sleep on Friday or Saturday night, I leave my phone in another room so that calls, texts, or anything else that may make my phone go off can't bother me. I don't think it's good to be available every moment of your life.

Finally, around noon, I shower and get myself dressed. I've got plenty of studying to do today and I'd like to get it done in time to watch the Ohio State game at 7. One of the few good memories I have from back home is watching college football with my father and Nicole when we were little. My parents met at Ohio State, and although American football isn't big in Ukraine, my father loves it. I think he tried very hard to make himself fit in to American culture as much as possible, given that the conditions he grew up in were less than desirable. If it had not been for my grandmother meeting an American business man by chance about two years after she was widowed, my father would have stayed there and lived a very different life. And, while not really in the same league, I can understand how difficult it is to move to a completely new place at the age of eighteen, where you don't know anyone. At least I know the language. He did not.

Before heading to the library, I make a phone call that I desperately need to make.

"This is Kelly Sullivan."

I take a deep breath. "Dr. Sullivan, it's me."

I hear some shuffling noises, and a muttered curse. "Hold on. Do not hang up. I just need to go somewhere a bit more private, okay?"

"I'm not hanging up," I say.

A few minutes of muffled noises and she returns. "I've been worried about you, Kid. I didn't expect you to just run off like that and not tell anyone where you went. Is everything okay?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Some strange things have been happening lately."

There is a pause, and I can practically hear her thinking. "Remember what I told you? You have to remove yourself from the situation before you get overwhelmed by the memory of someone that is no longer here. Your perception of Nicole is still skewed, Kid. I told you from the get go, you can't idealize people, no matter how much you love them. When you think of your sister, picture her as person with real flaws, just like everyone else. You still get too caught up in the way she was as a sister, and who she was to everyone else."

I sigh. "I try. I really do. It's just that sometimes, I miss her so much that I want to pretend she's still here so it won't hurt so much."

"I know it's hard, but you have to concentrate on your own well-being now. You have to have a life, and she can't be such a big part of it or you'll never really move on. And you haven't yet, have you?"

"No, Dr. Sullivan. Sometimes I think I have, and I'll go days feeling normal, but then someone or something reminds me of her and it hurts all over again."

"Can you tell me where you are, Kid? Do you need me to come to you?"

Oh, god. A pain in my chest, an ache so deep that I didn't realize it was possible, begins to squeeze and throb. I want to see someone familiar, someone that cared about me back home, I want it badly, but I can't risk it.

"No," I tell her. "Thank you, but I think it's best if I just try to take your advice and keep the past in the past."

"Okay, Kid. I'm glad you called. Don't worry about a thing, it's still doctor-patient privilege regardless of the fact that you are no longer in this place. I can't say a word to your parents, but please, I want you to call me at any time if you need anything at all. I will always be available to you, you got that? That's why I gave you my personal cell phone number."