Page 36 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Just talking about it makes me want to see him again.

At least it’s time to dry Clyde’s hair, so he won’t be able to ask any more questions.

I take extra time pampering his hair since it’s so luscious and he cares for it so well, and then I’m treated to a big fat tip on top of the fee, but even that can’t sweeten my mood.

It’s been such a weird day. A mix of sweet moments, disappointments, and having to put on my customer service mask, and now I’m walking back to my cabin with secret hopes of Creep breaking into my house.

I try to remain extra aware of my surroundings, following every noise I can identify, but I’m too close to the other homes, and it’s impossible to discern which sound might be the result of everyday activities and which—the sign of a very stealthy, and very handsome man moving through the bushes.

I pretend to look for some herbs once I reach the cabin, and circle it, checking out the roof, but when I don’t spot him there, my feet carry me inside.

As soon as I step in, I see a vase of flowers on my little table, and I just know they must be from Creep. They’re all wildflowers too, so I imagine he picked them himself and my heart melts a little. I approach to smell them, but when I call out into the house, there’s no answer.

Next to the vase sits a folded piece of paper and a… matchbox?

I cock my head, standing in the middle of my small yet cozy room with herb-scented candles, and pictures of fae on the walls. Creep’s absence is telling, but so are the flowers, and maybe once I read—

I unfold the piece of paper before finishing that thought and take a deep breath at the sight of a single sentence.

I’m sorry I let it hurt you. It won’t happen again.

Heat shoots to my head like champagne that’s been shaken before being opened, and my fingers tremble a little when I gently push out the inner box, revealing a dead yellowjacket.

A soft whine escapes my lips, but I feel it coming from the deep emptiness in my chest that will only be full again when I see Creep.

“I— I got your gift,” I call out. “Can we talk?”

No answer.

I stare at the dead insect, its sting removed.

It’s possibly the weirdest gift I’ve ever gotten, because yeah, there’s no point in pretending otherwise, Creep is strange.

But it might also be the sweetest, most thoughtful gift ever.

His mind might walk winding paths others don’t understand, but he cares so deeply.

I see it, and I need him to know that. And maybe I even like it so much because I can be a little odd myself.

I believe things others don’t, and I can be naive, but he’s never taken advantage of my weaknesses.

With Creep, I can let my freak flag fly, absolutely sure he’ll take it all on board.

And not just like some of my exes, who’d indulge my hobbies or my fashion style because they liked getting head from me.

Creep appreciates every part of me in ways I’ve never experienced before.

It’s as if I’m some unusual mushroom he found in his cave, and he’s willing to eat it even if it could kill him.

But I would never.

I’ll be the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted, until he can’t imagine wanting to eat anything else. But he’s not here.

I’m on my own, lacking the warmth of his company and about to wilt.

It’s a bit dramatic, I know, but I feel how I feel.

I spend twenty minutes over my phone, wondering how to entice him to my side without sounding desperate.

I start with gratitude for the gift, but keep deleting what follows, so I finally settle on a playful [ Missing the monster under my bed;)] .

I then go take a shower to prevent myself from deleting the message and spending the rest of the evening agonizing about what I should write him instead.

A part of me hopes to find a response once I leave the bathroom twenty minutes later, maybe even see Creep on my porch, or find him under the bed, but I’m still on my own, and his absence feels like a gaping hole in the space around me.

A cabin this small shouldn’t feel way too large for me.

Right now, I’d be willing to allow his spider in my house, as long as its secured in its enclosure.

I ponder why it's called Friend, and how Creep didn’t have a friend in his life for so long, how he feels detached even from his biker brothers, how he thought he was ugly, how he doesn’t feature on the photo wall, and I have a little cry.

I can only hope he’s not witnessing this pathetic meltdown from some shadowy corner.

With no answer on my phone, I’m starting to get into desperation mode, and it’s making me think I should find him in the cave.

A stupid idea, because I’d probably get lost in those tunnels within minutes, fall into some cavern and die, then end up as vulture feed, all while Creep thinks I’ve abandoned him and never loves again, his heart too broken.

Is it cruel or pathetic that I feel kind of happy when I imagine him never being able to forget me?

I can’t decide and change into my PJ shorts and T-shirt before settling in bed. It’s still a bit early, but my head will explode if I keep thinking about him, so I make my best attempt to fall asleep.

It’s a complete failure, so instead of falling into blissful oblivion, I keep tossing and turning as the disappointing finale of our time together plays in my mind on loop.

I come up with so many things I should have said instead of rejecting his invitation, but of course it’s now too late, and I’ll be burdened with this agony until morning.

I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips.

I hate it.

“Creep? Are you here?” I whisper, my voice sounding weak in the absolute silence.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but the moon is lighting up the night sky.

I’m about to just accept I hurt him so badly he doesn’t want to see my face, but then it’s there.

His voice—low but soft like the fur of a kitten.

“Yes?” he answers from under my bed after what feels like forever. When and how did he sneak in there?

It doesn’t matter.