Page 30 of Run For Me (Until You’re Mine Duet #1)

Chapter Thirty

Sailor

I stare at the text for far too long, my hands shaking.

I blink over and over again, knowing I need to do something but don’t know what. When I snap out of it, I suck in a breath and sit on the edge of my bed.

Me: You didn’t? Are you sure?

Sam: I would have remembered something like that.

It’s all he says, and I’m thankful he isn’t asking questions or accusing me of something.

How would I cover this up? Because he’s right.

Someone doesn’t just forget fixing closet doors, so if I fixed them, I’d have remembered.

And if it wasn’t me, that means I had someone else here.

I’m surprised he doesn’t ask about that. I’d have nothing to say.

But if Sam didn’t fix my closet door.

And I didn’t fix my closet door.

That means only one thing.

Me: Were you in my house?

I stare at the phone, my heart pounding. I’m not sure what I want the answer to be.

Yes, so I know I’m not crazy.

No, so I don’t know how simple it is for someone to break into my house.

But if it was him, does that make a difference? Does that make this less scary?

I don’t know, because I hardly know him. This is a dangerous game.

I’m playing with fire, just like he said. And I’d said I could handle it.

Can I? I want to. But this is scary.

How can we do this safely? How can I be so sure that I’m not playing into a serial killer’s trap? How can there be a safeguard in case this goes wrong? I have no idea who this man is. If he broke in here while I slept and did something… I’d never know who he is.

But isn’t that what I want?

I want it if I know I can trust him. If I know he’ll only do what I want him to do and nothing more. How do I know that? I guess I’ll only know if I ask him…

JT: What gave it away?

“Holy shit,” I mutter.

I’m surprised when a smile spreads across my lips. I’m happy about this? Not happy. Slightly relieved maybe. Thrilled, a little. He broke into my house.

Me: You fixed my closet door.

JT: I don’t like broken things.

But he likes me? Maybe he doesn’t know I’m broken. Doesn’t look at me that way.

Me: Why were you here?

JT: Preparing for this weekend.

JT: You really should lock up your house better.

Me: Yeah, I think you’re right.

JT: I’ll still be able to get in, but just in case anyone else tries to… better to be safe.

Me: How can I be sure I’m safe from you?

JT: I’ll never hurt you more than you want me to.

Me: But how do I know that?

I wait for his response, and it doesn’t come right away. So, I finish getting ready for bed. It’s late, and I need to sleep. I’m tired and have a long day of classes tomorrow.

My phone dings with a text that I look at before I turn over to go to sleep.

JT: I’m many things, most of them are not good. But I’ll tell you honestly that there are three things I am without a doubt not. A liar. Patient. Willing to share what belongs to me.

I don’t know why I believe him, but I do. I fall asleep with a smile on my face, swearing I smell something masculine on my pillow.

I wake up with terrible cramps and rush to the bathroom before I make a mess all over my bed and ruin another pair of shorts and sheets. I’ve been so busy with school that I hadn’t been keeping track of my period. Unfortunately, it comes whether I keep track of it or not, and here it is.

Just a few days before I’m supposed to meet JT in the park.

What terrible luck I have. How will he handle me rescheduling? Will he believe me or think it’s a cop out?

Once I’m cleaned up, I head back to my room and pick up my phone. It’s early, but I send him a text anyway.

Me: May have to reschedule Saturday…

JT: Why?

I’m not surprised he answers me right away. The guy keeps a sleep schedule like me. It’s chaotic and unpredictable.

Me: Aunt Flo came to visit.

I laugh after I send the text, realizing how stupid it sounds, but it’s also kind of funny. It’s what my grandmother always called it, and I found it endearing. My grandmother was such a wholesome, pure-hearted human. My grandfather too. They were amazing.

JT: Prove it.

My eyes widen at his text. He can’t be serious. What does he want me to show him? A picture of my dirty pad?

Me: What? Why?

JT: Prove to me you aren’t canceling because you’re scared.

Me: I’m not.

JT: Prove. It.

Me: How?

JT: Show me the blood.

I scoff, getting up from my bed and going to the bathroom.

I sit on the toilet and stare at the pad with a small amount of blood on it.

Am I really going to do this? Did he seriously ask me to show him this, and I’m about to?

This is a level I did not expect to be on.

This is easily the strangest thing I’ve ever done.

I snap a picture of it and send it, my cheeks warming after I do.

I hurry into the kitchen and grab some frozen waffles to put in the toaster as I await his response. When my phone dings, I pick it up, three rapid-fire messages coming in.

JT: Such a good girl you are.

JT: But I don’t care about your fucking period, Sailor.

JT: It’s just more lubricant for me to fuck you with.

My mouth drops open. I shouldn’t be shocked by his response, but I am. I sort through my thoughts and settle on one.

Me: Then why the hell did you want that picture? Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t care?

JT: I wanted to see how well you’d listen.

JT: And you listen so well, baby.

I laugh, dropping my phone to the counter.

Games.

It’s all games with him. I’m not even mad about it. I like it, the way his mind works… it’s entertaining. It’s dark, but how dark? I hardly know anything about him. Maybe I should work on that.

Me: So we’re still on for Saturday?

JT: If you don’t show up at the park, I’ll show up at your house.

My stomach does a flip, and I chew on my lip as I think about what to say.

Me: I want to know you better.

JT: Ask me anything.

Me: Anything?

JT: Yes.

I go through the basic questions first.

When’s his birthday? How old is he? Where is he from?

December 20. 23. Sprague, WA.

All very normal things.

I ask him what his favorite color is. He tells me it’s the blue of my eyes.

Me: Who knew a psychopath could be such a romantic?

JT: We’re the most romantic of them all.

Calling him a psychopath was supposed to be a joke.

But he doesn’t deny it. Which means he can’t really be one, right?

Aren’t they not supposed to know they’re crazy or something?

Meaning JT knows he’s a little messed up in the head, the same way I do.

And he’s dealing with it. The same way I do. Or maybe differently. I’m not sure.

Me: When did you realize you were different?

JT: I’ve always known. Always knew I didn’t fit in.

Me: When we first started talking, I asked you what your secrets were.

He told me he’d have to kill me if he admitted them to me.

JT: I remember.

Me: Is your answer still the same?

JT: For now.

Me: What does that mean?

JT: That maybe one day I will tell you, but that day isn’t today.

Me: Why not?

JT: You’re not ready for that yet.

JT: Shouldn’t you be getting ready for class?

I nod absently. Because yes, I should be getting ready for class. And of course he knows that.