Chapter 97: What Happened
- DEX -
When I pull up to the house, it looks the same as when I left. Lawson’s car isn’t here like I greatly feared it would be, so I put the truck into park and sit staring at the house, wondering if I haven’t lost it.
A text comes in from Jeremy: ’Just got Lawson’s voicemail. Must have missed the call. I will be there when the game is finished.’
So Lawson did call him. Shit. I am losing it.
While debating whether or not to actually go inside, I think of the busy signal I got when calling Raya’s phone and then the time it went unanswered. She still hasn’t called me back, so I decide to get out and at least check on her. If I’m being crazy, then she can call me on it.
Inside, the couch is deserted with a pillow toppled over onto the floor but a blanket gone. She isn’t in the kitchen or dining room.
"Raya?" I call, feeling that same pinch of worry that I did in the truck and yesterday when she wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. She told me she would stay put today.
It’s quiet on the second floor when I climb the steps, but as I get closer to my bedroom door, I notice her phone on the ground. I pick it up and knock on the door.
"Raya?"
The doorknob won’t budge. It’s locked from the inside.
"Raya? It’s me. Are you okay?"
———————
- RAYA -
Someone is walking down the hallway, and my hands curl into fists in the sheets, making Moira look at me lazily. I’m sure she’s wondering why I prefer to stay on the ground, hiding the majority of myself behind the bed. It’s because I’m waiting to slide under the bed frame and hide like a child if Lawson decides to break the door down. It’s either that or hide in the bathroom, but the bathroom door doesn’t have a lock. And I’m not prepared to jump out of the window with that drop.
I peer over the top of Dex’s bed, thinking of how brave I pretended to be yesterday—going to my apartment like I was going to face that asshole next door. I imagined I could take care of myself, defend myself, fix the issues I am facing. Now I’m hiding from Lawson like a little kid and praying that against all odds Dex decides to come back home.
"Raya?"
The doorknob wiggles, and my heart skips. Am I wishing too hard that Dex is here and convincing myself that it sounds like him? Or is it actually him?
"Raya? It’s me. Are you okay?"
It is him. A breath of relief rushes out of me, and I get to my feet, legs wobbly, tears returning, but I somehow get my fingers to cooperate long enough to unlock the door. When I open it a little whimper of relief escapes when I see him standing there: concerned, familiar, strong, mine.
"God, what happened?" He cups my face, and I melt against him—burying my head in his chest and letting the stupid cry finally come.
I don’t know how to tell him what happened. It sounds ridiculous, and I’m so humiliated that Lawson got those journals and read them.
He rubs my back and my hair, letting me cry. Finally, I pull away and wipe my face.
"I’m sorry," I groan.
"You don’t need to be sorry. Can you tell me what happened?" He hands me my phone, and I look at it. It was Dex who called when I didn’t answer. Lawson actually left. I can’t believe it. I figured he was trying to lure me out of the room.
"Lawson," I say, tears coming back, and I shake my head miserably.
"Lawson was here?" His voice drops, and I look up to see his hands in fists, a terrible anger making his lips thin and eyes flash. "You had to lock yourself in the room because Lawson was here?"
"I shouldn’t have answered the door, but he already knew I was here. He was calling to me, saying it was okay to answer, and then he looked in the window and saw me on the couch. I didn’t honestly think..." I groan again, pressing my hands against my eyes and the pressure of a headache that’s building. "I just thought... I don’t know what I thought. That I could tell him to leave and that he would... like a normal person. Or that I could somehow explain why I was here and not get you in trouble."
"What happened?" Dex asks patiently, making his anger wait for the details. He is simmering inside though, I can sense it.
"Will you... will you promise not to be mad at me?" I swallow convulsively with the question, feeling wracked by guilt that the notebooks even exist at all. I should have burned them. I should have gotten rid of them. Why did I keep them around?
Dex’s expression softens, and he reaches up to caress my face again. "I’m not going to be mad at you, sweet girl. Come here and sit down." He takes me by the hand and sits on the edge of the bed with me. "Tell me what happened so I know whether or not to kill my brother."
My panic spikes with that statement, but Dex rubs my hand, kisses my forehead, soothes the fear. And I see myself in Grace’s eyes—a damsel in distress again. Why? Why are these things happening? I don’t want to be that person that needs help all the time.
"What happened, Raya?" Dex asks again. "I’m not going to be mad at you. It’s not your fault for answering the door. He shouldn’t have come here in the first place. He knew I wasn’t going to be here. He arranged it. None of that is on you."
I nod, accepting the insistence of his words so he doesn’t have to keep going on, trying to convince me. "But he got my notebooks," I say barely above a whisper.
"Your notebooks?" He repeats, confusion threading his eyebrows together.
"He was the one in the guest house that night, and he found my notebooks. The ones with the dreams." A sob breaks in my throat, and I grimace, recalling the predatory look on his face. "He said he memorized them, and he thought I wrote them to get you in trouble. He thought I was staying here to get you in trouble—that I was doing it on purpose... for him."
Dex takes a deep breath in, and when I look up he is trying to remain calm, but he’s glaring into the distance, lips pressed together, nostrils flaring—a slow fury rolling under his skin.
"Did he do anything to you?" He asks, eyes shifting back to me. "Why did you lock yourself in here?"
I start fidgeting with my hands, not knowing what to say. He didn’t exactly do anything, and I don’t want to have to describe the details of our encounter.
"If you don’t tell me, I’m going to assume the worst," Dex says gently, placing a hand on my back. His touch is so comforting, so familiar—like home. And I can’t regret that I seem to need him. "I had this feeling while I was driving. It’s like I could feel you. When I pulled in to the drive and saw everything looked fine here, I thought maybe I was crazy. But I’m not, am I?" He chuckles softly, his hand rubbing my back. "We’re connected. I’m grateful for that."
"I’m grateful for that too."
We sit like that for a few moments—Dex rubbing my back in silence, waiting for me to go on and tell him the rest until I groan and drop my head in my hands.
"He took my phone when I was trying to call you and pinned me against the wall downstairs. He told me that I’d look better in his shirt. It was like he was a different person. His eyes were different. I can’t explain it. Like a predator." I shiver at the admission, because it makes it more real.
Dex’s hand has stopped rubbing me, and I don’t dare to look at him. I don’t want to know his reaction.
"I kneed him and got away and ran up here to lock myself in," I sigh miserably. "When he came up, he tried to get me out. He said we could work together, that he would make it worth my while. That he wouldn’t let you come after me," I chuckle bitterly. "He’s the crazy one. I don’t think I can go back to work, Dex. Not after this."
"Don’t you worry about that," he says, sounding surprisingly calm. "I’m going to take care of this, and you won’t have to see him again. Okay?" He kisses my temple, smoothing my hair. "I promise. I told you that I’m here to protect you."
"What are you going to do?" I ask, feeling a strange mix of comfort and worry.
"We’re going to go visit my family tomorrow. We’ll bring my grandmother’s love letters. And I’m going to consult my uncle about this situation. He’s really good with this sort of thing."
