Villain, page 8
He’ll be fine. I don’t need to check on him.
There is nothing I need from downstairs.
I close my door and double check that the I’ve not accidentally left it open because that’s the level of crazy I’ve reached. Anxiety swirls in my stomach so badly that I’m not sure I’ll get much sleep tonight.
There being another person in the house should be comforting, but I feel buzzed, and not in the slightest bit tired.
I get into bed and pull the cover up to my chin, tucking myself in and wishing I could tape myself to the mattress. No chance of getting out.
For a large chunk of the night, I toss and turn, trying to ignore the heat between my legs and the porn movie in my mind. What would I even do if I went downstairs now? Draw on his face? Take photos of him with his mouth hanging open and drool running down his chin?
Something else entirely with his face?
Fucking hell, stop it!
The drawing idea is actually too good to pass up, though. I bite my lip, shove my cover away, and grab my phone. Wearing a smile that likely makes me resemble a serial killer’s mugshot, I tiptoe out of my room and head downstairs. I’ve seriously lost it, anyway. Why not have a little fun, too?
We left the dim light above the cooker on in the kitchen so that it wasn’t pitch black, but I’m still convinced I’ll walk into something and wake Casper up.
I step towards the sofa and raise my phone.
Casper breathes deeply, his chest raising and falling steadily.
I lower my phone.
There’s just enough light to cast a shadow from his eyelashes onto his face.
When he’s asleep he’s… breathtaking.
He has one arm slung over his head, the other resting on his bare chest. His legs are covered by the blanket, and I have an overwhelming urge to pull it down. It’s so powerful I have to curl my free hand into a fist.
It would be hard to explain that one if he wakes up.
God, I need to stop being such a perv.
I’m just enjoying seeing him when we’re not at each other’s throats.
I try to back up, but my legs move me forwards instead.
Up this close and personal, I can see that his dimple doesn’t totally disappear when his face is relaxed. I lick my dry lips, wishing it was his tongue.
This is getting odd now, even for me. I came here to take funny photos and to maybe fill in the part between his brows or draw a moustache, not to admire his fine form.
Perhaps it would be best if he caught me. I would have to move country then, and we’d never see each other again.
All the arguing and me watching him sleep—granted, the latter has only happened once—will be over.
But he’s fast asleep, and I’m apparently not budging.
I can smell his lingering aftershave, and it’s rather distracting. That’ll be getting the blame for me not being able to walk away.
His breathing is soft. Mine, not so much.
Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if we were friends. If we hadn’t got off on the wrong foot when we first met. It would make having to live next door to each other easier. He would have been happy to be here, not just putting up with it because Marvin and Reggie wanted to stay close.
Casper takes a longer breath, and my heart stops.
I need to leave right now.
This time, every part of me cooperates, and I walk backwards.
The perfect photo op is gone, and I bet I’ll regret that when we next argue. But right now, it doesn’t feel right. It’s hard to hate him when he seems so peaceful.
When he’s been kind.
I retreat back to my room, feeling like an idiot, and I climb into bed. No more getting up until it’s morning. That’s it now. I’m going to be a normal person who doesn’t sneak downstairs to watch someone sleep. That’s the last time I channel Joe Goldberg.
Back in bed, I close my eyes only to find Casper there again, shirtless, on my sofa.
This time, he wakes and reaches out for me.
I bite my lip to stifle a moan and slide my hand beneath my pyjamas.
At 6:00 a.m., I give up trying to get back to sleep and go get ready for the day after a rough night. Usually, I would go downstairs braless, wearing ratty pyjamas and knotty hair in search of a caffeine hit.
This morning, however, I shower, brush my teeth, chuck my hair up, moisturise my face, and get dressed. Casper will not be seeing me looking tired from my bad night.
When I get downstairs, he’s stirring, and there’s no sign of my ex-friend Freya.
Casper turns his head, and his eyes flicker open.
It’s so close to my fantasy that my legs almost buckle.
“Ainsley,” he rasps, frowning. It takes another second before he sits up, finally realising where he is and why he’s here. Raking his hand through his raven black hair, he pushes the blanket off his body.
“Morning,” I say, my heart thudding a few beats too quickly for it to feel normal.
“Are you okay?”
“Mm. Yep, I’m fine. Fine. Did you sleep well?”
“Your sofa is comfortable. I didn’t hear anything else last night.”
The sofa isn’t comfortable, he just doesn’t want to admit it.
“No, me neither.” I was awake for most of it and would have heard if our uninvited garden guest had come back. “So… can I get you come coffee? I don’t think we have a lot in to eat, but I can make you some toast.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown another head, and I’m certain that I’m blushing. “Toast and coffee would be great. Thanks.”
I wring my hands. “Okay. Um, you chill here. TV remote is on the table, so help yourself. I’ll be back in a minute.”
When he glances at my hands, I swing them behind my back.
“Are you all right over there?” he asks after I leave the room like it’s on fire.
Fuck. Jolting, I spin around. He’s right there, shirtless in my kitchen, doing that thing where he burns up all the oxygen in the air. “Yep.”
I wince at my own stupidity and fill the kettle. It wouldn’t surprise me if I dropped the thing on my foot and then set the toaster alight.
This is the first time Casper has made me feel nervous, like I want to run away and never look back. Like I want to stay and peel those joggers down his legs.
I don’t like it one bit.
Neither of us seem sure how to navigate this being civil thing. All we know how to do with each other is fight. These feelings, fuelled by alcohol and a sexual dry spell, are new and scary, and I would very much like them to go away.
I flick the kettle on and almost leap out of my skin for the second time when he leans against the counter beside me. Entirely too close. Overwhelmingly close.
“Fuck! Make noise when you move.”
I feel him everywhere.
“Am I banished from the kitchen or were you being polite? I don’t need you to wait on me, Ainsley,” he says, angling his body sideways so he’s facing me.
Swallowing hard, I picture him asleep for just a second. He’s far less irritating that way.
“You’ve done plenty for us. I’m happy to make you something to eat.”
He’s silent, watching me with heated, intense eyes that I pictured twice last night. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
“Casper?”
With a slight shake of his head, he asks, “Do you have Marmite?” Not a sentence I ever thought I would hear him say.
“Of course. We’re not savages.”
His little chuckle brings warmth to my cheeks.
“Sit down, you’re making the place look messy,” I say.
His smile pops that dimple. I try, and fail, to look away.
While he sits and does something with his phone, I chuck four slices of bread in the toaster and miss twice when I try to push the start button.
“Do you think the police will find anything?” I ask, making small talk to end the loaded silence that feels a lot like sexual tension.
He puts his phone down. “I’m not confident, but I hope so. If you need me to stay again, I will.”
“You’re going to spend your days being my bodyguard now?”
He shrugs. “We do seem to run into each other even when we’re not home, so it’s not like you’d have to put much effort into it. What’s the pay like?”
“Ha. Do you take Monopoly money?”
He frowns. “Are you struggling?”
“Bit of a personal question, isn’t it?”
“So?”
This conversation makes me itch. “I’m fine, but thanks.”
“Will you be all right when Imani and Freya go home for Easter break?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s not the first time I’ve been here alone.”
“I know that, but it’s the first time since the break-ins.”
How does he know that? “Casper, I’ll be fine.”
“I meant to say, we have some loose bricks on our drive. The landlord promised to get it fixed but you know how efficient he is.”
“Yeah, you’ll definitely have moved by the time it’s fixed. What did you need to ask?”
“I’m going to park in your drive. Imani’s car will be gone over Easter, anyway.”
That wasn’t a question.
“Okay, sure.”
I can hardly say no after last night. Besides, I’m not using it, so it makes no difference to me where he parks.
He nods and goes back to looking at his phone.
I keep myself busy by buttering the toast and stirring our coffees. I do it all very slowly to avoid going over to him.
He’s in my kitchen, and it’s throwing me off.
It’s only when I put the plates and cups down on the table that I realise we’re about to eat breakfast together, alone, because my traitor friend is still hiding in her room.
Another first.
CHAPTER TEN
In the week that follows the garden intruder incident, Reggie and I work on the event, and I promise everyone multiple times that I am fine alone.
The police haven’t been in contact, so it was likely nothing—an animal, like I originally thought. It’s made me relax, which I needed because I’m currently three days into the Easter break.
Reggie is on holiday, so I’ve put more time into working on Flora and Frederick’s event. Approximately four million hours, actually. We check in so I can keep him up to date, but he knows he doesn’t have to worry. I’ll handle it like the crazy, organised, obsessive person I am.
So far, I’ve eaten endless rounds of toast—I refuse to delve into the reason why I’m obsessed with that now—and FaceTimed my aunt and uncle in Lanzarote.
It’s almost 10:00 p.m., and I’m going to end up the size of a house without anyone around to slap this food out of my hands. I throw the share-size bag of Maltesers to the other side of the sofa.
Running was on my list of things to do, but that now seems about as likely as me sprouting wings and flying out to join my family on holiday.
Sugar and carbs are all I’ve consumed, so I probably should work out. I should do whatever Casper is doing because his body is scorching hot.
I love Freya and Imani dearly, but they both left a hamper of treats full of Easter eggs for me, and we all know the egg shape makes chocolate taste even better. Plus, the basket Aunt Jess made arrived. I’ll be eating chocolate for weeks.
I lick the melted chocolate off my fingertips and stretch my legs out. The TV is still on, but I stopped watching it a while ago.
After finishing working on the Harts’ party, I’ve not really been able to get into anything. I’m too wired to relax. Frederick and Flora are in regular contact, which I guess is normal considering they’re taking a huge risk with two newbies. It makes me nervous, though, like they’re checking up on me because they’re unsure.
Three days in my own company, and I’m going slightly stir-crazy. The peace is nice, but I do miss my friends. Without Freya and Imani, I’m just a sad drunk downing wine alone. It wouldn’t surprise me if I started talking to the walls.
I react to new uploads from Imani and Freya on Instagram, double tapping pictures of Imani and her family outside a pretty church, and Freya with her parents at the goat sanctuary they own—a baby goat in Freya’s lap.
The decision to not take up the offer of going to the farm with her is now a regret.
At least they’re keeping me semi-sane with updates of their break. I’m glad they’re having fun. Meanwhile, I’ll be the size of a chocolate house by the time they get back.
There’s nothing recent to upload from me because I’ve turned into the most boring human on the planet. There are plenty of people still here for Easter break, I just can’t be bothered to go out and meet any of them.
I’m a potato that sits around eating and drinking.
It was much easier staying behind when I was living in halls. Now I have to get a taxi or walk to see another human being. There’s only Casper next door. I’m not sure when he’s going home; I thought he would’ve already. But, let’s face it, I’m not about to invite him over. I’ll never be that bored.
But you might be that horny.
Stupid hormones. I’ve still not been out and got laid.
So, we’re back to hating each other. Rather, ‘pretending each other doesn’t exist’ seems to be what we’ve settled on over the last couple days. That’s what I assume is happening since I’ve only caught a glimpse of him twice.
He’s exhausting.
And I don’t care.
I get up and walk around the living room, since my watch has been moaning at me to move for the last two hours.
Maybe I should go home. It doesn’t matter that they’re not there. I have my key to come and go as I please, and they’ve not touched a thing in my room. I could catch up with old friends… get laid by an ex. Not ideal, but it’s not like that hasn’t happened when I’ve gone back before.
Flora or Frederick might want to have a face-to-face meeting, though, and being here means I’m only a thirty-minute bus ride away. I can’t really leave.
I scroll through Facebook for a different social media platform to lose hours in. I don’t use this one much, but Freya said there’s a local crime watch group I had to join. A recent post says another attempted break-in happened this week. This one is two roads over, so it looks like they’re getting farther away from us now.
Makes sense. There’s not a lot of money on student row. Unless you count Casper, Marvin, and Reggie.
This happened over Christmas last year. There’s a lot of speculation about the perpetrator. Some say it’s a gang, druggies, and bored kids, while others have even said it’s a pervert out on the hunt for underwear. I’ve not hung any washing outside since I read that.
The thought of some weirdo having my thongs makes me want to throw up.
I’ve been double checking the doors and windows are locked. It’s become a bit of an obsession. Despite knowing that they’re locked, though, I keep going back.
Our landlord refused to install an alarm when Freya called him, claiming that the security light at the front of the house would deter anyone from trying anything. But this is a man who thinks it’s reasonable to leave a broken sink for months because there is another one elsewhere in the property. The security light is only going to work if they try breaking in through the front. The side and back doors are fair game.
At least Casper is still next door. He was kind before about the table breaker. If I was worried, I know he would come over. Would he stay if it was just me here, though?
Let’s not think about that.
I don’t think I could handle another sleepover.
I do my checks again and decide to call it a night. Casper’s car is still in my drive. I should start charging him rent. Our landlord is never going to fix the loose bricks on his drive.
I’m not sure how that affects his car, anyway. He’s so precious about it.
Once I’ve had a shower and brushed my teeth, I get into bed and pull the quilt up to my chin again. It’s something I’ve done since he slept over, as if once that’s covered me, I can’t get out of bed and make any stupid decisions.
The street is quiet without drunk, rowdy students stumbling home. I’ve become accustomed to the noise, and I’m not sure how I’ll get to sleep in this silence.
Casper hasn’t had anyone in his bed so far this week, either. I can usually count on the not-so-subtle banging of his headboard on my wall, which drives me insane since I know for a fact that there are other walls his bed could be pushed up against. His room is a mirrored version of mine.
I haven’t ever brought it up because then he would know that it bothers me. I’m sure he’s already aware but admitting it will give him the edge.
Eventually, with the help of a good playlist and a belly full of chocolate, I drift off to sleep, but it doesn’t last because I’m woken in the middle of the night by a clash. My eyes fly open to be met with a pitch-black room.
My music has turned off. I claw my quilt higher up my body as my heart tries to escape my chest.
What the hell was that?
Grabbing my phone from my bedside table, I check the time.
3:23 a.m.
It could have been another animal or Casper rolling in drunk. Sometimes, if he slams his front door it rattles through our house, too. Maybe I left something balancing on the counter edge in the kitchen and it fell. My washing up was piled like Jenga; plates on top of mugs on top of bowls.
I throw my quilt down and swing my legs off the bed. There’s no way I’ll be able to relax and go back to sleep until I find out what it is.
A really stupid part of me wants to call out hello. No one can be in the house. I locked up and checked every door and window in it twice.
The robberies only happen when the residents are out.
You are fine.
I gently push my door open so that it doesn’t creak. The house is dead silent, the only thing I hear being my pulse whooshing in my ears. I should go back to bed, but I know there is no way I will sleep now. My mind will conjure up all sorts of horrible scenarios where I’m kidnapped and sold into a human trafficking ring or murdered.
