CHAPTER 9: What’s His Deal?
The night was hell. Absolute, unrelenting hell.
I didn’t sleep a wink—not even close. Part of it was because I was still on edge, my nerves frayed from the whole “Ethan might be a psycho” situation. The other part? I kept expecting him to burst into my room like some deranged horror movie villain. Staring at me from the corner, whispering creepy things like, “There you are, my mate.” Ugh, the thought alone made my skin crawl.
I lay there, eyes wide open, every creak of the house sending my imagination spiraling. Was that the wind, or was Ethan scaling the wall outside my window? Was that the fridge humming, or was he lurking in the hallway? By the time the first rays of sunlight crept through my curtains, I was half-convinced I was losing my mind.
“Okay, Camila, get it together,” I mumbled, sitting up and stretching out the stiffness in my body. My reflection in the mirror across the room looked as bad as I felt—dark circles under my eyes, hair sticking out at weird angles. Definitely not a good look.
Dragging myself out of bed, I grabbed my nightgown and shuffled to the bathroom. The cool tile floor under my feet was like a wake-up call, reminding me I had to pull myself together. Today wasn’t going to be any better if I walked around looking like something out of a zombie apocalypse.
I slipped out of my clothes, letting the hot water from the shower wash away the exhaustion and the lingering unease. The heat eased my tense shoulders, and for a moment, I let myself relax. But then, like an unwelcome guest, Ethan’s intense stare popped into my head again. I groaned out loud, scrubbing shampoo into my hair like it could somehow scrub the thought away.
By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I was feeling a little more human. I dried off, slipped into a pair of jeans and a soft sweater, and got to work fixing the mess on my head.
Brushing my hair took longer than it should have—thanks to the knots from my restless tossing and turning—but eventually, I got it looking halfway decent. I added a bit of lip oil, savoring the subtle sheen it gave me, and spritzed on my favorite fragrance. The bottle was almost empty, which was another annoyance I didn’t need right now, but whatever. At least I smelled good.
Giving myself one last look in the mirror, I nodded. “Alright. You’ve got this.”
Or at least I hoped I did.
When I walked out of my room, the last thing I expected was to lock eyes with him.
Ethan was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his hands in his pockets, staring up at me like he had been waiting there all morning. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting, and entirely too intense for my liking. It was like he knew I was coming down before I even took my first step. How was that not the creepiest thing in the world?
My heart did this weird flip, part fear, part irritation. I looked away, refusing to acknowledge him as I walked down the stairs. If I didn’t engage, maybe he would just… vanish.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Mom’s cheerful voice broke the tension. She was standing by the kitchen counter, flipping pancakes like this was a sitcom family breakfast. Greg sat at the table, sipping his coffee and scrolling through his phone like he owned the place—which, I guess, he technically did now.
“Morning,” I muttered, leaning over to kiss Mom on the cheek. Her smile widened, but then she raised an eyebrow at me.
“So,” she started, her tone a little too playful for my liking. “Karaoke, huh? That’s… new.”
I bit back a groan. Of course, she was going to bring that up. “Yeah, well, sometimes people do new things. Shocking, I know.”
Greg chuckled at that, and I shot him a glance. “Morning, Greg,” I added, trying to sound polite. If he noticed my thinly veiled irritation, he didn’t show it.
“You want pancakes, sweetie?” Mom asked, gesturing to the stack she was working on.
“No, I’m good,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was to sit down and risk having to talk to him.
As if sensing my discomfort, Mom offered, “I can drop you off at school if you’re in a rush.”
I shook my head immediately. “Nope. Bus is fine.”
Her brows knit together. “Are you sure? It’s really no trouble—”
“Bus is fine, Mom,” I repeated, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. Before she could argue, I was halfway out the door.
The cool morning air hit my face as I stepped outside, a welcome distraction from the weird vibe in the house. But as I walked down the driveway toward the bus stop, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me.
I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Ethan standing there like some silent predator. But the driveway was empty, and his car was nowhere in sight.
“Get a grip, Camila,” I muttered to myself, quickening my pace. “You’re being paranoid. It’s just a guy. A weird, creepy guy, sure, but still just a guy.”
The bus arrived a few minutes later, and I climbed on, grateful for the relative normalcy of public transportation. As I took a seat by the window, I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. Whatever Ethan’s deal was, at least I had a little time to breathe before having to deal with him again.
But even as the bus rumbled down the street, I couldn’t help but wonder: why did it feel like this was far from over?
