three days came late

Chapter 9

Lia pov

Daniel’s car pulled away from the curb at 10:42 PM.

I stood on the porch until his tail lights were gone. Until I was sure Rubben wasn’t watching from the window.

The key felt cold in my hand.

The house was calm when I opened the door, mom usually leaves the Tv on, some home shopping thing she swore she wasn't watching.

Tonight, nothing just the fridge humming.

I dropped my bag by the stairs. “Mom?”

No response.

I saw a note on the fridge, mom's handwriting.

Vegas , last minute thing with your father, we will be off for three days be good.

Three days?

Just me and ......... him

The thought hit before I could stop it, heat low in my stomach, shame right after.

I went to the kitchen for water a glass to my lips. Hand still shaking.

Daniel’s thumb on my knuckles: You stopped shaking..

I heard water running upstairs, his bathroom.

I shouldn't I know I shouldn't but my feet moved anyway.

His door was open crack, steam spilling into the hall, the mirror would be fogged, he hated that always wiped it clear with his hand even if it meant......just the, the water shut.

I should go downstairs, my room, anywhere....but the evil part of me didn't.

just then the door flew open

He came out in a towel, low on his hips Nothing else.

I forgot how to breathe.

Water was still on him. On his chest, his stomach, the cut of his hips. The scar by his ribs the one Mara’s hand was on this morning it caught the hall light.

My eyes went there. Then up. Then back.

He froze when he saw me

Neither of us moved.

For three seconds, maybe four, it was just the sound of water dripping from his hair onto the floor.

“Lia.”

He said my name rough from steam or something else.

I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.

“You’re home,” he said.

“Parents are gone,” I said. My voice came out thin. “Vegas.”

“I know.”

Of course he knew.

He didn’t reach for a shirt. Didn’t cover up. Just stood there, letting me look, like it was punishment. For both of us.

“who dropped you off?”

A colleague, I couldn’t lie. Not when he was like that. Not when I was like this.

He took a step into the hall.. Just… out of the bathroom. Another drop of water hit the floor.

“How was it,” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Did he—” He stopped. Jaw tight. “Never mind.”

He started to turn, to go to his room. To end it.

"Rubben.”

He stopped.

“How am I supposed to do this,” I said, and I hated how small I sounded. “Three days. Just us. In this house.”

He didn’t turn around. Shoulders tight. Back to me. Every line of him screaming don’t ask me that.

“You tell me,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Then I can’t.”

He walked into his room. Didn’t shut the door.

I stood in the hall for a full minute. Staring at the space where he’d been. At the water on the floor.

Then I went to my room And locked the door.

It didn’t help.

I could hear him moving. Drawer open. Shirt on, probably, the sound of it killed me worse than the towel did.

I changed into pajamas. Sat on the bed. Stared at my hands.

My phone buzzed.

Daniel: Get home okay?

I typed Yes Deleted it. Typed Thanks for tonight. Deleted that too.

Finally sent: I’m good.

I was not good.

There was a knock on my door

I didn’t answer.

“Lia.”

His voice. Through the wood.

“I can sleep in the car,” he said. “If it’s easier.”

The image hit me Rubben, 6’2”, in the Mercedes, all night, because of me. Because I couldn’t stop looking at his ribs.

“No,” I said, before I could think. “Don’t.”

Then, “Okay.”

Finally I whispered, “Rubben?”

“Yeah.”

“If you were… if I wasn’t…”

“Don’t.” His voice broke on it. “Don’t finish that.”

I pulled my hand back like the door burned.

“Goodnight, Lia.”

“Goodnight.”

I didn’t sleep.

At 2:14 AM, my phone lit up. Unknown.

"I'm outside "

I sat up, heat in my throat, checked the clock twice

The I heared it downstairs, a creak.

*RUBBEN*

I heard her breath catch through the door.

Then the text came.

I’m inside.

Same number as before. marriot

I was off the floor before I could think. Pulled the gun from under my mattress Dad’s, not mine, but I knew how to use it.

Checked her door. Locked. Good.

“Stay there,” I said through it. “Do not open. No matter what you hear.”

“Rubben”

“Promise me.”

A second. Then, “I promise.”

I went downstairs , gun low Safety off.

Living room clear. Kitchen clear.

Back door.

Unlocked.

It was locked when I checked at 9 PM. I always check.

The garage door was open an inch.

I moved, barefoot, silent.

Nothing. No one.

But on the marble island, there was a photo.

Me. Last night. Through the garage window. On the floor, head in my hands, her shirt in my fist.

Written on the back in black ink:

Second piece. She smells like you.

I heard her door open upstairs.

“Lia, no!”

Too late. She was on the stairs, eyes wide. Saw the gun. Saw the photo in my hand.

“Who’s inside,” she whispered.

I crossed to her in three steps, grabbed her arm, not hard, just there

“My room. Now.”

“Rubben, you’re scaring me.”

“Good,” I said, and it came out wrecked. “Be scared. Stay alive.”

I pushed her into my room, locked it, stood in front of the door.

She was breathing fast, looking at the gun, at me, at the shirt on the floor — the one she wore.

“Who is Marriott,” she asked.

The name in my mouth tasted like Mom’s blood.

“He’s the reason my mother’s dead,” I said. “And he’s not gonna touch you.”

She stepped closer and closer.

“You’re shaking,” she said.

I was.

She reached up, stopped, her hand an inch from my chest. From the scar. From where Mara’s hand was.

“Don’t,” I said.

“Why.”

“Because if you touch me right now, I won’t stop.”

Her eyes met mine. And for a second, there was no sister, no Dad, no Marriott. Just us. Just the way she looked at me in the hall.

She dropped her hand.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Outside, a car started, horned and left

We stood there. Three days just us and Marriott already inside.