𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.✓ completed

Untitled Part 17

 Chapter Seventeen

Willow

The next week drifts by slowly. I spend most of my time doing homework, working at the club, and applying for new jobs. I haven't heard from my mom yet, which makes me worry about her nonstop. Plus, the emptiness of the apartment is wearing on me. Between the loud music playing every night, the constant shouting—someone is always shouting—and the random knocks on the door that I never answer, I feel like I'm going to lose my mind. If she doesn't return home soon, I might move out. Rent's due next month; perhaps I won't pay it. Could I just not pay a bill? Do I even have it in me?

I did a search for some apartments to rent near the university, but everything within a fifteen-mile radius is currently full or out of my price range. I consider calling Wynter, but she lives in a nicer place than all the other apartments I checked, so I doubt I'll be able to afford the rent, especially when my job situation is so iffy.

Money isn't the only reason behind my moving hesitancy. I'm still struggling with letting go of the fear that my mom may come back and need me, and I'll be gone. I don't know how to fix that problem. What choice is right? Is there is a right choice, or is there even a choice?

Having a choice, though, rapidly dissipates when, early Thursday morning, I'm woken up by a loud voice coming from somewhere close by. Maybe even from inside the apartment.

Fumbling for my phone, I call the first person that pops into my mind, hoping he's awake this early.

"Hey, I was just thinking about you." The sound of Beck's voice slightly settles my racing pulse.

I exhale, releasing a breath I swear I've had trapped in my chest for days. I haven't talked to him since I handed him the list and that wonderfully amazing kiss that can never happen again. I didn't realize how much I missed hearing him until now.

"You sound very awake for it being so early," I say, climbing out of bed.

"I had some stuff to do," he replies with a weighted sigh.

"What stuff?"

"Just some stuff for my dad."

"Really? Since when do you do stuff for your dad?"

He sighs again. "It's a long story, one I can't really get into now."

"Okay, but you'll tell me later, right?" I ask as I tiptoe over to my door to see if I can tell if the voice is coming from inside the house or outside.

"Sure." His evasiveness throws me off. "Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about my favorite person."

"Okay. Well, I talked to Wynter the other day, and she said New York was great." I make a joke when really, I'm freaking out. Not just because I'm talking to Beck after we kissed and fooled around, but because I'm worried someone might be in the house.

"So not funny," he scolds playfully. "Seriously, how are you, Wills? I haven't talked you since ... well, you know. And you looked a little freaked out when you left my house."

I chew on my thumbnail. "I'm f

ine. I've been meaning to call you, but ... I just wasn't sure if you wanted to talk to me." Or if I could handle it.

"I always want to talk to you," he assures me. "I've wanted to call you, too, but I've been busy figuring out some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Stuff I'll tell you about later when I've got everything figured out."

"Okay." I want to press, but the voice grows louder. Shit. I lock the door and back up. "Beck, as much as I love talking to you, I actually called for a reason."

"What's wrong?" he asks worriedly.

"I think someone might be in my house," I say, stopping when the back of my legs bump against my bed. "I don't know who it would be. I mean, it could be my mom, but the door was locked, and I'm pretty sure she lost the key a long time ago."

"Hang up and call the police," he orders, his voice laced with fear.

"It could just be coming from outside. Sometimes, it's hard to tell. The walls are so thin."

"I don't give a shit if you think it's from outside," he growls. "Call the police. Right now. Or I will."

"O-okay," I stammer, more as a reaction to how angry he sounds. I don't think I've ever heard him sound this angry. "I'll call you back in a second."

"Just switch over to a different line," he tells me firmly. "I don't want to hang up."

"Okay." I'm moving the phone away to do what he says when my door jostles.

"Willow, hon, why's the door locked?" my mom asks, knocking on the door.

I feel like I should be more relieved to hear her voice, and that probably makes me a terrible person. More than I already am, anyway.

I put the phone back to my ear. "Everything's okay. It's just my mom."

"Are you sure?" he asks, not seeming too relieved, either. "If you're not one hundred percent sure, you still need to call the police."

"I'm sure. She just spoke to me through the door." I walk back across the room and open the door. "I'm sorry I worried you. I've just been so jumpy being here by myself."