17 Last Times

⤹22❁ Goodbyes

Welcome back! Sorry it took me so many days! I've had a lot going on recently! How is everyone?

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The note had a phone number scribbled at the back of it. It's taken me a few days of contemplating whether to use it and contact the stranger. Yes, I do want to know who it is and why they are so cryptic about their identity, but because of the exact reason — the prudence — and also the fact that the note got slid into my room right after our group discussion regarding the murder had taken place, I can't shake of the feeling that the mysterious individual might know something about Anaya and her evil nature.

Is there a chance someone else witnessed what happened that night when Cassie died? Is this person involved in the crime and wants to know our next move? Is this why they left the bunny at the tombstone? Was my parents' death just a convenient coincidence to having an excuse to reach out to me?

I shake my head. I don't know what to think. I haven't told anyone either. Not even Nathan, but right now, it seems like the right thing to do in order to get some advice.

I potter into the living room of my house, carrying two mugs. The steam whirls and stretches in the air as I walk.

"Here's your tea." I place it on a rattan coaster in front of Nathan.

"Thanks." He smiles, typing away on his phone.

I sit down and focus on the TV. I've decided to binge through the whole Big Bang Theory series since it was the last thing that my father watched.

"Sorry," Nathan mutters, locking his phone. "I'm still trying to get my head around the business stuff." He gives me an apologetic look.

Gary made sure to provide some assistance for Nathan before the tattoo saloon was passed on. He didn't want to leave him clueless as to how to run the place, but it's not been long and Nathan still tries to figure it all out. There aren't just clients to take care of. There are orders to be made regularly, money to be counted and recorded in the system, taxes, wages and bills to be paid, an excellent level of cleanliness to be carried out at all times, reputation to be maintained and so on.

"It's fine." I shoot a smile of reassurance.

Nathan stoops and grabs a hold of his tea. He takes a sip then places the mug in his lap. The fingers of his other hand intertwine with mine. The sensation causes a wave of warmth to shoot through my whole body. It always does. It brings me comfort and peace. I love the way I feel around him. I feel safe. Carefree.

"I wish I had a brain like Sheldon's," he states, amused by the show. "Maybe then I'd be able to comprehend how to run a damn business."

I let out a quiet laugh. "I'm sure you'll get there soon. It's just getting used to it."

"Yeah, I guess," he agrees politely, returning his attention to the series and taking another sip of the tea.

"Nathan?" I say, looking at him.

"Yes?" He glances over at me.

I take a deep breath. "I want to tell you something."

He stiffens slightly. "I'm listening."

"I need your advice."

His brows pull together. "Okay? What is it?"

"A while ago someone left a plushy and a condolence card at my parents' grave." I scrutinize his reaction. It tells me to carry on. "The person, whoever they might be, was just being polite about the accident etc. I left a message myself, asking who they were, but then I got no answer for months . . . until the day Will told us about the murder. The person slid a note into my dorm and left their phone number, saying to contact them whenever I need someone to talk to. Do you think it's strange?"