Alya curls up on her bed, watching the stormy clouds gather in the sky. The rain has returned. A open book lies next to her on the chunky knit blanket that covers her bed. A teddy bear lies propped up against the pillows. A gift from James from the last time he had spent the night. She grabs it and hugs it to her chest. Her heart aches. She hasn't seen James in over a week, and Tom was no replacement even when he was still around.
Alya's lip trembles and a tear runs down her face. The sky suddenly bursts open and a massive torrent of a rain falls from the clouds. She buries her face in the blanket and cuddles the bear close to her. She sobs desperately while the sky rages above her.
After a few minutes, Alya sits up on her bed and wipes her eyes. The blanket is wet from her tears, but she's done crying now. She paws through the blanket and finds her cell phone tangled up in the folds. Before she can stop herself, she scrolls through her contacts until she finds the person she's looking for.
James Anderson. She hesitates for a moment, then presses call. She brings the phone up to her ear.
He answers on the first ring. "Alya?"
She bites her lip, but doesn't answer. What was she thinking, calling him like this? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He probably has things to do. He doesn't have time to deal with her mental breakdowns.
"Alya? Are you there?" The sound of his voice melts her heart.
"James," she whispers.
"Alya? Are you all right?"
"Do you think you could..." She swallows dryly. "Can you come over?" she says hesitantly, bracing herself for rejection.
A moment of silence. "I'm on my way." The line goes dead.
Alya breathes a sigh of relief and sets her phone down. She pulls the blanket around her shoulders and waits.
Five minutes later, she sees a car pull up and park in her driveway. She hears the creak of the front door as it opens downstairs; she had given James a house key after their third night together.
"Hey," a voice says. Alya's heart speeds up as she sees James. He's dressed in an baggy sweatshirt and ripped jeans. Somehow he manages to look good no matter what he's wearing. He leans against the doorway and raises an eyebrow. "Can I come in?"
Alya nods, scooting over to make room for him on the bed. The mattress shifts beneath her as he sits down. His eyes flick to the teddy bear still cuddled in her arms. She blushes furiously and sets it down.
His eyes meet hers. "You kept it." He nods at the bear. "That."
"Of course I did," she says, tucking the bear behind one of her pillows. "It reminds me of you."
"But you're hiding it."
"I have to. You don't want Tom to find out, do you?"
He pauses for a moment. "No."
Alya's blood runs cold. He hesitated...
James seems to force a smile. "So, what's up with you? Why'd you ask me over here?"
"Oh, um, I just wanted to talk to you about something."
James cracks a grin, a real smile this time. A weight lifts from Alya's chest. Maybe I was just overreacting...
"You want to talk about something?" James says.
Alya nods.
"Well, what is it?" He stretches his legs out on her bed and leans back against the pillows, clasping his hands behind his head. "What do you want to talk about?"
Alya averts her eyes. "The murders."
James raises an eyebrow. "The murders? What about them?" He narrows his eyes. "You're not the murderer, right? Is this a confession?"
Fear seizes Alya's heart. He knows- She forces a laugh. "Of course not! I'm just... worried."
"Why would you be worried? You've got lots of people looking out for you. Although I do find that Edward guy very suspicious; I wouldn't be surprised if he was the murderer. Nevertheless, you have Mariel and... other friends that are watching out for you."
"I wish," she says, rolling her eyes.
"I'm looking out for you, Alya," he says softly. "But it's not like you really need me with that hotshot of a husband you have."
"Oh, shut up," Alya says, throwing a pillow at him.
James catches the pillow and tosses it right back to Alya. "And where is said husband at the moment? Out providing for his beautiful wife?"
Alya squeezes the pillow to her chest. "No, he's out of town."
"Figures." He pauses. "Back on the topic of the murderer, are you going to go to Lizzie's funeral?"
"Lizzie?" Alya asks, her brain fuzzy. Was that the name of the cashier?
"Lizzie Hart. You know, one of Tom's employees."
Alya's heart stops. "Lizzie's dead?"
YOU ARE READING
Psycho #OpenNovellaContest
General Fiction"I want to help you," the man next to her says. She shivers as the hand rests on her thigh again. But this time, she doesn't push him away. He lowers his voice to a whisper, so quiet that not even the microphones can pick it up. "People do strange t...
