The Perfect Life by Amanda Traylor

Author:Amanda Traylor [Traylor, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Florence & Reynolds
Published: 2022-11-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

I stood at Jameson’s living room window, staring down at the panorama below. A silver blanket of fog crawled across the bay, descending on the bustling civilization with ominous assertion. The fog would own the night. I sipped at aged whiskey, swishing the burning liquid around my mouth.

“Maybe you’re overreacting,” Jameson said.

I didn’t get angry at the simplification. My anger synapses were all about burnt out. I said calmly, “She broke into my house, Jameson. She went into my room and put on my clothes. God knows what else she did in there before I got home.” I shuddered at the possibilities.

I heard the slow cadence of Jameson’s thoughtful exhalations behind me.

“As much as I hate to say this, Violet, maybe it’s time we go to the police.” He set a hand on my shoulder.

My heart stopped mid-beat at the thought.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“Violet, I don’t want this thing to blow open any more than you do, but she might actually be dangerous. She’s stalking you, breaking in, fucking with your work. Clearly, she’s not stable. What else are you waiting for her to pull?”

I leaned back into him, savoring the feel of his broad chest at my back. But his comfort was an illusion. He couldn’t protect me from any of this.

"Jameson, she hasn't actually done anything. I mean, nothing I can prove. They'll have nothing to charge her on, and then our secret is out in vain."

“Breaking into your house?”

“No sign of forced entry. She had a key. Swears I gave it to her. How could I prove otherwise?”

“And are you sure you didn’t give her a key?”

I turned and glared at him. “I won’t dignify that question. For fuck’s sake, I barely know her. She obviously stole mine somehow and made a copy.”

“Look, maybe if we make a police report, it will at least stop her from trying anything else. Or at least create a record for when she does do something more dangerous.”

I shook my head fervently.

“You’re so desperate to keep your shit of a marriage intact that you’re willing to let Gayle terrorize us?” he asked.

“It’s not that black and white,” I said.

“Care to enlighten me on the complications then? I think I deserve to be let in on whatever this deep dark secret is that you’re allowing to rule you.”

I sighed and ran my hand through my tangled hair. I couldn’t tell him. He would know what kind of person I was then.

But did I have a choice? I’d been backed into a corner.

Every sound, every smell, every sense was still as vivid in my memory as the day it happened. If possible, the slow passing of time had only sharpened the sensations in my mind. Sometimes, I wasn't even sure how much of it was actual memory and how much of it was contrived—sensations molded from a concoction of guilt and self-loathing.

The screeching, the clinking of metal, the smell of rubber. Shrieks. The life forever changed in the flutter of an eyelash because of my stupidity.

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