The Imperfections

I let myself in without worrying about alarms. This ain’t the kind of house that has alarms. There’s not so much as a guard dog asleep on the floor when I step inside.

The living room is dark and smells musty, like the kind of place no one’s really taken care of in a long while. Shag carpet that should’ve been replaced a couple decades ago covers the floors.

I’m surprised and a little alarmed to see baby toys tossed all over the place. There’s a little round saucer type of thing for a baby to jump in, an old baby swing in the corner, and a well-used high chair pushed up against the wall behind a folding card table that appears to be used as a dining table. On top, a coloring book lies open with a few broken crayons scattered around it.

Why are there already baby things in this house?

I guess maybe someone else lives here with her and her parents. That, or she has a significantly younger sibling. Theo said she was a virgin when he fucked her six months ago, so there’s no chance she already had a kid.

I scowl as I move through the living room and down the hall. He showed me a picture of her on his phone, but I won’t know which room is hers until I open the door, and if I open the wrong one, I’m shit out of luck.

I make my way down the hall, looking at each closed door, checking underneath to see if any light comes from inside. I’m just about convinced I’ll have to come back after I’ve had a chance to scope out which room is hers during daylight hours, and then I come to a stop at the end of the hall.

Straight ahead of me, hanging off the scuffed white bedroom door is a little pink sign that helpfully announces Alyssa’s Room in girly script.

Damn, she is accommodating.

My grip on the gun at my side tightens as I take a step forward, my muscles tensing in anticipation. I turn her doorknob slowly and ease the door open, silently cursing when it creaks.

Her bedroom smells nicer than the rest of the house, remnants of a faintly sweet scent hanging in the air. Looks a little nicer, too. There’s not much she can do about the state of the ugly wood paneling on the walls, but every surface she’s able to leave her mark on is decorated and neat. The hardwood floors are visible, and there’s no mess of clothes or piles of magazines or anything I’d expect to find in a teenager’s room.

Sheer curtains hang on her windows, completely and utterly pointless. If I wanted to, I could stand outside and look right in at her. Moonlight streams in, enough that I can see her on the bed with her back to me.

She’s got a sheet pulled up over her even though it’s hot as hell in this house. It’s summer, and they don’t seem to have air conditioning. We didn’t have air growing up, either, but as soon as I was able to get my own place, air conditioning was one thing I made sure it had. Nothing worse than being miserably hot when you’re trying to fall asleep.

I close the door behind me and move closer to the bed. She still hasn’t rolled over, so she must be asleep.

At least I think so until she says, “I’m sleeping.”

I frown, wondering who she thinks I am.

“I promise we’ll talk about your date tomorrow,” she adds, apparently feeling bad for shooing away whoever she thinks I must be. Only problem is, she rolls over to look at the person she thinks she’s speaking to, and her eyes widen in horror when she sees me instead.

I move quickly so she doesn’t have time to process the fact that there’s a strange man in her room and react accordingly. I lunge forward, jumping on top of her and clamping a hand over her mouth so her shriek is muffled.

“No!” she screams, but the sound is muted against my palm. Her body thrashes desperately beneath me as she tries to shout and get me off her, but I already have my knees planted on the bed on either side of her, and she’s not strong enough to shift a full-grown man intent on pinning her down.

Her hands go flying, smacking my arm, my side, whatever she can reach. She tries to shove me off of her bed onto the floor, but I don’t budge. I’m plenty bigger than her and a hell of a lot stronger. I’m not going anywhere unless I want to, no matter how much she fights me.

Even though it doesn’t really hurt, I grab the hand that’s doing the most smacking—left; I wonder if she’s a leftie—and pin it against the mattress. Her already wide eyes inch open a little more and she thrusts her hips upward, trying again to buck me off.