The bad dreams never bothered me so much. I wouldn't even call them nightmares, but I can't seem to crash unless exhausted. My doctor suggested sleeping pills. After all those months in Hollywood and having met too many addicts in that time, I want to remain clear-headed. Better to sleep only a few hours a night than need a pill to function.
I'm half asleep watching TV when I sense movement from the dogs standing to walk to the door. I sit up startled and find Saskia sliding open the back door. Glancing over her shoulder, she gestures for me to stay put before she walks out onto the dark back patio.
As she disappears into the inky night, the dogs whine from wanting to follow her. I feel the same way as them. I sit on the couch and search for any sign of movement outside. Near the couch is my backpack where I keep my gun, but I feel only mildly better once I hold the heavy weapon in my hand.
Saskia is outside, hunting someone. Are they hunting her too? I consider heading out to help but know without a doubt that she'll be pissed if I do.
The dogs and I wait inside for Saskia's return. Each minute feels like an hour. Egon and Peter whine more than once, giving me the hope that she's returning. When Saskia does suddenly appear in front of the back door, the startled dogs bark.
I shush them while Saskia enters. She locks the door and studies the darkness.
"Find anything?" I ask when I realize she's not going to say anything.
"Someone was out by the side fence. I couldn't get a safe shot."
"Safe?"
Saskia looks at me finally. "I could have shot him in the back, but I'm fairly certain the police would frown upon that."
"Probably. Did you see his face?"
"No. My movements startled the birds, and they startled him. He took off running east. I don't know if he was even a he or if he was part of the cult. He might be someone from the media or a standard issue thief. He's gone now."
"Thank you."
Saskia frowns up at me, and I realize I've stepped closer to her. Too close based on her expression.
"Don't be scared," I say unable to stop myself.
As her eyes narrow, she unleashes a truly scary bitch face. Fatigue and two beers likely explain why I laugh rather than run away.
"Sorry," I mumble when she frowns at my laughter.
"Are you intoxicated?"
"A little. You really do look funny when you make that face, though."
Her eyes narrow again, and Saskia prepares to unleash another nasty expression. She stops when realizing she's making me laugh harder.
"Goodnight," she says through clenched teeth.
Saskia spins on her heel, and I should fear her anger. Instead, I keep laughing.
Feeling like an idiot for laughing so hard, I mumble, "Don't be mad."
Saskia flips her hair dismissively before disappearing around the corner to her bedroom. I lean against the couch and study the dogs.
"I fucked that up."
Peter and Egon don't care about my emotional crap. Their gazes focus on the backyard. Rather than tense, they're disappointed to miss out on hunting with Saskia. I don't blame them. I want to follow her around too.
6
Saskia
Mean Girl Seeking Weird Guy
Eventually I sleep easily, even after Brad's teasing left me flustered in a startling way. When he laughed, I didn't know how to respond. Men never speak to me in such a way. Is this my punishment for years of dark choices? I lust after a man, only for him to laugh in my face. Somehow, the idea of this being a punishment calms me. In fact, the experience might make me stronger.
Except I feel weak in the morning upon finding Brad pumping weights in his gym. Shirtless, he's a perfect specimen. Broad shoulders, thickly muscled arms, a hard defined stomach and legs like glorious tree trunks, I can't imagine the cult freaks overpowering him. He's soft inside, though. I think most women might even call him sweet.
"You don't have to stand at the door," Brad says, doing another rep.
"I know."
"Do you not like talking with your clients?" he asks, finally focusing his blue-eyed gaze on me. "Does it affect your objectivity?"
"No."
Brad studies me, and I can't imagine what he's thinking. He writes music for a living. Country songs full of angst and whining. A sensitive artist isn't the kind of man I've spent my life around. I wonder if this is an act on his part. Is he playing a role to push me to work harder? Does he believe treating me tenderly, even seducing me will protect him?
His laughter wasn't very seductive last night, yet he left me wanting more. I recall how closely he stood. How he asked if I was frightened of him. How he found me amusing. I pretended to be angry. I was instead curious rather than upset.
What does he see when he looks at me?
Leaving his weights, Brad pulls on a shirt, slides on a pair of sandals, and walks towards me. I assume he'll pass me by, but he stops instead and studies me.
"I feel you thinking about me," Brad says. "I like that feeling."
I nearly flee from the heat of his gaze. Can Brad really read me so well? Is he mocking my lust? Despite the shock of his words, I am no shrinking violet.
"It's my job to think about you."
Brad's gaze lingers on my face. I'm dissected, studied, and what? Does he embrace what he finds in me or am I unworthy of this pretty boy's interest?