Then again, they weren’t exclusive. It wasn’t like she’d made her intentions known or they were going steady. He’d kissed her cheek a few times. That was it. They weren’t sending out wedding invitations or anything.
Her head started pounding, which probably meant she’d have a hallucination soon. It seemed to be the way of things. She’d get a headache and then something would happen. She’d see Boyd looking in the window or the flowers would be on the nightstand next to her room or the petals would be on the island spelling ICU.
A weird little thought crept inside her mind as she pulled out a light blue shirt with a black flower on the top right side from her closet. ICU. What if she was still in the hospital? What if she had never left and she was in some bizarre dream world?
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. That was the stupidest theory ever.
Aaron would call the flower shop when it opened and confirm the flowers were sent to her then they’d all know she wasn’t losing it. That would be the best thing for all of them. Well, it would mean she had an actual stalker. That it was an actual person and not her imagination.
She paired the light blue shirt with a pair of black slacks and flip-flops. The weather was warm enough to show her toes now.
Like always, she looked in the mirror at the vanity before walking out the bedroom door.
That was sad.
Her hair was in a side ponytail, but sort of messy. She’d slept hard last night, and the comb didn’t quite do its job. Her eyes had unattractive black rings under them. At least the horrible state of her eyes caused her scar not to jump out as the first thing seen. Small favors and all.
Behind her eyes, her head killed her. Even if she hadn’t made it up, and the notes and flowers had been real, something was making these headaches worse. Stress or something else, she needed to know. In December when Boyd attacked her in the kitchen, he’d smacked her head pretty hard into the sink faucet. She’d had headaches ever since, but until recently, not as intense and not as often. It could be stress since she was, well, stressed about all of this. It could also be something more. At eighteen, she didn’t need her mother to set up an appointment for her. The doctor wouldn’t be a bad idea, but she’d wait until next week. No sense going before the countdown was over.
When Sloan made it down the stairs, she expected to see roses sitting somewhere. She figured they’d be sitting in the living room or on the kitchen table. Cautiously, she looked both places. Nothing.
She did find something she didn’t expect, though. Her mother was standing in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal against the island. “What are you doing here?” She could have probably been more tactful and less snarky, but it just came out. Man, she couldn’t wait to get back to her old self.
“Good morning to you too.” Her mother smiled over her coffee. How sad was it that her mother was used to her smarminess? Too sad in Sloan’s opinion. She’d run out of friends and allies at this rate.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Sloan sat down and laid her head in her hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me or why I’m so snippy lately.”
“I do. You’re scared. Anybody would be. It’s scary.”
“Doesn’t make it okay,” she said, laying her head all the way on the table. If it would stop hurting, she’d very much appreciate it.
“Headache?”
She grunted an affirmative.
“Have you had a lot of them lately?”
Another grunted. “Uh-huh.”
“Think you need to see a doctor?” Her mom got up and put her bowl in the sink.
Sloan rose up and plopped on her elbows. “I had the same thought this morning. If I still have them next week, I’ll call and get an appointment.”
“Sounds like a plan. Need any medicine until then?”
Now that was a good question. Every time she took the aspirin she had upstairs, she got dizzy, lightheaded, and weird stuff happened. Maybe it was a bad bottle or something. Might as well test it out. “Yeah, got any?”
Her mom grabbed her designer bag from the table. “Yeah. A few. Want them?”
Sloan nodded and held out her hand. Her mother opened the bottle and winced. “That’s so weird. I thought I had some. Must have taken them without realizing it.” She shrugged and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “Do you have any?”
She slumped farther over. “Yeah. Upstairs, but I’ll just take the ones in my bag at school.”
A worried look crossed her mother’s face. She sat down next to her and put her arm around Sloan’s shoulder. “I know this is hard for you. Why don’t you let me call the police? Get them involved. It might make you feel better.”
“You can’t.”
“Why? Detective Morgan can go and talk to Boyd and make you feel better about it.”
Sloan shook her head with every word her mother said. “I’ve already called her. The first day when I thought I saw Boyd across the road. She didn’t find anything. Nothing. Not one thing to show anyone was standing over there.”
Her mother ran her fingers lovingly over Sloan’s hair. “But this is different. You’ve been getting things.”