Page 112 of Alik

He might have been ordered to hurt me, but he didn’t follow through. He might have moved across the hall with sinister intentions, but he gave me sanctuary in his apartment. He offered me safety in arms meant to kill.

He loves me.

No matter the past, he would never hurt me now. He couldn’t even hurt me before he knew my heart. Now that I know his… I forgive him. Ilovehim.

So, so very much.

We grab the cardboard boxes from the trunk meant to pack my things then head inside the building, my dad taking the lead while I skulk behind. My heart beats faster with every step we come closer to Alik’s apartment.

If I could see him and know that he still loved me, I would run into his arms. But the thought of him moving on this last month, of finally seeing that I’m nothing but a curse for everyone I touch, including him, paralyzes me. It would shatter the remaining pieces of my heart beyond repair.

I can’t see him. I certainly can’t live across the hall from him.

For at least the next few months, I’m moving back in with my parents. Creeper has a warrant out for his arrest, but he still hasn’t been found, so it isn’t quite safe for me to live by myself.But more than that, my dad wants to make sure my medication is working. It seems to be.

Things with my mom have been better. Much better. She got me a job doing landscaping for her tennis club, which has been pretty shitty, but in the evenings, I’ve been spending less time drawing and more time practicing graphic design on the laptop my sister loaned me.

I’ve designed websites for one of her friends, free of charge, and another wants me to design a logo for her hair care business. I grow more and more confident in my skills every day, and one day, I think it may even be something I could charge for. Something I could be proud of. Something …me.

When we reach my floor, my throat closes to where it’s hard to breathe, and I lower my head until I can barely see through my hair.

He’s not home during the day.

It’s fine.

He won’t be?—

My head lifts at our frizzy-haired super coming from Alik’s apartment with a tall, lanky man on her heels.

“So we have this layout, and then a two-bedroom on the third floor,” Margarette, Frizzy-hair, says, waving her hand as she inserts the key to lock up.

“No.” The man shakes his head. “This will be fine.”

“Splendid, so it’ll be first and last months’ rent and…” She chatters on, her hand twirling while she leads him past Dad and me down the hall.

My stomach drops into my feet as I feel my face grow cold. When we reach my apartment, I stare at Alik’s door, hisformerdoor, while Dad unlocks mine.

“Sweetheart?” he prompts once my door is unlocked. When I don’t respond, he follows my gaze. His cheeks puff with a sigh. “He isn’t a good person. You know that… No matter what hetricked you into thinking, you saw the pictures I showed you. At some point, he would’ve hurt you.”

The pictures he showed me. Pictures of just a few of Alik’s victims, brutally mutilated, one eaten alive by rats. They certainly had an effect on me— I threw up in the kitchen sink while my dad gathered the photos into the folder on the table—but they didn’t make me stop loving Alik. I don’t know that anything could.

After following Dad inside the apartment, I try to focus my attention on packing my things. Minutes tick by, and just when I think I’ve gotten my bearings, I open my pants drawer to come face-to-face with my sketchbook.

My lips part as my heart pauses.

I left it at the lake house. Alik must’ve brought it back for me.

Running my hand over the smooth cover, I close my eyes and fight back tears. As I open the book up to a page with him at his window, a cigarette in his hand, my nose starts to run. I sniffle just as Dad appears in the doorway.

His shoulders sag when he sees what I’m looking at. “Olive…”

“Can you just wait in the car?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I don’t look up from the book. Won’t look at the disappointment in my dad’s eyes. He’ll never understand.

He lets out another one of his heavy sighs. “I’ll take some of the boxes down.”

I bring the book to my chest when his heavy footsteps carry him away and close my eyes as my heart tears. My forehead taps the dresser as I lean forward and let out a small, strangled whimper.

A minute goes by while I wallow in peace, but when footsteps approach, I grit my teeth in frustration and push off the dresser, forcing my head to the door. “Dad, please, give me just a?—”