I'm in a foul mood.
I glance at the wall clock for the umpteenth time tonight.
Quarter to eleven.
Brent is not home yet.
That has been his trend for the last few days. He shows up a few minutes to midnight and he tells me that he had a workload at the office.
I'm lying in bed staring at the small screen of the digital camera.
I've been looking at the photos on Gabriel's camera all night.
It's been five days since he left my phone and his message on my doorstep, but I haven't called him. I couldn't bring myself to do it.
The fact that he could somehow access my phone scares me. If I meet him and I end up getting hurt, it'll entirely be my fault.
If I tell Brent about him, I'll probably be starting a third world war.
So I choose to stay quiet.
Staying indoors is the most
