Rain.
The harsh white light of my phone screen illuminates Emma’s face, which is a furious mask of disbelief.
I balance the phone precariously on a tower of discarded shoe boxes in the corner of my bedroom. I’m currently rifling through my wardrobe, a frantic search for the perfect, irresistible weapon.
“He came to your apartment?” Emma’s voice crackles across the speaker, echoing sharply in my room. “What the actual f**k, Rain? Why didn't you call the police? What did that bastard want?”
I tug out a dress, wrinkle my nose at how casual it looks, before tossing it onto the growing pile on the bed. “Calm down, Em. No, I didn’t call the police. He still had the spare key—I’m changing the locks tomorrow, promise. And he… he just wanted to tell me a few things.”
Emma’s eye roll is so dra
