Medora
“I thought you had a job,” Clyde asked, breaking his focus from the video game he’d been glued to all afternoon.
“I thought so too,” I replied, tucking my phone into my pocket.
It had been weeks since those eerie texts. No more messages, no break-ins, but the fear still lingered. The thought of moving back to my place only to have something happen—someone break in, or worse—kept me here with Clyde.
“You quit?” His voice pulled me back from my thoughts.
I sighed, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. “I lied,” I admitted. “I told Yellow I took a job as your caretaker because I didn’t want her to judge me. So technically, I had to quit.”
“What?!” He spun his chair toward me, a mix of amusement and exasperation on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve actually paid you!”
“R
