Unhinged Desires : A Dark Romance (Sick Love Duet Book 1)
Unhinged Desires: Chapter 2

Paranoia is enough to make anyone crazy. Or at least it’s enough to make me feel crazy as I make my way through my apartment, opening and closing every available door. I know the reality of someone hiding out in my kitchen pantry is probably slim to none, but I can’t shake the feeling that this place either has a ghost lounging around or someone is actually watching me.

Once I’m satisfied that the apartment is empty, outside of me and Casper, seeing as the hairs on the back of my neck still rise like there’s a pair of eyes searing through me, I shake my head. “There’s no one here, Lucy. You’re being ridiculous,” I murmur to myself, while hoping that if a ghost really is listening, maybe he’ll get the hint and leave.

I should have opted for a studio apartment instead of this three-bedroom monstrosity. When I first bought this place, I really thought I could convince my best friend Shar to move in with me. However, she’s too bloody stubborn and doesn’t want to be a “charity case.” Her words, not mine. She’s had a rough run in life. She deferred from university for two years while she nursed her mum through to her final days. I want to help her. I mean, if anyone deserves help, it’s Shar.

But, no, I couldn’t convince her, no matter how hard I tried. So I’m stuck in this big ol’ place by myself. With Casper.

Shaking the thoughts of being watched from my head, I pivot towards my bathroom. I just need a hot shower and to go to the library. I have to study if I want to pass my upcoming Econ exams. I lock the door behind me because it gives me the smallest sense of being safe—not that it really matters. I mean, if Casper wanted to walk in and watch me shower, he could just float on through. I guess it’s a lot like hiding under the blankets when you’re a kid. There’s not much a piece of fabric can do to protect you from whatever’s lurking under your bed, but it gives you a little bit of comfort anyway.

I turn on the water and wait for the steam to fill the room before I undress and hop inside the stall. The hot stream pelting my skin eases some of the tension in my muscles. Picking up the loofah, I squirt bodywash on top before rubbing it all over. After quickly rinsing off the suds, I switch off the tap, wrap a towel around my chest, and tuck it in place. Then I open the bathroom door and peer out into the hall. The steam billows through the gap as I glance from side to side and make a quick dash to my bedroom.

I really need to get over this, shake this stupid fear and relax in my own space. Maybe I should ask my brother to stay over again tonight? I’ve had Xavier sleep here a lot lately. He doesn’t complain or tease me about being afraid of my own shadow. He just comes around like it was his idea all along. He’s always gone when I wake up, but knowing he’s here helps me fall asleep. Unlike those nights when I feel like I’m alone but not…

I don’t think I’m ever truly alone in my apartment, and frankly, I wish the bogeyman would just jump out and make himself known already. Because this whole not knowing but knowing at the same time is driving me insane. I’m not someone who has ever been afraid of the dark before. Now I sleep with the lights on—although they’re always off when I wake up.

Like I said, Casper is fucking with me. Or suddenly concerned about being energy efficient. Because if there were a real person creeping through my apartment at night, I would know. At least I’d like to think I would.

I walk into my closet and pull out a pair of jeans and a plain white sweater. My closet is separated into two very distinct sections. One side is full of designer everything: shoes, bags, clothes. The kind of stuff that’s straight off the runway. The other side is what I refer to as my “college wardrobe.” Don’t get me wrong, it’s all still labelled. You just can’t tell by looking at it. I like to try to blend in as much as I can. I don’t like being given special privileges because of my last name or the balance in my bank account.

Opening a drawer, I replace a baby-blue matching bra and panties set from La Perla. Not that any of the guys I’ve ever let see my underwear would know what that is or what a single pair of my panties are worth. I don’t date in my family’s social circle. I’ve tried, but they’re all pretentious assholes looking for a helping hand up that billionaire ladder. Me, the designated heir to Christianson Corp, being their ticket to the top.

Once I’m dressed, I head back into the bathroom, run a comb through my hair, and apply some gloss to my lips. I replace my bag and take one look around the living room, trying to memorise exactly where everything is. I swear things get moved in here all the time. Then I press the button for the elevator and wait. When the doors open, I sigh in relief, noting that the car is empty, and push the button for the garage.

My apartment is only a five-minute drive over to campus. I could walk—you know, if I didn’t have to look over my shoulder every five seconds. I stopped walking to the library about two months ago. That’s when it started. The paranoia, the feeling of constantly being watched.

Unlocking my car, I climb into the driver’s side before quickly engaging the locks again and starting up the engine. By the time I arrive at the library, the sun is going down and it’s getting darker outside. I stop as close to the entrance as I can. I used to park in the back, to avoid onlookers, as eyes are always glued to my Mercedes G-Wagon. I know it’s not the typical car you’d replace at university. Not that I’m the only trust fund kid in attendance. I think I’m just the only one who doesn’t like to flaunt what they have.

Grabbing my bag, I throw it over my shoulder and slide out of my seat. I look around the car park. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around. Well, no one I can see anyway. My steps quicken, and as soon as I walk through the glass doors of the library, I let out a relieved breath. I need to figure out a way to shake off this unease. Maybe I should enrol in a self-defence class. That would be one way to at least have half a chance of fighting off whoever or whatever is following me.

Deciding it’s my best shot, short of telling my family I think someone is following me and being forced to endure a twenty-four hour security team tailing me everywhere, I fire up my computer and search for local self-defence classes. I know the Williamsons have a chain of gyms—Club M, they call them. Seeing as my family has done business with theirs in the past, I look up the number for the gym and punch it into my phone.

It takes a few seconds for the call to connect. “Hello, Club M, how can I help you?”

“Uh, hi. I was wondering if you still offer self-defence classes for women?” I ask the girl on the other end of the line.

“Yes, we sure do. Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. We have 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. classes available,” she says.

“Perfect, what do I need to do to enrol?”

“Nothing, just show up for your class of choice, fill out the forms for membership, and you’re good to go.”

“Okay. Got it. Thank you.” I hang up and write down the days and times she mentioned.

It’s Thursday, so I could get up early tomorrow and sign up for the morning class. I’m not usually a morning person, but lately I haven’t liked being out at night either. Unless it’s the library. I come here to escape the solitude of my apartment.

I unpack the textbooks from my bag and stack them on the table. It’s quiet tonight. Usually, there are at least a dozen people on this floor. Right now, I’m the only one here. Maybe there’s a party I don’t know about going on somewhere?

Plugging in my earbuds, I turn on my playlist and begin reviewing my study notes. Two hours later, I’m tilting my head from side to side, trying to ease the strain on my neck. My eyes are blurry, and I can’t even make out the words I’m looking at anymore. So I decide it’s time to gather up my belongings, pack my bag, and leave for the night.

I practically run to my car, unlocking it before I quickly climb inside and lock the doors again. Then I shake out my trembling hands and push the button on the dashboard to start the engine. I really, really need to get over this.

I consider going to Shar’s house. I know she’d let me crash on her sofa—although she’d have a million questions for me if I did that. I don’t want to admit to everyone that I’m fucking scared of something I more than likely made up in my head. So, instead, I drive to my apartment, park in the garage, and walk over to the bank of elevators while scanning my surroundings. I count the seconds it takes for the elevator doors to open. The ping announces its arrival before I press my thumb to the panel on the inside, and the car starts its climb up to the penthouse.

As soon as I enter my apartment, I turn on every light, open every cabinet and every door, and even check under the bed. There’s no one here. My bag falls to the ground next to my bed and I kick off my shoes before plopping down on the mattress. I just need to close my eyes for a minute, then I’ll get up and change out of my clothes.

My eyelids grow heavier by the second. Until I jolt awake, my room now pitch black. I reach over to the bedside table and pull the cord to turn on the lamp. As soon as my eyes adjust to the light, I push off the bed and look around. Nothing appears to have moved, but there’s a lingering scent of cinnamon and whiskey—I know that scent well. It’s my brother’s drink of choice. Maybe Xavier dropped by to check on me? I’ll have to ring him and tell him to stop turning out my lights.

I shake my head and walk into the kitchen—at least everything is still on out here—then pour myself a glass of water and make my way back to my bedroom. As I pass through the hallway, I swear I can smell it again. That scent, and it’s definitely male.

Do ghosts have a smell?

And if the answer is yes, why does this one have to smell so damn delicious. I want to cover myself in it, curl up, and fall asleep with that scent wrapped around me.

I set my cup on the bedside table and pull my shirt over my head, undoing the button and zip on my jeans, and quickly slide them off. I climb into the bed, reach behind me, and unhook my bra, discarding it on the floor. Then I pull the blankets to my chin and close my eyes again. Hopefully I can get a few more hours of sleep before I have to be at the gym in the morning.