episode 4

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Tugging the threadbare towel off the rail, I dry myself and slip into my work

clothes as quickly as I can. I pause. My black jeans feel tighter than normal.

It probably shrunk in the washing machine. It has been happening a lot lately,

my clothes fitting differently.

The onslaught of thoughts about the Faceless Man pushes the mundane issue

out of my head. I can’t seriously be thinking about my clothes when my

stalker might have been standing on the other side of the curtain while I

showered.

I rush to the kitchen, as fast as my feet will carry me without alerting Evan to

my disheveled state. My body thrums with nerves and pent-up need—need

for what, I don’t know. It doesn't feel like I can breathe until the familiar

flimsy plastic bottle is in my hand and Dr. Mallory’s white tablet is being

washed down with water.

The sidewalk on the other side of the street is visible from this spot in the

kitchen and so are the apartments directly across from me. I can’t count how

many times I’ve fought the urge to knock on their doors to ask if they saw the

Faceless Man in my room.

I won’t bother asking Evan if he saw the man, or if he heard him whisper

those three words. The answer will be a solid no.

“Is this all?”

I lower the glass of water onto the table and turn to Evan. “What?”

Just say it, Lili. Just say those five words: I’m breaking up with you.

He holds up my black wallet, with the PU edges peeling and the threads

fraying. “Are these all the tips that you made?”

Just say it, I think to myself. “I had to see Dr. Mallory.” Damn it, Lili. I

cringe inwardly. Come on. You know that he’s dragging you down. You’ve

been meaning to say those five words for months now and you still have

He sighs and rakes his hand through his sodden gold hair. The soft morning

light filters through the window, washing his face in an ashen glow. When

did he start looking so depleted? He used to be so beautiful, so full of life and

love, always insisting we go on adventures and drive up and down the coast,

camping out in the back of his truck. Until I became too scared of driving out

of the city. Though I was never really happy with that life; it always felt like

something was wrong or missing.

Say it.

He sighs disappointedly. “I told you that they’re dropping my hours and that

you need to make more tips.”

I frown. “I’m a barista, Evan, not a waitress. I stand behind a machine and

make coffee, there’s not much I can—”

“Maybe you should try a little harder.” He throws up his hand. “It doesn’t

hurt to maybe smile more or actually talk to the customers. It isn’t their fault

that you haven’t given them a reason to tip you more.”

I lower my voice to dampen any emotions before they overflow. “I needed to

see Dr. Mallory.”

Thank you

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