Sleep Stalker (Ghosts Beyond the Grove Book 1) by Joy Elbel Page B

‘morrow.”
         “You don’t have to tell me a third time,” I said as I untied my apron and tossed it behind the counter.  “Nice to meet you Derek and great job with the teomancy, Addie.  See you guys later.”
         While on the short bus ride back to our apartment, I thought about the tea leaf reading and how it might apply to my life.  I hadn’t heard back from Zach about his offer to take me to dinner.  Maybe my one word reply spoke volumes about how I felt about the whole idea.  He should be home from class by the time I got back to the apartment.  I would make my decision regarding dinner based on his mood.  There was no way I was going anywhere with a grumpy jackass—not tonight. 
         I unlocked the door hoping that I would find him either in a good mood or fast asleep.  The apartment was quiet so I expected to find him curled up in our bed, enveloped by a deep sleep.  Well, what was supposed to be our bed.  So far, we’d fought every night and taken turns sleeping on the futon.  But that was a whole other issue at this point.  In the silence, I found relief.  A sleeping Zach meant no dinner out but also no arguing for us tonight.  I’d just begun to relax when I heard him screaming at the top of his lungs. 
         “DAMMIT!”
         I pushed open the bedroom door and gasped when I saw what was going on inside. 
         “Oh my God!  Zach!  What are you doing?!”
         The bedroom was trashed.  The mattress was flipped up sideways against the wall.  Every drawer was pulled out and lying upside down on the floor.  The bar in the closet was full of empty hangers while every article of clothing I owned sat in a heap in the middle of the floor. 
         Zach fell to his knees, looking around like he had no idea what caused the destruction.  As I stood there fearing for his sanity, a single white feather fell from the light fixture and floated slowly down onto the carpet between us.

11.  Fight or Flight
     
     
         “Ruby, I….”  But I stopped there.  How exactly was I supposed to finish that sentence?  All I wanted to do was find that dress and perfume.  I never meant to trash the apartment in the process.  It was the bookstore incident all over again.  But if she hadn’t insisted on playing games with me, this never would have happened in the first place.  How do you apologize for something you really aren’t sorry for?  You don’t.  She was just as much to blame for this as I was.  More so.  So instead of saying I was sorry, I said the first thing that came to mind.
         “I need some fresh air.  Let’s go to dinner now.”
         She stared at me like I was insane, nodded her head, but said nothing.  On the way out the door, she asked me for the car keys.  That bitch didn’t even trust my driving now.  She was trying to control me.  Didn’t she understand that she already controlled every thought in my head?  Every emotion in my heart?  But I was too tired to argue so I gave her the keys anyway.  A few miles down the road, she finally spoke. 
         “Does Cozumel sound okay?  We haven’t had Mexican in a while,” she said timidly as though she were afraid of me. 
         That pissed me off.  She had no reason to fear me.  I’d never hurt her—not intentionally anyway.  Was that this was all about?  Was she still festering over the time I accidentally smashed my elbow into her nose?  She knew it wasn’t on purpose.  I was in the middle of a fistfight with Ryan Fetterhoff at the time.  I apologized for that incident a thousand and one times and rescued her ass almost as many times since.  She needed to grow up and stop holding stupid grudges.  She needed to stop being a baby.  Now.
         “No,” I said with an authoritative tone, “I ate authentic Mexican almost every night while I was in Santa Ana.  We’re going for Chinese tonight.”
         “Okay,” she replied