I decided I would go out and buy clothes I actually liked, as opposed to buying them because they were work appropriate, but for that I needed money. I looked around, hoping it was around here somewhere, and sure enough, there it was.
My purse. I only ever had one. It was black, and it matched everything. I rummaged around in it and found my wallet and keys. My phone was nowhere to be seen, though. Well, at least I didn't have to replace any of the items in my wallet. That would have been a nightmare.
My car was also stationed in my building's garage. This obviously gave me more clues about what happened before I left Vancouver, but I didn't want to think about it right now. I could process that later with a therapist. I, of course, needed help to remember, maybe even get my memories back through hypnosis. But I'm worried about what those memories might be, especially when they involve creatures of the night. Any professional with a sane mind would have me committed.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I drove to the closest mall. I went from shop to shop, trying on different things that caught my eye, understanding why people came with friends so they could give their opinion and stuff. I didn't really know what I thought about most things. I just know I bought mostly dresses and runners. I liked heels, but I had a feeling heels and forests don't mix well.
After a few other stops like getting boxes and food, I finally went back to my apartment, ready to start deciding what to take with me. Well, that was the intention, but I had a few too many bottles of wine and ended up binge watching a reality show on Netflix.
I wondered what Harlan might be doing. I had kept the phone he gave me close by in case he texted. But after a while, I guessed I would see him when it was time to go back to Miracle, or whatever they called their little community.
It wasn't until 1 a.m. that the phone finally buzzed. I couldn't sleep for some reason, so I was up when it went off. Harlan had sent a single text.
"Address."
Was he drunk? Does he want my address? Is that what he's asking? Well, more like demanding.
"What do you mean? Do you want my address, is that it?" I replied, feeling like I was talking to a moody teenager.
"Obviously." He is as chatty over the phone, turns out.
"Why?" I ask. Is he checking just to make sure I didn't eat someone or does he want to babysit me?
"Address" is all he replies, as if talking to me was wasting his time.
I didn't really want to cave in, but I had a feeling if I didn't he was just going to track me anyway, assuming werewolves could do that. So I sent him my address.
It takes him a while, but as soon as he knocked on the door I could smell him. That musky smell of rain feels so strangely comforting.
"I'm coming," I say as I get up from the couch and shuffle over to open the door. What I find on the other side was almost the death of me.
Harlan was wearing a black dress shirt, missing a few buttons on the top. His hazel eyes were glossed over and he was leaning over the frame for support. He looked so hot I had to take a step back.
I didn't realize I was gawking until he said, "What?"
It was when he spoke that I scented it. Alcohol. "You're drunk." I knew he was, so I didn't ask.
"I drank." He gestured to the empty bottle of wine on my coffee table. "So did you."
He walked past me and a third smell hit me. This time it was delicate. It smelled like sweet citrus. It was a female scent. I had no idea how I knew that, but I did.
So that was what he was doing all day. He had said he'd come to see someone. I should have guessed it.
"I'm staying here tonight, to make sure you don't wolf out," he said calmly. "I'm taking the main room."
"This is my house," I replied.
"Yes, and I am your guest," he said with a cocky grin. "But if you have issues with it, you are more than welcome to join me."
Drunk Harlan seemed more coy, happier, and less like a jerk. He also seemed more flirty, giving me a look that had me blushing and looking away, as if warning me what would happen if I did decide to join him.
"Just take the bed."