37. Angel

I don't move for the first ten minutes after he leaves. I want to give him time to get out of the building and drive away. After that, I don't have a plan.

The camera is still perched in the corner of the room and I don't know whether or not he is going to be watching it while he is gone. He didn't comment on them before leaving. All I have to do is stand up and go out the door. I can go to my apartment, grab my cash, and leave. Now is my chance.

I glance at where our computers are sitting on his desk. There are a bunch of tabs open on both screens, and I am a bit tempted to look at his laptop to see what I can learn about him. But why learn anything? I need to get up and leave.

I go to the bedroom and dig through the drawers until I find some longer pants. They are just sweatpants with a sports logo up one leg and I have to really yank the strings tight for them to stay around my hips. The heavy boots I wore when I came here are sitting by the door. My eyes dart to the camera as I slip them on and then I find myself staring at the front door. He hung my keys on the hook and my fingers shake a bit as I slowly pull them off.

Open the knob. Run.

Open the knob. Run, Angel.

Three days ago, I would have bolted out that door at the ten minute mark. Why can't I fucking move now?

I don't know how long he is going to be gone. Once I manage to get myself to open the door, something in me clicks. Stepping out, I make sure the hall is empty before turning toward the elevator. Once I am on my floor, my stomach starts to feel queasy. My nerves start to run rampant as I unlock my apartment and step in.

The smell of garbage and vanilla hits my nose and I wince. Everything is in the same haphazard place where I left it. When I go to my desk I realize he rifled through it, but he didn't take anything. The wad of cash I have been slow and steady saving up is still in the small pouch where I left it. I grab it before turning into my bedroom. Clothes are scattered everywhere. Various bits of lingerie litter the floor from where I tore them off after coming home from the club. The entire place reeks of a sad life.

I pull out a small duffle bag from the closet and begin stuffing clothes into it. I grab my hairbrush and the charger from beside my bed. It isn't until I zip the bag closed that something hits me.

I am so close. After months of all this planning and work, I am so close to being done. And Messiah can find them. He can find them. He will help me kill them. For the first time since my sister died, the idea of running off into the world alone with only the items on my back terrifies me. There wouldn't be anyone to call if I got hurt again. There would be no one's couch to crash on if I found myself without a roof over my head.

How far will the cash I have get me? I could leave the city. Where would I even go? I don't know anything about the world outside of Chicago. I have been here my entire life. I have never even visited another state.

The resolve hits me and I realize I can't leave. Not yet. I have to finish this. These fuckers don't deserve to get away. Tucking the bag over my shoulder, I bend down and grab the weighted blanket off my bed. I have been missing this thing. I fold it up and heave it into my arms before walking out of the apartment. My nerves don't shake as much going back to Messiah's place as they did when I walked away.

When I step inside, I realize he is already back. He is on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Shock fills his eyes as he sees me and stands, stepping toward me as he looks at the items in my arms.

"Figured I could get some of my clothes," I smile, letting the bag drop at my feet. "And I just really wanted my blanket."

I heave up the weighted fabric and press it against my chest. His eyes move between it all and I don't know if he believes the lie or not.

"You stayed," he finally says, stepping closer as his eyes meet mine.

"We have work to do."