Page 20 of Made for You
“Did he come back?”
“We haven’t seen him since. I hope it’s not rude to say that I wouldn’t be surprised if he got into an accident, the way he was driving.” She clucks her tongue.
“This is helpful. Thank you, ma’am,” says the officer.
“Could I ask what the young man’s name is?”
“If you can keep this to yourself, ma’am—” The officer’s voice goes too low for me to hear.
The pert voice goes up a full pitch. “Wait...from two seasons ago? Who’s married to the...”
There’s more murmuring.
Finally, the officer’s voice returns to normal volume. “I’m afraid that’s all the information I’ve been given, ma’am. It’s a Dover County case. I’m Belmont County. Just lending a helping hand.”
“Well, I certainly hope he turns up! He seemed like a wonderful young man!”
I’ve been so riveted by this exchange I forgot I was supposed to be escaping. I attack the zipper with renewed urgency as steps again head in my direction.
“Please,” I hiss. And then, with a jolt and a flash of pain in my finger, the zipper gives.
The officer’s shadow is at the entrance, widened and elongated. With an ungraceful, desperate leap, I tumble out the back, the tent rocking behind me.
“Hey!” cries the officer, but I don’t turn around; I run. Flat out, through the woods behind the campground, weaving between trees, my feet crashing through underbrush. My chest burns; my legs pump. A twig rips at my cheek. Birds scatter above me, breaking into a hoarse chorus. Intruder! Intruder!
My lungs are searing as I stumble behind a tree and cast myself to the ground, onto a moist layer of mulching leaves. Painfully, I hold my breath and listen. No one seems to have followed, so I allow myself to take some deeper breaths.
Thoughts come in violent bursts. I can’t make sense of what I just heard. Josh setting up a campsite just to leave it. Driving away in the night. Abandoning a crashed car. And then, incongruously, texting me on Sunday. Morning babe! Like nothing was amiss.
I lean against the tree, tilt my head back, and look up. Shaggy branches dip down, like they’re inclining their ears to me.
“What did you see?” I whisper. “Where is my husband?”
The trees look down with their weighty, silent gaze. Whatever horror they may have witnessed, they’re not speaking of it today. Josh is gone, and there’s no one to answer.
THEN
I’m walking around the pool when I’m attacked.
All I wanted was a few minutes of alone time. I’ve been in the Proposal mansion for a full week, and between the group date, confessional camera sessions, the second rose ceremony last night, and the sheer number of girls in the house, it feels like I haven’t had a second to myself, waking or sleeping.
Evening is falling, a cool respite from the warm day. I’m in pj’s, my hair in a messy topknot. The rough patio stones are sun-warmed, and the heat radiating into the soles of my bare feet feels incredibly healing, like California is pouring its love into me.
Of course, I’m not totally alone—the cameras always follow. And even now, it’s only a matter of time before a few shrieking girls in bikinis tear into my moment. The pool is a popular hangout spot. But I’ll take what I can get.
I lose my eyes in the aqua blue of the water as I think about tomorrow. Josh is announcing his next one-on-one date choice in the morning, and I’ve been so keyed up all day, I can barely function.
I’m just so hungry for it—time with Josh. All I’ve gotten so far are snatches. In fact, our longest interaction to date was when I confessed to being a Synth.
I smile remembering his smile. The way he said, What the hell. Let’s see what happens. The fire in my body when his tongue explored my mouth. I might think it was just my coding making me so obsessed, except that the other girls seem to feel the same. “I imagine him next to me every night when I go to sleep,” confessed Zoe, which made me blush, because I’ve been doing that, too. Pretending that if I just reached across the bed, I’d be able to run my fingers down his naked back.
Though...the girls do seem to approach this all a little differently from me. They seem eager, for example, to analyze what draws them to Josh. His beliefs...his values...shared backgrounds...common interests... Should I be thinking that way, too? And yet I have no background. No particular interests. No belief except that I’m meant to be with Josh.
“What makes you certain he’s the one?” Emma asked me last night as we all hit up the hot tub after the drama and emotion of the rose ceremony.
“A feeling,” I confessed.
Emma raised a brow, like my answer was too simple. Too pat. But what draws me to Josh—it’s deep. I know it is. Just because I can’t define everything in the same way as the other girls doesn’t make my connection with Josh less than.