Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
He won’t look in here.
I don’t want it to rattle around if he moves it, so I dig around my boxes until I find the Scotch tape, then I tape the secret key card to the inside of the box.
Perfect.
Maybe I’ll never even use it, but I like knowing I have the option.
___
Silvan still isn’t home when I finish unpacking, but he had a white desk built in the room he said we could make my study while I was at school today. The bed is still in here since it was set up to be a bedroom, so I fling my school bag down on it and unpack what I need to get started on my homework.
When I sit down at the desk, I realize I forgot to grab my pen pouch. I would get up and get it, but Silvan already has a little rose gold pen cup on the desk for me and it has all the writing utensils I need.
I grab the yellow highlighter and a pen, but when I grab the pen, I frown, realizing it’s one of the black and gray ones I found in my pen pouch last week and thought I must have stolen from somewhere.
I stole it from Silvan?
That doesn’t make sense. Silvan and I never even did homework together until this past weekend, and that was after I found the pen. When else would I have had access to one of his pens to steal it?
If I didn’t steal the pen, but it’s his… he must have put it there.
I don’t know when he would slipped a pen into my pen pouch or—more importantly—why he would have slipped a pen into my pouch…
A batshit crazy thought surfaces but it’s too crazy.
Isn’t it?
I rotate the pen, looking at the clicky part. I set it aside for a second and grab my cell phone, peeling off the bottom of the case so I can see the microphone holes.
I grab the pen and hold it clicky side up beside the bottom of my phone so I can compare them.
They look the same.
There’s something that looks like a metal screen inside the clicky hole, and now, try as I might to convince myself I’m imagining things, I can’t believe it.
I think it’s a microphone.
Is he spying on me?
I feel even crazier thinking this than I felt imagining he might get some kind of “Sophie is leaving!” or “Sophie is home now!” notifications on his phone when he had the champagne ready as soon as I stepped inside the apartment last night, but there are things it would explain.
That conversation I had with Professor DeMarco at the coffee shop. There’s no way he should have known what was said that day, but he knew he invited me to office hours or he wouldn’t have known to fake that letter from him. He seemed to know what we talked about, too, judging by the things he said when he had me in his bedroom.
What would even make him think I might like Professor DeMarco in the first place? He can’t crawl inside my head and literally know what I’m thinking, and I know for a fact I never mentioned my professor to Silvan, let alone indicated any kind of interest in him.
Is it a spy pen?
That’s too crazy to consider… isn’t it?
Maybe it would be crazy not to consider it. This is Silvan we’re talking about, after all.
I want to know if he’s spying on me, but I don’t want to ask. If he knows I’m onto him and I’m right, he’ll just find another way. Maybe one I won’t figure out.
Besides, I could be wrong.
Maybe my imagination is getting the better of me.
Maybe he doesn’t even know when I’m coming or going, and that’s just a standard security measure since this is an upscale place and they want to make sure residents aren’t getting robbed.
Maybe he only knew about Professor DeMarco inviting me to office hours because…
Actually, no, I can’t think of another explanation for that.
On impulse, I put the pen down and grab my phone. I pull up my internet app and search “spy pen” to see if I can find this one.
I can’t, but I am startled by how easy it is to buy them. You can get them on Amazon, for Christ’s sake.
I should order some kind of spy thing to spy on him and see how he likes it.
I give up looking for the pens and tell myself to stop thinking about this and just get going on my homework. It’s not like I’m doing anything he can’t know about, anyway, it’s just the absolute invasion of my privacy to keep dibs on me so thoroughly. It’s not like I’ve given him a reason to. I’m living here with him in this lovely cage, after all.