The Resident

Chapter 32

IAN'S POV:

I had given up on the police for the day. I'd try again later. I'd surely be able to talk some sense into Janel today at some point. There were just too many people at the police station, and too little police taking reports and stuff. And I was just too famous to be seen there. My jacket seemed to be working, but I did get some strange looks, so I gave up. I'd waited a half an hour. I just wanted to get back to Janel. She's all I wanted to see right now. I HAD to fix this mess. I swear to God, if I found out who was trying to tear us up, I'd fucking kill them with my bare fucking hands. I always said that I'd make mamma bears look tame, if someone hurt my Janel. Well, they were hurting her NOW.

I noticed in the building entrance that Janel hadn't gotten the mail yet. Good. Maybe I'd just find the pics, and toss them so she'd never see them.
But then again....I couldn't hide anything. I'd have to tell her about the other texts and pics and calls today, too. So she could see that someone was deliberately fucking with us. I had them all on my phone still, just in case things got out of hand. I should have gone to the police when it first started. I just thought it would stop. I kept thinking this person would give up when they weren't getting any response from me! WHY hadn't that worked this time? I didn't get it.
I took the mail upstairs, and as I walked up, I saw another yellow packing envelope. Great. There's the pics. I didn't even want to see them. If it was something real, sure. But there was NOTHING real it could possibly be. So I didn't even care.

I opened the door, and I could see straight into the kitchen. Janel was down on the floor, leaning on the cabinets. She was breathing heavy and looked like HELL. Looked like she'd been crying for days. I took a few steps in, and her head started to bob and her arms started to jerk and she started falling over sideways. She was fainting I think.
I yelled her name, dropped the mail, left the door open, and ran to her. I wanted to catch her before she hit her head on the floor. But I couldn't get to her in time. DAMMIT!!!!! I cursed myself for not being there for her.

I got there right as her head hit, and I lifted her head in my hands and knealt over her.
My God, she looked terrible. Her face was puffy and soaked with tears. Her eyes were red and swollen, even being shut, they were red on the outside and all around them. She was in her tank top and undies only. Her heart was beating a million miles a minute as she lay lifeless in my hands.
I looked around. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to call an ambulance. I was pretty sure she'd only fainted. But why? I put her head down gently on the floor, and looked on the counter. No medicine or anything there. I looked on the kitchen table. A glass of orange juice. What was that for?
Maybe she DID take something? Maybe she was trying to kill herself? Shit. Shit.......SHIT! What do I do?
Then I noticed my phone on the floor below the table where the orange juice was.
I knealt over and picked it up and opened it. What was she doing with it? Calling 911 maybe?
As soon as I opened it, the first thing staring up at me, was some woman's pussy, held open by her fingers, with two of her other fingers inside of it.
That pic. Yes. That one.
She saw it. She saw them all. She saw all the texts. Maybe the call list.
And I hadn't told her about them to protect her from being stressed. And now......
I jumped up and went to the bathroom cabinet. I looked in it. We didn't usually have any medicine. We didn't need any. Just some over the counter pain relief stuff. One small bottle. And it was always here, in the medicine cabinet.
But where............was it? I frantically looked around. I didn't see the pain relief pills anywhere.
I looked all over the bathroom. In the bathroom closet....I looked in the bedroom. Back in the kitchen....FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!?
Did she overdose on them?
I didn't know what to think. But if I was wrong, and she hadn't just simply passed out, then I'd never forgive myself.
So I lifted my phone in my shaking hands, and called 911.
Then I grabbed Janel and sat leaning on the cabinets, with her limp in my lap, and wept. I couldn't even hold the phone up for the 911 operator. After I had given her the info she needed, I dropped the phone and said into the air, "I'm sorry....I can't.....I can't....." and broke into weeping.
My tears resoaked Janel's face as they poured off of mine.
This was all the worst dream possible. And I was going to wake up any second now. I knew it. I WOULD wake up. And Janel would be laying against me, warm, snuggled, loving me even in her sleep. (Sometimes she'd say my name in her sleep. Not often, but often enough. She even told me she loved me in her sleep a few times. More heart swelling moments I loved.)