The Girl At His Door [Parts I & II]

Chapter-9

Am I laying on the worlds softest blankets?

I slowly opened my tired eyes, to see that the sun was no longer high.

How long was I asleep for?

I got up from the bed, and stretched my aching body out.

It must have been a long time.

Walking into the kitchen, I could see that the time read 1:47 am.

I want a peanut butter and jelly.

Walking to the fridge, I got out everything, and began looking for a dish towel to dry some dishes.

Now, I know he's got one somewhere.

I ended up at what looked like an old linen closet.

There are usually dish towels in these kinds of things right?

Shrugging my shoulders, I opened the door.
Ha! I was right.

Except the towels didn't keep my attention for long.

Because at the very top of the closet, was an acoustic guitar, resting on an old box.

He plays guitar too?

I jumped up, and grabbed it by the neck.

It was a nice guitar, I must say. I could tell that it was clearly used a lot, with the slight fading of the color, and the light scratchings on the strings.

Turning it over to see the back, however, was when the shock came.

"Baby, I thought you could use a new guitar, because your other one is barely hanging in there, just like every other instrument you own.

I hope that one day in the future, I can listen to you play for as long as I could possibly want, which could be days at a time.

I love you!

Love forever,
Adaline."

And that wasn't the only thing.

In the box the guitar was on, I could see the word, YEARBOOK, printed clearly.

ANGELOS POV.

"Please! I told you everything I know!"

I rolled my eyes. Not enough.

"You have one more chance to tell me who the hell payed you to put horseradish in the girls food." I responded calmly, even though I was seconds away from completely snapping.

    The guy coughed up more blood.

Well, now he knows what she went through.

"H-he said he'd kill me."

"I really don't care kid, just tell me who it was."

Even though I actually do know who it was, I just needed a reason to stress out the person that could have killed her.

He was making no moves to speak, so I snapped my fingers.

  Out came one of my men, with an iron rod, aiming it at his knees.

  A sickening crack came, followed by the sobs of the prick in front of me.

Good aim.