So why do I feel like the place I’m running to is colder and darker than the place I just left?
Just over an hour later, as the sun is just breaking over the horizon, I pull into an empty car space near my building. I leave Rhys’ car there with the keys in the ignition. If he wants it, he can find it himself.
Inside my flat, I sit on the sofa with my phone clenched in my hand, wondering what the hell I should do now. My phone buzzes and I nearly throw it across the room. There’s a one-word text message on the screen. Slut.
My stomach lurches. Rhys must have discovered I’m gone and he’s angry with me, but when I open the message, I see that it’s from Mitchell. He sent me a screengrab of a message he received. It’s a photograph of me. Of me and Rhys, one that I realize must have been taken just a few hours ago. Another one of Rhys’ hidden cameras. The picture shows Rhys’ muscular back and, clearly visible over his shoulder, me, naked from the waist up with Rhys palming my breast. My head is tipped back and my face is flushed like I’m coming.
I stare at myself. I am coming. Rhys is slamming his fingers into me.
There’s a message from Rhys to Mitchell with the photograph. How she looks when she comes four times, hard. I thought you should see this at least once in your sorry life.
I glance again at Mitchell’s one-word message. Slut.
A few minutes later, an unfamiliar number calls me. It must be Rhys. I reject the call and block the number, but he starts calling from different unknown numbers, over and over.
Finally, I pick up one of the calls and scream, “I know it’s you, Rhys. Leave me the hell alone.” I hang up without waiting for a reply.
My phone stops ringing, but ten minutes later, the buzzer to my apartment goes off. I stay where I am, staring at the door. There’s nowhere I can turn. The police won’t believe that I was taken against my will when they see the pictures Rhys has of us having sex, and they’ll take the side of one of their own. I can’t even call Mitchell for help.
Mitchell. Anger swells in me as I read his text message again. Slut. Now I know why he asked me to move to the city instead of dumping me like he probably wanted to. Kelly is his boss’s wife, and I must have been an ideal way for him to throw off any of his boss’s suspicions. I thought I was being a good girlfriend when I never demanded more from Mitchell. I never interfered with his life or protested when he didn’t even make an inch of space for me. I was so pathetically grateful for the slightest attention he bestowed on me. Mitchell must have seen a girl with doormat stamped on her forehead whenever he looked at me.
I angrily type out a message to Mitchell. I’ve only had one dick that counts this year so I’m not sure how that makes me a slut. Enjoy getting fired when your boss finds out you’re screwing his wife.
I hit send, and instantly regret it. Rhys has probably installed spyware on my phone and he’ll be feeling so goddamn smug reading that about his dick.
I take a shower and get dressed. I don’t know where I find the energy after no sleep and the ordeal I’ve been through. I must be running on the last of my adrenalin. I go out and buy a new phone and sim card, as well as a new laptop. I even throw out my sex toys because looking at them reminds me of how often Rhys must have watched me using them on myself.
That afternoon, a security expert does a thorough sweep of my apartment and finds six more bugs and two hidden cameras. He changes the lock on my door and advises me to move as soon as possible.
“The security in this building is terrible,” he tells me on his way out.
My stomach lurches as I remember Rhys saying the same thing. “Thanks. I’ll move as soon as possible.”
I collapse into bed, and sleep. My new phone stays silent. For the first time in months, Rhys is completely cut off from me. I hope it’s hell for him.
The heavy footsteps I hear coming along the hall outside my apartment that evening make all the hairs stand up on the nape of my neck. I’m so tuned into his presence that he only needs to come near me and my whole body reacts.
“Alaina,” he calls through the door.
I picture him out there, large hands pressed on either side of the doorframe, head bowed as he listens for the slightest sound of my presence within.
I hesitate on the other side, wanting to fling the door open and throw myself into his arms. My stalker’s arms. He’s dangerous and he can’t be trusted, not with my body and certainly not with my heart.
“I can see your feet under the door.”
Shit.
“Go away! You know I can’t call the cops on you, so if you ever cared about me even one tiny bit, you’ll leave me alone.”
He continues in that same steady tone. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m never talking to you again.”
“Please come downstairs. I want to give you something.”
“Put it in my letterbox. You know, like you did with all those letters.”
“It’s too precious. I’ll be waiting in the street.” After those words, his footsteps recede.
I go to the peephole to make sure he’s really gone and see no sign of him, but he could be waiting just out of sight to snatch me. My heart does a little somersault at the thought.
Out of fear, or a sick hope?
When I go to the window and peer out, he’s gazing up at my window, hands deep in his pockets, looking right
