Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I push through the glass doors of the building and step into the chilly night air. Even though the days are warming up, the evenings still have a bite to them, and I burrow deeper into the collar of my jacket as I make my way down the path toward my apartment. It’s only a short walk—just a quarter mile from campus—but every step tonight feels heavier than the last.
As I pass by the humanities building, the sound of quick footsteps behind me makes my heart leap into my throat. My mind jumps to the worst-case scenario before I can stop it. My pulse races as I swing around, half-expecting to find the man who refuses to stay buried in my past.
But it’s not him.
It’s just a guy from class jogging to catch up with the girl in front of me. He drops his arm around her shoulders, and they continue walking, laughing and chatting like they don’t have a care in the world. My stomach is a tangle of knots as I force out a slow breath. I’m constantly on edge, waiting for the worst to happen.
It’s exhausting.
I hate how jumpy I’ve become, how every little thing has me thinking about Nathan, about the messages he keeps sending. I thought severing our connection and moving across the country would be enough. Every time my phone vibrates, I wonder if it’s him again. If he’s still there, lurking in the background of my life, refusing to let me move on.
I’m so fucking tired of Nathan controlling my every waking thought when he’s more than likely half a dozen states away, teaching learn-to-skate classes in a small town where no one knows who he is or what he did.
The couple ahead of me turns to the left as I move in the opposite direction.
My shoulders droop with the realization that it might be time to return to therapy. Clearly, I haven’t worked through everything like I’d hoped.
I keep my pace steady, though the prickling sensation of being watched lingers, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The blue safety lights lining the path do little to offer comfort. They’re more like spotlights, illuminating my presence as I hurry past.
When a twig snaps to my left, fear crashes over me. My heart kicks into overdrive as I whip around and scan the darkness for signs of movement.
Could someone be hiding there?
My mouth turns bone dry.
The thought of Nathan, or anyone, following me, makes my chest tighten until I can’t breathe.
Can’t think straight.
It’s all too much.
I don’t want to continue feeling paranoid. Like I’m always looking over my shoulder, waiting for the past to catch up with me.
I’m kicking myself for not taking my car.
For trying to prove a point.
All I’ve done is freak the fuck out of myself.
I quicken my pace, gripping the straps of my backpack tighter, as if that’ll somehow anchor me. The glow from campus begins to fade as I enter the residential area where I live. Greek row is right around the corner. Tons of parties take place here every weekend. But tonight is Tuesday, and it’s quiet. There’s not a soul on the street.
I peek over my shoulder again.
There’s no one.
But that doesn’t stop the odd sensation of being watched—followed—from invading my brain.
As I reach the next block, I realize that Hayes’s house isn’t far. It’s closer than my apartment.
I’ll stop there.
Even if he’s not home, I can collect my scattered thoughts and rein in the terror flooding my bloodstream.
If I’m lucky, one of the girls will be there, and I can cajole them into driving me back to my apartment.
This exercise in trying to take a little control back from Nathan has totally backfired.
It’s also made me realize just how paranoid I’ve become.
As loath as I am to bring him up to my parents, maybe it’s time to tell them what’s going on. For my own personal well-being and mental health, I can’t live like this.
I walk faster, my breathing ragged from the cold air and the adrenaline spiking through my veins. As soon as the two-story blue Victorian comes into view, relief crashes over me.
Thank fuck.
I race across the front lawn before taking the rickety porch stairs two at a time. By now, I’m huffing and puffing. With my heart hammering in my chest, I press the doorbell and glance around. Other than the sound of passing traffic from a street over and the lone cry of a cat, there’s nothing. But still, I can’t shake the odd sensation that someone is stalking me from the shadows.
My Spidey senses are on high alert.
Is it nothing more than a trick of my imagination?
That’s the problem.
I don’t know.
And I’m unwilling to take a chance and find out.
Fear threatens to swallow me whole as I shift from one foot to the other. When there’s no response, I rap the beveled glass with my knuckles. The lights are on, and music and laughter can be heard from inside the house.