Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“That’s a big possibility.”
I groaned. “Fuck, this is a disaster.”
“Welcome to the world of dating, my friend.” Patting my cheek, he headed toward the door. “I have to go. A patient is waiting. But this conversation isn’t over. See you tonight for that beer. Don’t be late.”
* 13 *
Sailor
Stars Don’t Talk
I LIED.
To the police.
Lily.
Jim across the fence.
Even myself.
I lied that I’d destroyed the phone when the police came to take my statement.
I lied to Lily that they’d taken it in for testing.
And I lied to Jim when he asked if everything was okay when we were out pruning the rose bushes last night.
All of them had bought my lies, but I couldn’t buy the ones I told myself.
I lay in bed for three nights, convincing myself that I would never reply to the crazy man who’d given me the phone again. It wasn’t acceptable to hand-deliver a cell phone and tell me he could be my little secret. That was wrong. Very, very wrong.
And yet…
Whenever I woke in the dead of night, all alone and curled in the corner of my bedroom—so, so sure I’d heard a key in the front door and Milton was back to finish what he started—all I had to do was look at that small black phone, and I’d find the strength to get up and check all the doors without turning on all the lights.
I took it with me that first night as I opened all the cupboards and checked behind every door. I kept it in my pocket as I painted and stared at it for hours, unable to fall asleep.
He hadn’t messaged again.
And the fact that he hadn’t slowly grew from relief into frustration.
He was the one to barge into my life.
He was the one to frighten me with his faceless forwardness.
But he’d also done something I didn’t think was possible.
He’d broken up the shadows, just a little, and I no longer felt so suffocated.
He’s watching me.
I huddled on the couch, staring at the old square television that I still needed to replace. Nana had never been one for technology unless it benefited her From Soil to Soul business, and she’d never bothered to upgrade her TV for a flatscreen.
I watched most things on my tablet, so the huge ancient box flickered in the corner, fuzzy and snowy, dancing light around the living room.
Scrolling through the message thread, I tried to make sense of why I wasn’t as bothered about the fact that he was watching me as I should have been. I didn’t know him. He could be just as dangerous as Milton…worse even.
So why did I feel protected instead of threatened?
Why did I search all the nooks and crannies of my garden to find a camera—not to remove it—but to make sure he wasn’t lying?
Ugh, this is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. Stop this nonsense right now.
His last message glowed on the screen.
X: I use it to make sure you’re safe. That’s all.
I’d lost track how many times I’d read it. Each time, I found myself losing the initial understandable reaction of feeling violated, heading toward the incomprehensible feeling of safety.
Tapping the screen to make the keyboard pop up, I hovered my thumbs in place.
Don’t you dare.
I sighed and slouched.
No, I really shouldn’t.
Glancing at the time, wincing that two a.m. had rolled around and I still wasn’t in bed, I did the adult thing and turned off the screen. Hauling myself upright, I padded barefoot toward the stairs.
I was proud of myself.
I’d withheld against growing temptation to message him for another night.
A few more days and the feeling would pass. I could throw the phone away, and life would continue as normal.
But normal sucks right now.
Gritting my teeth, I changed direction.
I stepped over the carpet where Milton had almost raped me.
The thought of going to bed—even if it was in a newly painted bedroom on a mattress on the floor instead of the room I’d shared with him—wasn’t inviting.
I knew I wouldn’t sleep.
Milton’s whispers teased on the edges of my mind. The scratchiness of my throat still tickled, and I didn’t want another nightmare so soon after the last one.
Instead of wasting the evening, I stepped through the back door, off the deck, and onto the grass.
There, I sank into a cross-legged position and stared at the stars. The glowing fairy lights in the foliage acted like earthbound celestial balls, glimmering on leaves and petals. The yin-yang fountain in the corner for the blackbirds splashed lazily, and a dog a few houses down whined to be let back in after a late-night pee.
I’m safe.
I’m fine.
So why did my eyes suddenly ache and tears start pouring against my control?
Why did they drip off my chin as I stared at the stars, begging them to unravel and fix the mess inside me? For most of the day, I could pretend I was healing. But at this time of night, in this much honesty…I couldn’t.