ESSENCE
I shiveras the cool October breeze blows against the back of my exposed neck and tickles the little hairs at the nape. I dump my books and binders into my bike basket before pulling my hood over my head. The thought of having to ride home on this thing makes me want to run into oncoming traffic.
Evan keeps trying to convince me to get a bus pass, but we don’t have money like that lying around. Yes, it’s only seventy dollars a month, but to me that much money just isn’t worth it when I’m only going from my house to work and back again. We only live about twelve minutes away, but it’s almost a thirty minute bike ride depending on traffic and the weather. If only he would let me share his car with him, then I wouldn’t even be in this situation. I had to beg him to let me use his car to go to Leo’s funeral, and he only caved to shut me up.
It's fine. So far, I’ve managed to get to and from work in the heat, rain, and snow for the past two years on my bike. It won’t last much longer, once I finally leave Evan and save up to get myself a car of my own.
My backpack slips off a shoulder, and as I twist myself to get it back up, my eyes happen to land on the bushes and trees across the parking lot.
“What the hell?” I whisper, letting my backpack fall to the ground with a heavy thud.
There in the shadows of the dying brush is my masked stalker.
Just standing there.
Staring at me.
Or, at least, I assume he is. It’s hard to tell because I can’t really see his eyes through the dark holes of the gas mask.
What else would he be looking at, though?
This is a first—he’s never shown up to my job before. Or maybe I’ve just nevernoticedhim at my job before, and that thought is only slightly more troubling.
His huge frame is shrouded in shadows from the bushes he’s standing within, but that only makes him look even more massive than usual, even from so far away. He’s got to be at least six-five or six-six, and the black long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing hugs his muscular arms and chest deliciously.
He’s mouthwateringly huge. And those hands…
My mind conjures up all the ways those big hands and thick fingers can make me feel good.
I shake the image out of my head, feeling stupid for even thinking of something so ridiculous. Daydreaming about getting railed by a masked stranger is sick. I should be running inside to call the police…
But I don’t want to. I never want to.
Picking up my backpack, I quickly sling it over my shoulders, hop on my bike, and pedal away as fast as I can.
Twenty minutes later, I chain my bike to the wooden column in my backyard and enter the kitchen through the backdoor. Assoon as I walk in, Lunchbox comes running to me and starts jumping on me excitedly, all thoughts of the masked man gone.
I laugh and try to walk over to the counter without stepping on him. “Hold on, bubba, let me put my stuff down first.”
After dumping my things on the kitchen counter, I lean down to pick up my sweet puppy. He licks my face and nuzzles into the crook of my neck. I giggle and bury my face into his soft white and black-spotted fur, which still smells like the conditioner from yesterday. Not a whiff of pee or poop, thank goodness.
“I’m so glad to see you haven’t been neglected today,” I say happily, kissing his nose, which is outlined by a heart-shaped spot.
When I look at his food and water bowls by the fridge, I realize I spoke too soon. The crumbs from this morning haven’t been touched, and his water bowl is completely dry.
Anger creeps up in me fast and hot. Should I be grateful that Lunchbox wasn’t left in his cage all day? Yes, and Iamgrateful for that, but why is it like pulling teeth to get Evan to at least feed him?
I gently set him back down so I can refill his bowls, then I stomp upstairs to my bedroom. Evan is lying on his stomach on the bed. Even though his face is buried in the pillows, his snores fill the whole room. A part of me wants to wake him up and yell at him, but that would only end with me being backed into a corner, most likely gripped by the hair or throat, and I don’t feel like dealing with that right now.
The masked man, though, can choke me and pull my hair as much as he wants.
I bite my bottom lip and turn to leave the room, closing the door behind me. At least he’s asleep and not making my life miserable. He has a terrible sleep pattern, so he’ll often sleep for just a few hours at a time and think that’s sufficient enough to get him through his shifts.
Going back downstairs, I grab a snack out of the kitchen and hoist myself up onto the counter. Naturally, my mind wanders back to my masked stranger.
I shake my head to rid myself of that crazy thought.Mymasked stranger? So I’ve claimed him now?
I want to text him, but I’m so nervous. I’ve never initiated a conversation with him before, but for some reason I’m feeling a little daring right now.
