I text Mina who answers with a thumbs up. I set the water of my shower to frigid cold and count. Nothing works. I turn the knob to hotter than hell, and hiss as water pelts my skin, turning it raw pink.
Even after my shower, I’m not any calmer. I can’t eat the ramen I was looking forward to, I’m so keyed up.
The problem is that this is what I wanted to avoid, what I wanted to escape. Yet, the rush of adrenaline is stronger than any drugs. What happened tonight makes me feel alive, justified. Someone has been following me for weeks, and now they’ve killed. For me. To protect me. And I helped cover a murder.
I’m no better than my father, or cousin, or Aleksei and Irina. And I never was. I just thought that escaping was what I needed to do, who I needed to be. But maybe I don’t want to escape my life. I just want to lead it differently.
Maybe I should start analysing myself. The fact that I haven’t been caught killing anyone or that my family hasn’t either probably gives me an over-inflated sense of self-righteousness.
It’s too late for this type of thinking. Or too early, maybe as I look at the clock indicating four thirty am. I take a paracetamol from the kitchen cupboard before going back to my room.
On my way, I notice something on the table for the first time. Something that wasn’t there when I first entered my flat after the party. It’s a simple daisy in a glass from my kitchen. A post-it note sits next to it with words scribbled on it.
Thank you. Sleep well, little rose.
I pant.
He was here. The man from the alley was in my apartment. I wonder how he got there before me, if he raced just to give me this little token of his attention. Or maybe he entered when I was in the shower. I shouldn’t want the attention of a murderer. A disaster is bound to happen, yet I’m giddy and smiling wide as I re-read the note.
It’s probably not the first time he’s been here if he could get in and out so quickly. My thighs press together to relieve the sudden ache building here and I want to slap myself. Now is not the time to get aroused. He defiled my privacy, for Christ’s sake.
I think about when Gemma cleaned my place. It felt wrong she entered without permission. Yet, now, I’m elated. As I recall the incident, she never said she stocked me in groceries and tampons and chocolates. They were there the same day. What if it wasn’t from her?
I can’t ignore the signs slapping me in the face.
Why are my thighs sticky at the idea of being followed, of him being in my space, occupying it with his presence and dark aura? Of him exacting revenge on a man who touched me without permission.
I step into my pyjamas and slide under the cover, worrying my lip.
Sleep doesn’t come.
I pick up my phone and after hesitating for all of two seconds, open a search page.
Is it normal to be aroused by a stranger?
What is it called when you’re scared but horny?
Shall I be worried if I want to fuck my stalker?
I groan.
I’ve been going without sex for too fucking long. Obviously, Josh’s mates aren’t good prospects but I have to do something about it, otherwise I might just invite my stranger in and ask him to do me right there on the carpet of my living room. Notmyanything.The stranger. He’s not mine.
Yet, my brain screams.
I type one last search.
Masked man kink.
Videos protected by a paywall appear but I’m not interested in that. I keep looking until I find it. The perfect dirty little novella, thirty pages long, where the main character fucks a man without knowing
who he is.
I download the erotica short story and start reading.
The words on my e-reader spark the flame of my desire. I place it on its holder and activate the clicker to read hands-free. Thank God for technology. Removing my pyjama pants and large tee-shirt, I palm my tits and stomach with a rough touch, keeping my eyes on the e-reader. The woman in the story is being followed by this man who only wants her, only comes alive for her. She resists him and flees, but he chases. And fucks her. Hard.
I bite my lip as I read how he pulls at her hair and slaps her ass before he takes her ruthlessly on the floor.
