Oh God. Oh fuck.
This cannot be happening. This isn’t happening.
“If I can’t fucking have you, no one can, you hear me, Sloane Harding?”
The way he says my name… the way it sounds… it’s so familiar, and yet I can’t place it.
But I don’t have time to dwell on this. I have to get out, call the police. I have to lock myself away and hide.
So, I start to flail, kicking and squirming beneath him, shocking him enough that his grip goes looser on my wrists. Using every bit of strength I have, I shove my hips up, bucking, and he falls forward, hitting his head on the kitchen island, and I get out. I don’t waste a second to look back as I run for the stairs, taking them two at a time as I shove into my bedroom and lock the door, running for my cell plugged into its charging port.
I dial 911.
“There’s someone in my house!” I cry into the phone at the first sound of his fist against my door.
“Sloaneeeee,” He drags out my name, “Come on, Sloane, let me in. You know it’s just you and me, right? Just you and me.”
“He’s trying to get into my bedroom. I’ve locked the door, but I don’t think it’ll hold.” I reel off my address. “My name is Sloane Harding, please. Help me.”
“Stay on the phone, Miss Harding. I’m sending officers your way right now. They’re five minutes out.”
A lot can happen in five minutes.
I hear the wood of the door splintering as something slams against it.
“He’s going to get in,” My voice shakes. “He’s going to get in. He’s going to kill me.”
“Is there anywhere to hide, Miss Harding? A closet? Do you have access to a window?”
“He’s at the door; the lock isn’t very strong.”
“We have officers en route to you, they’ll be there any minute.” She assures me, her voice calm.
“I don’t think I have a minute,” I whisper cry into the phone as another loud crash sounds, a crack visibly forming in the door.
The operator starts to say something, but the door slams open at the same time, stealing my attention. He barrels in, and even though I can’t see his face, can’t see his expression, I feel his anger.
“You little bitch,” He snarls as he lunges for me. It’s then that I notice the blade in his hand, the metal catches in the light, glinting viciously. “I told you, Sloane, if I can’t have you, no one can!”
In my attempt to get away, I drop the phone, accidentally kicking it with my toe so it skitters under the bed and out of reach. The police will be too late. They’re going to find my body right here.
“Please,” I beg as I try to get away from him and to the open door. Maybe if I can get downstairs, I can escape, run to a neighbor, or just run, run until I find the cops coming my way. “Please, I don’t want to die.”
“We’ll be together again,” He vows, “We will.”
“No!” I scream and make a beeline for the door, but I’m not quick enough, not strong enough. I’m weak, useless, even in an attempt to save my own life. I didn’t lock my doors; I let him right in. I don’t have a weapon; I don’t even know how to shoot a gun. I have doomed myself. I fall as he tackles me, his heavy gait landing on my back, which is gone in the next moment and his hand grasps my ankle, dragging me back into the room.
“We are destined, Sloane, don’t you see?” He picks me up like I weigh nothing and throws me down onto the bed, his body following so he can pin me to the mattress. “We will always find each other.”
“I don’t want to die,” I plead, “Stop, please.”
“I can’t,” He sighs, “I can’t, Sloane, because if I stop, you’ll leave. You’ll leave like you always do.”
I don’t understand what is happening, how I’ve missed this. There were no warnings, no signs.
“You always come, Sloane, and then you leave, and you don’t even look at me. You don’t, you act like I am invisible, and that hurts.”
“Who are you?”
