"What…the fuck…did you do?"
27
thalassophobia
Saige
Ithought it couldn't get any worse than this.
The moment he flipped on me, I knew what I was. I knew I was nothing but prey to him. Maybe he fucking ruined my life, but I always thought,At least I didn't fall for him.
At least I never slept with him.
I must have cried on that bathroom floor for hours, feeling empty, my thighs sticky with his cum, aching between my legs from the way he stretched and filled me. Tears rolled down my cheeks while I replayed it in my head, trying to figure out the exact moment I knew it was him and why I didn't fucking care.
I wanted him—I guess just because it felt good. But I kissed him and touched him while he said all of that disgusting shit to me. Like that he loves me.
And then, he sends me a message. Turns out, he was right. There was never anyone stalking me—no one but him. He kept me terrified this whole time to control me. That's worse than an obsession. It's fucking sick and twisted.
I made sure he was asleep before I crept out of the bathroom this morning, and then I packed all of my things and came back to my room. I must have spent an hour in the shower—staying long after the water had run cold—and then I put on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and climbed into bed.
The bed with no pillows or blankets; the one that's just a bare mattress because Elias gutted a squirrel and left it in my bed.Sick and twisted. I think of the texts he's sent me and the way he played with me with the knife last night. Maybe he really does want to do those things he said to me.
As if that isn't bad enough, I told Dax I loved him, and then he couldn't get away from me fast enough. He couldn't even tell me he didn't want me anymore, that he didn't like me like that—he just passed me to Elias.
I barely move over the next twelve hours. I'm not hungry, I'm not thirsty, I can't sleep. It's like my heart's been torn from my ribcage, and just when I thought it was okay to take off the barbed wire I'd so carefully wrapped around it to keep it safe from new wounds while it calloused and scarred.
I close my eyes, picturing the little black dress hanging on the back of my closet door. I wonder, just for a second, if I deserved all of it. But no one ever gets what they deserve.
It's been hours since I last checked my phone, and I wouldn't now, but it doesn't seem like it's another text. It just keeps buzzing against the nightstand and won't stop.
It must be a call.
When I grab it to silence it, it's a message from the university's emergency alert system. But it isn't a text—it's a video. Ihit play and then sit up for the first time all day, blinking at the screen.
There's no fucking way. I have to be hallucinating. They've finally driven me fucking insane, and I'm seeing shit. I'm haunting myself now, fucking scarred by what happened last night and doomed to replay it in my head forever.
But I know I'm not when only seconds later, I get a text from Kira with a fucking screenshot of my face and bare tits, asking if I'm the one in the video. Of course, you can't tell who the man in the video is at all.
No…no, he couldn't have.
Who am I kidding? Of course, he did. He showed me who he was a long time ago. He told me himself that men never mean the things they say.
Even though there's nothing in my stomach, I think I'm going to be sick. I stumble out of bed, my knees weak, and crawl across the floor of my room. Even though I cried my eyes dry, I sob while dry heaving into the garbage can.
It hurts; I'm in physical and emotional agony, but it doesn't even surprise me that he did it. This is the kind of cruel he is when he doesn't get his way, and he knows I know everything he did now. Of course, he sees himself as the victim, and he needs to make me fucking pay for it.
This room isn't far enough. I need to leave British Columbia.
I stop when I hear my window go up, and when I turn around, the giant fucking sociopath is climbing into my room. "Get out!" I scream, trying to shove him back out the window, pummeling him with my fists. "Get the fuck out of my room! I fucking hate you!"
But it's worthless. Even though squeezing through the small window isn't easy for him, my hitting and shoving doesn't faze him.
"What the fuck?! That was locked!"
"Your lock is broken," he says. "I broke it; I'm sorry."
"You're fuckingsick, you know that? What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you do this to me?"
