“You tell me when you figure it out,” he calls over his shoulder.
His bedroom door closes.I blink at the muted television without seeing what’s on the screen.When my brain finally clicks back into the present, I jump up off the couch and yell, “Hey, don’t leave me!I need help choosing what to wear.”
His laughter through the door before he strides out into the hall assures me I didn’t insult him with my emotional ineptitude.
After choosing my clothes and finishing dinner, I map out my commute, calculate my schedule, set my alarms, and sit at my desk for a couple hours of work.The moment I turn on my screen, I fight the urge to dive into my hater’s computer via my new program, but instead focus on the most pressing tasks.When I post on the forum about my decrease of hours and increase of rates, dozens of outraged comments fill the thread, but my order request queue triples.I roll my eyes and open a bottle of water before sorting through and accepting the first few that seem worth my time.
I work until my bedtime alarm rings, then go through my nightly routine and curl up on my oversized beanbag.Although not as bad as yesterday’s carnage, the mess from my tossing and flailing is enough to set my teeth on edge when I wake.After tidying my room, I take a quick shower and dress in the matching blazer and slacks Peter helped me choose.I check myself in the mirror and consider changing bras, but Peter insisted the lace was the right choice for underneath my flowing blouse.
I sigh and button the middle button of my blazer, but it squishes my breasts together and accentuates my cleavage, so I slip the button free and turn toward the sink to deal with my hair.
My roommate insisted I wear a high ponytail, but when I pull it up and hold it in place with my hand, tiny ants crawl around on my scalp.Painful memories resurface.I drop the ponytail and rub my head to erase the sensations.The scar hidden on the back of my head itches.
I work mousse through my damp locks before blowing it dry and clipping back the top half.It’s not my normal style, but it looks more professional without aggravating my scalp.
With a few minutes to spare before my alarm to leave goes off, I grab a protein bar and bottle of water before settling at my desk.
After a bit of snooping, I leave a surprise for the next time my hater logs on and close the program.
I try very hard to remain on the legal side of the law, but cyberbullying is just as unforgivable as in-real-life bullying, and most cases involving only adults go unpunished.
This fool threatened the wrong person.
My alarm pulls me back into reality.
I secure my computer, finish my food, and clean up before reaching for my trusted coat.I stop with my hand clenched in the fabric.The weather won’t be too bad today.My commute isn’t terrible.Peter will be disappointed if he realizes I covered my outfit.
I leave my coat on the hook and grab my purse.
My commute is uneventful despite the mayhem of the midday bustle.I use the time to catch up on current events pertaining to my potential new employer while still remaining aware of my surroundings.
When I turn the last corner and pause to stare up at the impressive building, anxiety hits me.I stand rooted in place on the busy sidewalk until a man nearly knocks me over.
Before I can apologize, cruel hands close around my shoulders.I shove at the man’s chest but freeze as he says my name.
Every inch of me ices over in terror.
Hundreds of horrible memories flood my brain.
Michael, the boy who terrorized me nonstop for two years, tightens his beefy fists around my shoulders and hauls me out of the main flow of traffic and under the nearest awning.
Adrenaline shatters the ice infecting my veins the moment the sun disappears.I shove his wrist with both hands and free my left shoulder—just like Brook taught me in class—but before I can dart away, he yanks me backward by my other shoulder.
Bile fills my throat as he tugs me against his chest and bands an arm around my midsection.
The world closes in as he pins me to him with terrifying ease.
“Wow, you’ve really grown up, haven’t you, Penny?”Michael says.
He tightens his hold until my breasts pillow over the top of his forearm.
I stomp on his foot and jab my elbow backward, but he’s too tall, so instead of hitting his side, I elbow his hip, and he just laughs and shifts his stance.
“I think I liked you better when you weren’t so… filled out, although these curves could be fun.Do you remember how much fun we had when—”
A woman calls his name from behind us.He releases me and whips around.
I pull my purse in front of me and hug it to my chest as I hurry into the building.
