“Motherfucker.” He snatches his hand back, but her teeth tear the skin.
“Get away from me!” I’m finally able to scream.
Jaxon is doubled over, clutching his hand.
I force my numb legs to run through the oily puddles of water, trying to get away from Jaxon. My lungs burn, and my arms ache from carrying Pepper. My soggy purse bangs against my legs as I force myself to keep up the pace.
Jaxon is several yards behind me. “I’m done with you. I was going to tell you that I was going to drop the complaint against your stupid fat dog, but I’m not anymore. I’m done, and so are you and that dumb animal.”
I don’t have much of a head start, and between the dog and my general state of out-of-shapeness, he’s gaining on me fast.
Why isn’t anyone out on the street? I yell, “Help!” to several cars that pass me, but they don’t stop, in a rush to go home, I guess.
The cold rain runs down the back of my dress.
As I run, the strap of the purse that had been over my shoulder slides down to my elbow then to my wrist. Should I abandon it? But my phone is in there.
Jaxon’s footsteps sound closer.
I turn a corner into an alley, praying it’s not a dead end, and race to the nearest door. It’s one of those heavy metal ones that lock from the inside and don’t have a handle. So is the next. And the next.
Finally, near the end of the alley, there’s a loading dock to my right. As I skid into it, I kick some garbage that rolls toward the streetlight-filled exit onto another side street. I duck into the shadows. My shoes get tangled up and I fall down, twisting to the side so I don’t squash Pepper.
A few seconds later, I hear footsteps. I freeze in place, huddled in the shadows as the man pauses to peer into the dimly lit loading dock. Huddled on the ground, I wait for one heartbeat, then another, praying he moves on.
Eventually the footsteps retreat.
I can’t stop shaking, waiting for Jaxon to come back. I don’t dare move. Maybe it’s a trap? I can’t leave the loading dock. What if he’s waiting for me?
But what am I going to do? Should I try to make a break for it? What if he’s waiting by my car or at the end of the alley? Could I even call an Uber? He would notice, right, if an Uber just pulled up right outside the alley? I would never make it.
The clock is ticking. My stalker isn’t going to give up. Jaxon is going to see that I’m on the street and come back to search the alley. Then it’s over for me.
Should I call the police again? I tried to go to them before, but they didn’t do anything, just told me I needed to work it out with my boyfriend. They said there wasn’t anything they could do because all he’d done was send a few text messages, and it wasn’t illegal to send someone a text message—but I should call them if he ever broke into my house.
Lauren watched a lot of true-crime shows while she lived in my apartment rent-free. There were several women who, when they tried to get the police to help, were just handed back to the men who would eventually kill them.
This is crazy.
I’m now worried about the best way to not get killed. I should be at home cooking massive amounts of casserole, not trying to fight for my life.
For a second, I just want to give up. I’m so exhausted and cold and overwhelmed. I’m really starting to panic now. The tears come, and I can barely keep the sobs quiet.
I have no options. And this is never going to end.
The sobs I am trying to choke back escape my numb lips in pathetic little whimpers.
Pepper whines softly at my feet as hot tears roll down my face. I don’t know what to do. This is it. I’m at the end of the line.
Well, not quite. I do have one other option. It isn’t a good one, or a smart one, but it is an option.
As quietly as I can, I reach into my purse and pull out my phone to call the only man who terrifies me more than my stalker.
He’s annoyed when he answers the phone.
“You better not be calling to beg me to save your job.”
“No. Never mind. I shouldn’t have called.” I fight back the sob.
