Page 49 of Hellebore

I moan loud, thighs shaking, back arching off the cold floor as pleasure rips through me. For one delirious second I hope he’s still watching. That he can see what he does to me.

I stay there for a long moment, chest heaving, phone forgotten on the floor beside me.

He cleaned me afterward. He held me. He laid me down gently and placed a hellebore on my chest.

He didn’t take anything for himself.

Something about this makes me feel strange, like there is something about him that feels safe—no. He’s not safe, also how the hell am I supposed to stay here with all the cameras that I can’t find.

I text Lucille, telling her everything is fine and that I’m spending the day deep cleaning.

Deep cleaning my ass. I’m going to find those damn cameras even if I have to tear down the walls.

It’s been five hours and I’ve already found three cameras.

I really doubt that’s all of them. As for microphones, I haven’t found anything yet. Maybe they’re built into the cameras? I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m even looking for anymore. I’ve torn apart my apartment like a madwoman, checking every corner, every socket, every stupid lampshade.

He’s been very quiet. I keep expecting a text telling me to stop, or threatening me, but nothing. What if he already got what he wanted last night and that’s it?

And why does that thought make my chest feel strangely heavy?

I can’t be falling for a stalker. That’s actually insane. Maybe I should call Luke… or some other guy. Someone normal. Someone safe.

I glance at the clock. I could walk to the bar on the next block. Just one drink to take the edge off. Now that I know my stalker doesn’t want to physically hurt me… at least not in the violent way I feared… maybe it’s okay.

I take a quick shower, dry my hair and leave it in natural waves. I throw on black jeans, my combat boots, a black turtleneck sweater, and my fluffy coat. A little eye makeup and nude lipstick. Simple. Quick.

The walk to the bar is cold and damp, but the rain has stopped. The chill bites at my cheeks and helps wash away some of the suffocating anxiety from the last twenty-four hours. The cold makes me feel alive.

The bar is only half full, typical for early Saturday evening. Mostly men in small groups. I slide onto a high stool at the counter.

“One cider, please.”

The bartender nods and slides me a glass with ice and a can. I pour and take a long sip. It hits my empty stomach fast. Not the smartest idea, but smart decisions haven’t exactly been my strong suit lately.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

A guy sits down beside me. Tall, lean, with a blond pony tail, dark eyes, tattoos peeking out from under his suit sleeve. He’s cute. Clean. Normal.

“Hi,” I reply, forcing a small smile. My mind immediately drifts to the stalker. This guy isn’t him. And for some messed-up reason, that realization stings.

“You’re alone?” he asks, leaning over his beer.

“Yeah.” I turn toward him, trying to focus. “I’m Briar.”

“Tom.” He gives me a gentle, easy smile.

My phone vibrates on the bar top. I glance down.

“Don’t talk to anyone. Tell me where you are and with who?”

I frown and look around the dimly lit bar.

“You okay?” Tom asks.

“Yeah, sorry.” I smile at him. “So… you new around here?”

We talk. He moved here recently for work. Doesn’t know many people. I offer to show him around sometime. He seems nice.