Page 12 of Cavaliere

Part of me wonders if Matteo actually took care of it. I never texted him back after our conversation last week, but he also didn’t reach out to me. I don’t even know how he would find the guy based on no fucking information.

So here I am, walking home from work, in a shitty fucking mood with a can of pepper spray in one hand and my stabby ring on the other. Delaney called in, so I had to work with a new girl that I don’t fucking like. The annoyance from having to deal with her following me around and being up my ass has turned into anger, and now I’m back to hating fucking life. Delaney is going to owe me big time for leaving me alone with her.

I round the last corner, turning onto the street my building is on, and come to a halt. The black car that I’ve come to take comfort in isn’t in its usual spot in front of my building. My Spidey senses are going off, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Something seems off.

Did he really just say “forget it” without even letting me know if he caught the creep or not? I got asshole vibes from him for sure, but not the kind that would just leave someone hanging when shit has gone down. The asshole vibes were more like an “I’m used to getting my way” type of thing.

My eyes quickly scan the street and the entrance to my building. Nothing seems out of place, just the usual people walking and cars speeding by. This doesn’t ease the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I nod to Mark as I head inside, thankful that he doesn’t want to talk my ear off about what he saw as he was “guarding” the building that day. This is going to make me sound like a bitch, but even though I get the man is lonely, sometimes I just don’t want to listen to someone ramble on and on about literally fucking nothing. I’m not exactly the small-talk type of girl.

For once, my building is actually quiet. I don’t hear the creepy perv below me screaming into the phone that he wants to be told he has a pencil dick while he jacks off to whoever he’s paying on the other end, and the lady with her soccer team upstairs seems to not even be home. This is honestly all I’ve ever wanted when I come home from work. Peace and quiet. But why, now that I finally have it, do I hate it?

Having already eaten a burger using my employee discount before I left work, I decided it was best to just shower and go the fuck to bed. I rush through washing my face and body, put on my creams, throw on the same ratty, oversized tee that I wore the night Matteo broke in and climb into bed.

The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep is someone's car alarm blaring in the distance, bringing me enough peace to lull me to sleep.

A loud crash has me bolting upright in bed with my heart about to beat right out of my chest.

“What the fuck was that?” I whisper to myself as my eyes adjust to the dark room. The only source of light is a faint glow coming from the street lamps. I’m trying to focus on the noise, but my heart is pounding in my ears, making it hard to concentrate.

Is someone banging on my door?

One more loud bang, and then I hear the front door slam against the wall that separates my bedroom from the living room. The picture frames I found to hang up on these thin white walls from a cheap online site crash to the floor.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” I frantically whisper as I rip the covers off of me and jump out of bed. Someone really just broke into my place.

All of the times I’ve run a scenario very much like this one through my head just leaves my brain. I've played out how I would defend myself and be the badass in my own story so many times.

I’m frozen.

Fucking frozen.

I want to move my feet, but my brain isn’t communicating with my body. We’re both in shock that this is real life.

Loud footsteps are slowly coming down my hallway, right toward my bedroom where I’m standing, basically just inviting this piece of shit to do whatever he wants with me.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” The man laughs, sending a chill down my spine.

I look around, trying to find something within reach that I can hit him hard enough with to either distract him or knock him out, but I come up empty.

Fuck.

Maybe this is how I die.

My brain finally catches up as I dash behind my open bedroom door just before he stops in the entryway. Through the panic, I cover my nose and mouth with my hand so he won’t hear me breathing through the panic in the eerie silence that settles over my apartment.

“I know you’re in here, you fucking bitch,” he says as he enters my room. His back is to me now. “You’ve had your little fucking watch boy standing guard all week. Guess you aren’t big and bad now that he’s gone, huh?”

Another chill rakes down my spine before I take my opening. Moving out from behind the door, I make a mad dash down the hallway. I barely make it to my kitchen before I’m ripped back by my hair, making me cry out.

“Gotcha.” The man sneers as he throws me to the ground, my head bouncing off the floor. Tears well up in my eyes as I bite down on my lip. I can feel the blood start to pool as I sink my teeth into my flesh even harder just to stop myself from letting out another sound. I refuse to give this sick fuck the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

“This is all your fault, you know.” He looms over me, looking down with disgust. “You should have never stopped. None of this would be happening if you wouldn’t have fucking stopped.”

My breathing is coming in short pants. The panic attack is starting to win. I can’t think about what he’s saying over my brain chanting “get up” over and over again.