Page 28 of Like A Moth To A Flame

“Stop! Stop it!” I bucked and wriggled, fighting against him, but he was too strong. I couldn’t break free. “Let go! Let me go!”

“Easy, Little Moth,” he growled. His free hand came up to grab my jaw, silencing me. “You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

“The m-money’s upstairs, just t-take it and go!”

“No, no, baby girl,” he purred, his fingers petting my chin. “I’m not going to rob you.”

“You can have a-anything you w-want!” I screamed, folding in on myself, my legs threatening to buckle.

He could kill me right here and now, and there’s nothing I’d be able to do about it.

“Anything I want?” he hummed, reaching up to push my hair back away from my face and tuck it lovingly behind my ear. “Oh, I will. Just give it time, Vanessa.”

He placed a single, soft kiss along my jawline, close to my earlobe, and I shuddered violently. I could feel his breath on my face, and the roughness of his stubble tearing at my skin.

Before I could think, speak, or even breathe, he released his hold, and I exploded forward, sprinting across the lawn and jumping onto the porch, my heart hammering so hard in my chest that it felt like it could punch straight through my sternum. Blood pounding in my ears, I tore open the screen door and leaped through it, slamming the front door closed and locking it as quickly as my shaking fingers would allow.

When I turned to look for him through the window beside the door, blinking through the tears, he was gone.

8

Why can’t I just trade a dream for a way to peel back the shade?

Moth

Ididn’t sleep, I didn’t even try to.

I stayed awake all through the night, huddled up on the couch with every door and window locked up tight, and curtains drawn against the darkness. I clutched my phone and the biggest knife left in the kitchen, my eyes darting from each window to the front door, but everything stayed still and silent.

There was no denying it, if there ever was before.

I’d seen him. He’d spoken to me.

Hetouchedme.

His voice was like the warning growl of a hidden predator, deep and rumbling like distant thunder. With his arms wrapped around me, I could smell him. He smelled like a campfire, citrus, and expensive aftershave. He smelled oddly familiar. I knew him. I know I did.

I shuddered at the thought.

Hewasn’t here for the money, he’d said so himself. He was here for me. Hewantedme.

Around daybreak, I turned on my phone, went to my contacts, and slammed my thumb down on Barrett’s name. I let it ring once before I silenced it.

No, it was too early. I couldn’t do that to him.

Call the police.

A nagging voice echoed through my mind, and it sounded way too much like my dad.

I should, shouldn’t I?

But what would I tell them? I confronted my stalker, and he did nothing, didn’t even hurt me? I’d heard too many horror stories from my dad. He would stay up late at night, telling me about cases he worked. People dismissed women’s claims, and even when they didn’t, you couldn’t press charges or get a restraining order until they actually did something to hurt you.

Even if he did do something to me, I had never seen his face. I didn’t know who he was. Who would I press charges against?

My phone screamed in my lap, and so did I, jumping so hard that the knife fell from my fingers and clattered to the hardwood floor.

If I was jumpy before, I was a jackrabbit at this point.

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