Page 23 of For Fillies and Monsters

UNKNOWN: Bruises, Stetson.

I sit up, my head spinning from the speed, alarm bells blaring. I re-read the words, my heart instantly racing. Not only does this person know my name, they know how I spent the day. They know I am covered in bruises.

UNKNOWN: How many bruises do I need to give Nathan?

UNKNOWN: He should have been pushing the calves, not you. He should be covered in bruises, not you. How many bruises do I need to give him?

What do I say or do here? Is this the same person who left flowers? And if it is, who is it? What do they want from me? How do they know so much about me?

My heart is an erratic beast in my chest, my forehead instantly clammy. Rationally, I know the conversation makes nosense. But the beast inside of me is yawning awake, and mixed with my growing panic is another emotion.

Arousal.

I don’t know who it is, obviously. But the life-preserving part of me doesn’t care as I fire off a reply.

ME: They’re just bruises. Everyone gets them.

UNKNOWN: I will never let you have bruises.

UNKNOWN: Unless they are in the shape of my open palm against your ass. Unless you disobey me. So, don’t make me ask again. How many, Stetson?

Fuck!My first instinct is to do as I’m told and count my fucking bruises. That twisted, black part of me craving dominance and the promise of retribution. But I stop myself, rational thought taking over again as I trace an especially large one on my thigh.

Who the fuck is this person?

ME: Who the fuck do you think you are? Who is this?

I sit, the room filled with Dale’s humming through the bathroom door, and wait. I don’t notice I’m holding my breath until my fingertips start tingling from lack of oxygen.

Different possibilities run through my mind—a previous fuck that I didn’t know liked me, my masked monster, a nerdy guy hiding behind the screen, Nathan? I scrunch my nose. Definitely not Nathan, even if he’s weirdly inserting himself in my life.

The shower clicks off, and I look back at my phone.Still no reply.Maybe I scared him off. But I can’t stop from feelingdisappointed at the thought. If this is the same person who left me flowers, how do they know me? Where are they? Are they watching me now? The thought shoots equal flares of fear and desire through me.

I scramble up and look around the room for cameras. It’s improbable that there would be cameras, but I’ve seen too many stalker movies to not at least consider it. Pissed off by his lack of reply, I fire off another text.

ME: Did you take my underwear?

As the text is speeding through space, I groan. That was probably stupid. If he didn’t, and he is a stalker, he will probably go into a fit of jealous rage based on the aggressiveness of his messages.Just what I need.

The thought sends heat to my core, and I squirm, rubbing my thighs together.

I am so fucked up.

Dale pushes the bathroom door open with a flourish, and I stifle a yelp of surprise as my phone dings at the same time. I shakily place my hand over my flushing face, trying to hide my turbulent emotions from Dale’s prying eyes.

“Geez, Stet, haven’t you ever seen a naked lady before?” Dale saunters into the room and reaches for the clean shorts and t-shirt I laid out for her.

I hate that I wonder if he is watching Dale, and if he likes what he sees. I really hate that the thought makes me jealous.

This is insanity.

“Uh, sorry. Just tired and didn’t realize you were done.” I rush into the bathroom, my phone clutched to my chest. Dale looks at me, clearly confused, but I don’t even shoot her a reassuring smile. I can’t.

I slam the bathroom door shut and lean against the cool wood, my heart racing. I look down at the message.

UNKNOWN: Flowers and punishment, just the way you like it.

EIGHT

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