Page 18 of Ruined Vows

“I’ll remember that.” She slams the door again.

I smile, walk over to grab her phone, sit in the overly plush chair, and punch in her code. I wonder if it means anything to her. Usually, people put in a year that’s sentimental to them, like their mother’s birth year or the year they graduated high school.

I’m glad Kira’s smarter than that.

Notifications immediately start popping up, and the smile dies on my face as I read the texts pouring in from different, unknown numbers.

UNKNOWN: You sure are pretty when you scream.

UNKNOWN: Who the fuck is that with you?

UNKNOWN: Did you bring him home to fuck, you whore?

UNKNOWN: I’ll kill you, slut.

UNKNOWN: What’s his name, slut?

UNKNOWN: Did he take you back to his house, fucking whore?

UNKNOWN: I’m going to gut you like a pig if you fuck him.

UNKNOWN: You’re such a fucking slut.

On and on, the threats and insults continue. My muscles are tense by the time I’ve scrolled through them. Several contain picture attachments, which are blocked, thank god, but still.

I look toward the bathroom door and hear the gentle noise of the continuous spray. Is this what she wakes up to every morning, or is this just because of what happened last night?

He was watching us somehow through the window of her bedroom. My hand tightens around her phone, and I force myself to drop it back to the nightstand.

It buzzes again with another incoming text that I read.

UNKNOWN: When I get my hands on you, I’m gonna fuck you till your hole bleeds.

I slam the phone back down. I want to delete every text so she never reads them, but they might be evidence.

Jesus Christ. How often throughout the day do these come in? She said her email was just as bad. And because she has a university email, it’s not like she can change that as easily as her phone number.

Not that changing her phone number helped last time. I frown. How is this bastard getting her new number?

Does it mean it’s someone close to her? Or, like she said, some little shit-head student who’s got some fucked-up crush on her?

That’s it. This shit ends now.

When she comes out of the shower, I start barking orders. “I want a list of all the little shits you suspect might be the stalker. Before class so I can watch them while you teach.”

She looks at the clock on the nightstand, one towel wrapped around her glistening body, another around her hair. “I don’t know if there’s time.”

“We’re gonna make time. That sadistic fuck has sure made time to text you all morning and night. How often do they come in like that?”

She sighs. “Usually once an hour, if not more. He has to have them on some sort of timer system because they come all night long. But they’re not regular, either. Like they don’t come at the same time every hour, so I can’t anticipate them, either. It’s just another way to fuck with me.”

“And your email?”

“Constantly spammed with the same sort of shit.”

“What do the cops say?”

“That they can’t do anything without any leads.”

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