Page 99 of Phobia
When night falls on my walk home, I’m again enveloped in that uneasy feeling I’ve begun to recognize as being stalked. Stalked by something that yearns for me as I yearn for it. I wish it would come out of its hiding place, reveal itself to me. Perhaps it’s as nervous as I am? But I’m open. I won’t reject it. Won’t reject him.
Finally, like a crashing bolt of lightning with the earth below, we collide. As I come upon a dark alleyway, I freeze. There in front of me, obscured by the darkness, is the figure of a man. Wide shouldered and tall, hands in his pockets as he assesses me. My heart wants to pound out of my chest.
I open my mouth to speak, to tell him to step into the light, that he has nothing to fear. That I want him as he wants me, but he speaks first.
“Adrien,” he says, and I can’t move.
No. No, God, please.
The voice … isn’t the same. Not the same one from the other night, when he soothed me and caressed me and brought me release and peace. But it’s still a voice I recognize.
It’s the voice that’s resounded in all of my nightmares since the day I broke free.
It’s Mickey’s voice.
My brother steps into the dim streetlight to reveal shorn brown hair, a rough yet handsome face, endlessly dark eyes, almost black, like never-ending pits that seem to bore into my very soul. He’s dressed immaculately, in a gray, three-piece suit that likely cost him an exorbitant amount of money. The smile on his face is just the same, just as cruel as that day.
“I found you,” he says softly, looking me up and down.
No. It couldn’t have been. It couldn’t have been him. All that time. It wasn’t. God, no.
“I’ve been watching you for weeks now, making sure. I had to know it was actually you. You’ve grown, Adrien. You’re so fucking pretty still. Even prettier now than you were back then.”
I swallow, shaking my head. “No. It wasn’t you.” It couldn’t have been him. The voice, the presence. It all felt so different before. In my room. It felt loving, gentle. Was I imagining it? Feeling what I wanted to feel?
“It was me, Adrien. It was such a mistake letting you go that day. I’ve been looking for you ever since.”
I start to back away, panic rising in my chest, thinking about what he did, what he might have done. What he might still do. He wants my blood. He wants to make me bleed. “Please don’t. Please. Leave me alone.”
“You have a new life now, don’t you, baby brother?” He starts moving closer. Before I know it, my back hits the hard brick and concrete of the alley wall behind me. “A job. An apartment. A whole new name. AdrienHope. How … adorable. How naïve.”
I look around for a way out, an escape, a weapon. Anything I can use against him to get away. There’s nothing and no one around. And in a fight, he would win. He’s proven that before.
“You know, after you left, Dom and Angelo wanted you back. They missed their plaything. Wanted to put your face on milk cartons and get the police involved to get you back. To claim you’d been kidnapped. And for alltheyknew, you had been. A pretty little thing like you, you’ve always been the perfect victim. But I knew the truth. I knew what had really happened that day—the day you ran away. The day I let you go. So I convinced them to let me handle it. To file a report quietly so as not to draw unwanted attention to the business. After enough time had passed, we buried an empty casket. Claimed the life insurance and the money Dad left for you.”
So Adrien Beck is dead, then. Good. I never wanted anything to do with that life anyway. With the brothers who tormented me. And the shady business my father owned. All I want is what I have now. I want to be Adrien Hope.
“You have what you wanted, then,” I whimper. “You have the money, the business. The house. So please, just go. There’s nothing else for you to take from me. I don't have anything else to give you.”
He grins then, a cold, sardonic twist of his lips that makes my stomach churn. “That’s where you’re wrong. I came all this way, hunted you down across miles and miles and ten fucking years, and you really think you don’t have something I want?”
“Whatever it is, please just take it. Just take it and go.”
He’s only a hair’s breadth away from me now and slams his fist against the wall beside my head. I’m boxed in, looking up at him. I can smell him. Cologne and whiskey. “Are you still a virgin, Adrien?”
Those words steal my breath. How could he know that? How could he know? If he’s been stalking me for a while, he’s likely seen that there’s no one but me that comes in and out of my apartment. No one visits. I never leave with anyone or bring anyone home. And if he’s been inside my apartment … no. It wasn’t him.It wasn’t.
“I bet you are.” His palm snakes up my chest to grab my chin and force me to look at him. “I bet you never had the courage to give it up after all yourtrauma,did you?”
“Stop,” I squeak out. His grip is so different from the one that shared my bed a week ago. It’s harsh, cruel, painful. Nothing like the gentle, stroking hands that eased me into my own pleasure. That guided me to discover myself. I yank my chin out of his grasp, and that seems to light a fiery rage in his eyes.
He puts hands on both of my shoulders and shoves me back to the wall so my head cracks hard against the brick. I feel wet where my skull connected. Blood. Blood is trickling down the back of my head, staining my hair.
I begin to panic. I thrash against him, screaming out, “Help! Someone help me!”
He slaps a hand over my mouth, and it’s so big it covers my lips and nose. I struggle to breathe.
“You little cunt. I should have known you’d squeal. You’re a little bitch, aren’t you?”
