Page 56 of Killer Confections
And pierced!
I feel the wetness shamefully coating my pussy and mylegs fly apart. My hands shoot to my hair, tangling in the locks as I pace and have an existential crisis in my bedroom.
I didn’t like it!
There’s no way I liked that!
No, no, no!
Get it together, Loxley!
You were taken advantage of. This monster ruined your less-than-pleasant date and brought you back home to do unspeakable things to you!
“Oh, god!” I mumble to myself, squatting down as if it’s going to ground me to reality. “What the fuck! He tattooed my name on his neck!”
Pressure builds behind my eyes, and an overwhelming feeling surrounds me, causing the room to tilt. I plant my hands on either side of me, sucking in a breath as I close my eyes and force myself to stay present.
I need something.
I need a shower.
Right. A shower is going to make this all better. Excellent idea, Loxley.
Not.
But it’s a way to clear my head. I nod to myself, slowly lifting from the floor. I take another breath before numbly walking to the bathroom. I flick on the light, following second nature as my body functions without thought. I turn the water on, setting it to my normal scalding temperature before setting out my towel and washcloth. I climb in, letting the spray hit me as I dunk my head under repeatedly in an attempt to calm my wild thoughts.
I wash my hair, remaining utterly silent as I go through the motions. I decide to start from the beginning, feeding myself little bits of information at a time.
Okay, I’m at least seventy-five percent sure I know who my stalker is.
I had my suspicions that the big, burly man hunting me was Atlas. I still don’t have definitive proof, but it’s becomingobvious. He said last night that he’s waited a long time for me—whatever that means.
I know what that means.
This person either knows me, or they’ve been stalking me for an unbeknownst period of time and I’ve been none the wiser. The thought of someone I don’t know watching me for months—years, even—makes me shiver. But as I think back to my friend’s promise long ago, I feel more confident that my stalker isn’t someone I don’t know.
So, seventy-five percent sure it’s Atlas.
No, eighty-five percent.
Great. Wonderful. My best friend from high school is probably stalking me and made me see God with how hard I came.
“Fucking fantastic!” I shout, sounding delirious as I reach for my body wash. I frown when I don’t feel the bottle near the tub’s edge. I look down, taking in the spot that usually houses my Winter Sugar soap.
I blink.
“HE TOOK MY FUCKING SOAP!” I rage, slamming my washcloth to the floor as I scream for all of my neighbors to hear.
After I have a meltdown in the shower and begrudgingly wash my body with shampoo, I stomp to my bedroom and throw on some tights and a T-shirt before storming into my kitchen.
I notice the plated breakfast first. Two fried eggs, two slices of bacon, and buttered toast rest on the counter’s top, a note folded beside it.
I walk over to it, hovering a hand over the food.
It’s still warm.
I eye the eggs, cooked just how I like them, as if they’re going to explode as I snatch the note and unfold it.
