Page 11 of To Love a Monster
Chapter Five
Lila
The next morning breathesheavily in the house.Strained, like it's braced for something.I feel it the second I open my eyes, tight air and thick silence.I swing my legs out of bed and pull a sweater over my shoulders, but it doesn’t shake off the now constant sense of being watched.My feet pad bare across the wood floor and into the studio.
The covered canvas leans like a body in hiding.My fingers shake slightly as I run them along the edges and I find myself hesitating.But then I force myself to pick it up and march through the door.I need to start taking back control and it starts with getting this stupid fucking painting out of my house.
The deck is sharp and cold, biting through my feet like tiny teeth.The pre-dawn light casts the trees in soft shadows.There’s no movement and no sound, but after the texts I received yesterday, I know he’s out there.The trash bin stands at the end of my deck and I prop the painting against it, making sure it’s visible for him to see I’ve tossed it out.Then I turn away and go back inside.
I rub my hands up and down my arms, forcing warmth into them.I flick the kettle on and watch it shake on the burner as I add sugar to my small mug.The first sip of coffee burns my mouth as I look out the window and choke on my next sip.No fucking way.I’d only turned my back for a few moments and it’s gone.The painting by the bin just vanished.And what’s in its place makes my stomach tighten.It’s a paintbrush.Nothing special, it’s just a single small brush.
I don’t think, I race outside and grab it, but as I twirl it around in my fingers I see it isn’t any one of mine.But the wood is warm.He was here.He took it, it had to be him.
Without thinking, I throw the paintbrush into the bin and hold up my middle finger to the air.I hope he’s watching now.I am so annoyed I just wish I could flip him off right to his fucking face.This is more than just a game.Between the texts and this?It feels like he’s trying to invade my mind.I turn around, looking to the tree line and along the lake shore, hoping to see him again but I don’t.But I know he’s somewhere in the shadows.I can feel his eyes on me and it only serves to make me even angrier.“Hey, asshole!Take your fucking brush and shove it.I’m done playing your stupid games.You hear me?You have my attention, so stop being a creep and come out already!”I shout.After a few moments of silence I turn and head back into the house.I think I need to blow off some steam.
****
Ipull my hair backand tie my shoes tight.I need to be in the crisp air, to run through it until the world blurs and smears behind me.Until there’s no feeling left in my head or my chest.The trail through the trees opens its mouth, eager to swallow me whole as my feet hit the dirt.My lungs inhale fog as I pump my legs, my breath hitting the silence like a hammer.
The path curves around the lake, hungry for the pounding rhythm of my escape.As I run along the path I search for the gnawing sense of not-alone and I wonder if he’d follow me as I run.The urge to look over my shoulder claws at my heels with every step, but I push it aside and instead focus on moving my body faster.
Usually, focusing on the actual act of running manages to take my mind off of pretty much any thought that bothers me but this time it doesn’t work.Not after yesterday's texts, the painting, the brush.The gut-deep feeling that every shadow hides his eyes makes my pulse thud, and what’s worse is that I don’t know if it makes me feel afraid or aroused that a sexy-as-fuck man has taken such an interest in me and has now taken to following me around.Does that make me crazy?Probably.I have a stalker.Any sane person would be fleeing the lake house and knocking down the doors to the local police station.Yet here I was, out for a jog instead.
The trees close in, skeletal and unforgiving as bare branches snap like small bones beneath my sneakers.The cold air rushes against my warm skin and a chill runs down my spine as I feel it.His eyes on me.The pull is becoming way too familiar now.It’s like a hand on my spine and a whisper curling my every thought into one.Run.
But that’s probably what he wants, isn’t it?To make me flee and to see me afraid?Well, fuck him.Fuck his games and his messages.I’m not running and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.This is a town I spent my childhood visiting and nobody gets to come here and start pulling strings to set me on edge.I skid to a stop and turn with my arms out, daring and inviting.“Come on then!”I yell.“I know you’re out there, you creep.Show yourself!”
I wait for a reply, for someone to step out of the shadows but there’s nothing.Just the sound of my breath and the stretch of my nerves.“Coward!”I scream, voice shaking as much as my legs.“Come out!I know you’re the guy from the art store and I know you’ve been following me since, so why keep pretending, huh?”
There’s nothing but silence, a quiet so sharp it cuts.And then, I hear it, a breath of sound that I swear sounds like a laugh.
I stand there, shoulders heaving.Alone and not-alone.“Come on!”I shout again, my heart beating hard in my chest.“Why fuck around with stupid text messages when I’m right here, ready to talk to you face to face?”I know I shouldn’t be encouraging this.Pushing him to come out when he could very well be dangerous.But I carry on anyway, feeling a tad more brave now that he’s not responded by stepping out of the shadows with an axe and a body bag.
“Ooh, big bad stalker got stage fright?”I laugh, bitter and empty.“Is this what gets you off?Watching women from the trees like a fucking weirdo?”
Again, there’s no answer and no movement.Just the cold smear of woods and sky.I’m about to give up and make my way back to the cabin when my phone vibrates in my pocket, heavy and taunting.Unknown number.
Keep that up and I’ll have no choice but to punish you.
I suck in a sharp breath as my heart pounds in my chest.My words cut through the branches and leaves, searching for where he could be hiding.“Oh, yeah?”I call, eyes narrowing into the dense forest.“Punish me how?By stealing my trash again?Leaving a scary little paint brush?Sending atext?Very fucking scary.I’m terrified, actually.”I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
