Page 88 of Lost on Ice
“I never did any of that.” I exhale, as my heart pounds faster and faster. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” he screams, totally exploding.
He backhands me across the face so hard that my chair nearly topples over. Pain radiates from my cheek and lights flash behind my eyes as my ears ring. Shaking my head to try to combat the disorientation, I try to keep Westbrook in my line of sight. He starts pacing in front of me again, waving that knife around.
“Vandalizing that bastard’s car was a messier job than I normally would do,” he growls. “But you knew I was watching and you let him touch you! Kiss you! LIKE A FUCKING WHORE! How fucking dare you! You’re MINE!” Spit flies out of his mouth as he gets right into my face, screaming at the top of his lungs.
I feel my entire body shivering with dread as I try to stay strong and let him keep ranting. Anything to buy myself some time. If I can just figure out how to untie these ropes, or pray that Sophie realizes something is wrong, then I may have a chance. I don’t even know how long it’s been since I texted her.
Westbrook keeps going, not noticing how I frantically try to pull at the ropes. “ I had no idea there were cameras in that parking lot. Tactical error on my part. That’s why I have to move up my timeline.”
I don’t know what he means. The pain is so distracting, but I know I have to focus. It’ll only make him angrier if he thinks I’m not paying attention.
“You betrayed me.” He stops and turns to glare at me again. “You fucked that brainless oaf of a hockey player, and since you won’t make things right, I’ll have to do it myself.”
Tears steam down my face as I shake my head. “What do you mean? Please! I don’t understand…”
He grabs my chair and jerks me around in a circle, kicking up dirt from the filthy cement floor. I’m suddenly gazing inside an old horsestall that’s missing its gate, and I feel a wave of nausea when I see the entire back wall is covered in images of me.
Oh my God.
He’s basically put together some sick, twisted shrine to me. There are photos of me in random places, just going around town, none the wiser that I’m being watched. A few photos show me leaving my apartment. Another shows me walking into my Dad’s house. That’s not all, though. There are pictures of me in a coffee shop I used to go to on the weekends in Harrisburg with Lilah. Photos of the two of us at the playground near our apartment in the city. Some of the pictures go back months and months, to well before I received his first text six months ago.
I nearly vomit when I spot a pair of my dirty underwear pinned to the wall, as well as a set of cherry-red scrubs I thought I’d lost.
“You a sick fuck,” I whisper in horror.
“I’m sick?” he bellows, yanking me back around to face him. “You’re the one who doesn’t appreciate me. It’s all your fault formaking me obsessed with you! I was just living my life, I was happy, and thenyoucame around…”
He’s getting more manic. His face is turning red and he’s squeezing one of his hands into such a tight first, his knuckles are going white.
“I…I’m sorry.” Try to calm him down. Appease him. Make him think I understand where he’s coming from. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Paul. I had no idea you felt this way about me.”
He scoffs and shakes his head as he grips my chair again and rattles it violently. My teeth chatter and I accidently nip my tongue.
“You’re a fucking liar,” he growls, leaning down and getting right in my face. “You knew exactly what you were doing to me, and I only ever tried to do what you wanted. Then you went and changed the rules, didn’t you? Got the fucking police involved and made them all think you aren’t some goddamn cocktease who’s been begging me for it for months now.”
I suck in a breath and try to speak in as calm a tone as possible. “Paul, please, just listen to me. You haven’t done anything that can’t be taken back yet. We can just leave and pretend this never happened…”
He steps closer and bends down so we’re face-to-face. Raising his knife, he grazes it over the top of my breast. He doesn’t break the skin, but the threat is there in the slight pressure of the blade against my skin.
“No,” he murmurs in a chilling voice. “I’m done pretending. You bleed so prettily, after all…”
Rage and disgust spike through me. This fucker!
My temper gets the better of me and I spit in his face.
A mistake.
His face turns dark red and his eyes flash with fury as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. His other hand stabs the knife he’s holding into my thigh. I scream in shock. Hot bloodstarts pouring down my leg. The room starts to spin and then goes totally black.
Pain. That’s all I’m conscious of. I want to sink deeper into the darkness because I know I won’t be able to feel the pain there, but it’s persistent, yanking me closer and closer toward the light.
I blink my eyes open and groan. Fuck… my leg feels like it’s on fire! I look down and find it tightly wrapped with gauze. Horrifying as it is, I feel briefly amused that at least it’s bandaged well — the perk of one’s stalker being a doctor, I guess — before I spot that same doctor standing over me, staring at me like I’m a fish on a hook.
He chuckles, the sound twisted and manic, as he reaches out and runs a finger down my cheek.
“You’re finally awake,” he murmurs. “It’s been nearly two hours. You’re lucky I was there to patch you up so you didn’t bleed out. You’ll scar so prettily, though, little lamb. I might have to leave you a few more.”
