#dark!syverson

“I said?” Officer Garret frowns as his phone makes chinging noises as he makes a combo move in whatever mobile game he’s addicted to.

“Well… the last officer. That what he said to do. Make notes, take pictures. I did it all. The marks on my door, the letters left at my door, the gifts–”

“So you’re reporting a secret admirer?” He scoffs.

“I’m reporting… I’m terrified. This man won’t leave me alone. I have video of him looking in my window! He climbed the fire escape and–” You sigh and throw up your hands, clapping them back down on the notebook full of time-stamped notes. “I just want to be left alone. He’s been calling me, texting me. All these weird things. Pictures of me on the bus and at work.”

“Right.” He puts his phone down and crosses his arms, “how would I prove these are aggravated? That this isn’t some friend pulling a smart one trying to scare you?”

“It’s been over a year, please. I’ve filed six reports. You told me– They told me this was the right way.” You beg. “You have to help me.”

He stares at you. He takes a deep breath and rolls his chair closer to his desk. He sits up and sniffs.

“Sure, a seventh report.” He clicks his mouse with a roll of his eyes. “The eight will be obstruction charges.”

You blink, stunned. All you’ve done is what you’re told. Don’t wear ear buds, stay aware, lock your doors, don’t take the same route every day, keep a record…

“Forget it.” You hiss and stand up, gathering your notebook and purse.

You turn and stomp out at the officer chuckles. You hurry out, face on fire, chest fuming, hands shaking. As you come outside, you rub your temples and sigh. Your heart races as helplessness tingles through your body.

What do you do? What can you do? You tried and done everything! You just want whoever it is to leave you alone.

It’s not like you have friends. That you draw attention. You do everything not to. You’ve never been a fan of it. You go to work, clock in, hide in your cubicle, and mind your business. Then you go home, making yourself as small as you can on your commute, and lock yourself in your tiny apartment. You pay everything on time and rarely venture out of your space. Especially since this all began.

You look around warily. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. People pass you by without notice. Whoever is watching you, is subtle. Clever.

You turn down the road and head to a different bus route than the one you took there. That’s one of your tricks, not that any of them work. You wait a couple minutes before the bus comes and step on. 

As everyone else buries their noses in books or screens, you’re alert. You sit in one of the side seats so your back is to the windows. There’s no one that stands out to you. You listen to the sniffles, the coughs, and the conversations. You get off two stops early and walk the rest of the way.

You approach your building with key in hand. You can feel the vibration of your phone in your purse. They’ve grown more steady the closer you get to home. You grip your key, ready to jab at anyone who might sneak up.

You check over your shoulders as you unlock the door. You go inside and close it until you hear the latch slide back into place. You take the stairs. You check behind you over and over and over. Until you’re dizzy.

You reach your apartment door and unlock the three locks on it. Your landlord won’t be impressed at the additional hardware. You lock each from the inside and double check the handle. You walk through the apartment, turning on every light; not that there’s more than the walk-through kitchen, the living room, bedroom, and bathroom. You even check the singular closet.

Alone, not safe. You put down your notebook and pull your bag into your lap as you sit on the sagging couch. You open your phone. There’s messages from six different numbers, on Instagram, through email. You can’t do it anymore. You can’t.

You put the phone down and push your bag off your lap. You stand and grip your head. You pace until you can catch your breath.

You go into the kitchen. You need water. You reach for the cupboard and stop. What the hell?

The knob is reattached. You’ve been struggling for weeks with the thing. Your landlord has ignored all your maintenance requests. So you leave it open or claw at the edge until it pops open. But now, the knob is back in place. Somehow.

You grab it and try to wiggle it. It’s screwed in tight. You open the cupboard. You can see the screw is new and the way they were able to fill in the wood to hold it. Maybe your landlord did it but you never received notice…

No. You really don’t think it was your no-good overlord.

You cover your face in exasperation. What can you do? You’re out of options. The police don’t help. You don’t have friends. Your family is only that by technicality.

You drop your arms and scurry around the wall to the front room. You grab your phone; block number, block, block, block. You tap app icons and go through the tedious steps; Account Settings; Delete Account; Are you sure? This is an irreversible action. Yes, yes, yes.

You don’t exist anymore. You’re nothing. You’re no one! Leave me alone!

You slam your phone down and huff. You just want it to stop. You need it to stop. Whoever it is just needs to go away. Why won’t they just get the message? You don’t want them.

💜

You haven’t slept in your bed in months. You’re never tired enough, calm enough to settle down. You stay on the couch and watch TV in a daze. To the detriment of your back as you feel the metal frame of the couch through the worn down cushions

Your head pounds and you close your eyes. You lean back and let your body slacken. The tension never truly goes. You listen to the conversation of fictional characters with more interesting lives than yours. Safer too.

Your mind swims as the room turns to static around you. Your skin prickles and your ears ring lowly as fatigue washes over you. You need to move. You need to get away from this place. From them.

Your eyes snap open as you sense a shift. The TV’s still on but the lights aren’t. You don’t turn them off when you’re home. Never.

The metal frame of the couch creaks. Your mouth opens, ready to scream, as a hand strokes your arm. Before your horror can erupt, a finger presses to your lips.

The figure hushes you. “It’s okay. It’s just me, honey.”

Your heart lurches and your stomach knots. You’re nauseous as the deep voice infests your ears. You shake as this thick finger traces your lips. The man hums.

“I was scared. You disappeared.” He drawls as he continues to pet your arm. “Right after you were with them police… I thought… something happened.”

You shudder and heave in a shaky breath. You turn to look at the shadow turned real. The man is big. Much bigger than you. Burly. HIs blue eyes twinkle softly in an otherwise coarse face. His head is shaved, brows and beard thick, nose as rugged as his square jaw. You quiver.

“Who… who are you?”

He smiles and cradles your chin. “What? You know me. Honey, I know you get my letters. My messages. My calls.”

Your eyes sting with fear as you lean away from him. He catches you around the throat and tuts.

“You’re not running away from me, are you? That’s not why you were talking to Officer Garret.” He growls.

You blink. “How–”

“How can I keep you safe if you hide?” He snips over you.

Your lashes flutter and you grab his wrist. With both hands as you realise how thick it is. You try to push him off. “Let me go.”

“Honey, calm down. I’m just checking on you. Making sure you’re okay. You scared me.”

You stare at this stranger, this spectre who’s haunted you for so long. You shake your head.

“You. Scare. Me.” You whisper.

He frowns and his hand shakes. Then he lets you go and rubs his palms together. He slumps but it does little to lessen his size.

“No, I don’t want that. I just want…” He looks at you again and reaches for you. “I just want to take care of you.”

He touches your cheek again. He turns his hand and brushes his knuckles along your skin. A surge of frustration and fear swells in your veins. You turn your head and sink your teeth into his thumb.

He grunts and recoils. You let go as his other arm swings out. He backhands you off the couch with a crack that has your ears humming. You land on the hardwood with an oomph. You roll over and crawl away from him.

“Stop! Please! Leave me alone!” You cry out. You suck in air as you push yourself higher on your hands and knees. “Someone! Anyone! Help–”

He steps over you and smothers your shouts with his large hand. He hooks his other arm around you and scoops you off the floor easily. You thrash and claw at him as your voice evaporates behind his roughened palm.

You bow your head forward and throw it back. You feel and hear the impact. He snarls and shakes you, barreling ahead to crush you against the wall. He knocks the breath from you. He pulls his arm from around your middle and grips the back of your skull. He pins you to the wall by your head. He sniffs wetly and snorts.

A bright sunny fall day gusted cold wind at your feet and blew leaves around you on your walk back into the city library. Opposite to the tone beyond the glass doors the smell of paper and scribbles welcomed you back into the fold. With your lunch break over, you returned back behind the counter, took off your coat and hung it on the hook. And then, refreshed, you continued finishing the update for the catalog of fairy tales.

You intended to wrap up the project in the next few hours. All that was left was sorting the cards back under the topic at hand. In a room off from the greeting counter you stood behind clear windows. Behind a desk with stacks of already organized cards you began to sort them by year. It was quiet work, but enjoyable as it offered the chance to zone out on a monotonous task. 

You weren’t at it long before the interruption. Looking up passed the front greeting area a man stood. He was in conversation with Thomas the library technician. Your eyes focused on the man’s face, handsome but woolly with a thick dark beard and a head of wind blown hair that was loosely curly. While relaxed as he spoke with Thomas he kept his hands in his pockets as he casually glanced around until his eyes landed on you through the glass.

His smile stayed as your eyes met his, you kindly smiled back before returning to your work. Of course, it wasn’t long after that moment that Thomas was already behind the counter and approaching your work room.

“Patron here doesn’t seem to know how a library works,” he whispered. And you glanced back behind him, the man's eyes were locked on the two of you. 

“Anyway, he needs resources on ponds,- I have a lot of software and media to unload. Do you mind?”

“You’re lucky I’m nearly done.” 

Thomas’ grimace cracked into a grateful smile and stepped aside to let you pass. Walking through the door you were met with a bright eyed closed mouth grin from the man as he followed your path from the room. Coming around the side of the counter his hands emerged from his pockets as he spoke with his hands.

He wrinkled his fingers into one another humbly and leaned over toward you. “I’m lost,” He said gently.

He was tall, though not a giant, but his shoulders and frame definitely took up your point of view. 

“How may I help you?”

His hands returned to his pockets deflating the thick wind jacket a bit. “Ponds, I need a few books on the construction, let’s start there.”

You smiled with understanding and without even having to look it up you remembered an author with a series of books. You gestured for the man to follow and he did so, quite closely. 

“I bet you’ve worked here for a while.” he said softly. He was next to you, or as near as possible as you wound around tables towards the back shelves. 

“Oh, I’ve been here for about five years now.”

He tsked his teeth and sucked in hard. “Wow, who knew such a small town would have had an opening.”

His presence was intimidating, to say the least. It was a nagging feeling. He stayed behind you, his presences invading your space. And with the rows of books as a backdrop to him it was hard to forget you had a way out at the other end of the towering shelves. 

“Exactly, I’m lucky to be here.”

He smacked his lips, “Well I’m glad you’re here.”

It was an odd comment, especially for the location. The consideration that perhaps he was hitting on you in an awkward manner didn’t elude you. 

You stopped in front of the shelves, on your tiptoes you reached for the last ascending shelf. But he was there, his arms longer, fingers that could grab further pulled the book out. 

“This one?” he asked. And once again there were only inches in between you and him. “Everything You Need To Know About Ponds?” he said with cheer.

You were looking at the cover of the book but from your peripheral it was completely apparent he was staring. It would have been a normal interaction but the heat rising from your neck to your face left you flustered in his presence.

He leaned in, smelling like a manly soap of some kind and whispered. “Does it really know everything?” in a hushed amusement.

You looked up and his blue eyes were staring back at you, they were icy except for one that had a brown freckle within it. You couldn’t remember the last time a man was this close to you that wasn’t employed here. Far too long, and far too uncomfortable you took a half step back. 

“Well, there are others up there. Grab a couple with varying topics, it will give you a more broad understanding. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

The man smiled and leaned back while still watching you. “If I think of something, you’ll be the first to know.”

With that you nodded and walked back to your station. Though you were not there long until the man was once again approaching the counter. No one else was there but you to help him borrow the book so you did so. Accessing the computer you pulled up the registry. 

“Card please?” you asked.

He pulled out his wallet and handed it to you. Still with a pleasant expression he stared at you as you continued the process of loaning the book out. 

“Sloan Syverson, correct?”

He nodded. “My friends call me Sy, though. That means you too.” 

You glanced from the computer to his face. Confirming his tone was just as you suspected from earlier though he was no longer smiling, but his eyes were staring at you with something unspoken. 

“Go on, say it.” he encouraged you sweetly.

Instead of saying no, you smiled uneasily. “Sy?”

He suddenly burst with a trustworthy smile, “There you go.” 

You continued to process his order and was grateful for the screen instead of looking him directly in the eyes. 

But what disturbed you the most was what he said next. His voice was still friendly, overly so to the point you looked back to him. 

“I want to take you back to my house.” You were shocked, but still in the motion of handing him back his card.

“I want to lick at what’s between your legs.”

“Can you be a good girl?” he paused, watching your eyes growing wider. “I bet you will once I’m through with you.”

The man named Sy slid his card back in his wallet. He looked back at you with a soft smile across his lips, he winked too. And then he picked up his books and began to walk toward the doors leaving you still watching his back as he walked out.

Nothing much happened after the day Sy left. Much to your irritation the head librarian didn’t see him as much of a concern.

“We get all kinds in here. Part of the job.”

Bullshit. You had been here for five years and never once until two weeks ago had you ever encountered a patron such as Sy. Even so, you pushed the moment to the back of your head and pulled through work in a haze of lukewarm worry. He would be back.

And right on time, there he was walking across the space of the library to the section you had shown him. Unfortunately it was near where you were too. Fighting against the policies of the library you had to acknowledge him but didn’t want to. So it came out as a half-hearted crooked grin toward him. 

You began to look busier by stacking more books in your arms. Slinking back toward the next aisle he suddenly said quietly. “I think I know where to go now.” You looked at him as he passed the end of the row you were about to disappear into and he winked. 

You knew there was no one else other than archiving staff in the building. It was your turn this morning anyway to be in charge of borrows and returns. The pep talk ensued as you began to quickly shelve the books. Check him out fast, don’t make eye contact, interact with passable kindness.

The string of worry was seemingly endless, winding its way up your spine, curling around your stomach and chilling your bones. He was handsome, appeared decent but when he opened his mouth something other wholly dangerous was presented. You couldn’t shake the feeling, even now with a counter between you and him. An overwhelming sensation that you had to go and get away drove up your worry now into anxiety pointing at one single fact. You were not safe.

When you grabbed for his card, tight muscles caused the slick piece of plastic to fumbled to the counter. “Easy there, precious.”

You heard him clearly, but even so his voice was a blurry stain in the back of your head to the urge to hurriedly get him out of your space. 

Entering his information faster than you had ever done so before you crossed the card back to him. And you become eerily concerned when you narrowly escape his fingers grazing over yours.

“No need to be nervous. I’ll be gentle.”

The only comment was no comment to his flirtations. Stiff and noticeably uncomfortable at his bright smiling face, you refused to look at him directly and simply nodded when you completed the transaction. One step further from giving him nothing more you turned away from the counter with “Have a nice day.”

And you did not turn back around until you were sure he was gone. Finally, taking a whole and entire deep breath you braced against the counter and stared around the library. 

You had to be going crazy, right? 

This had gone too far. First, a week ago at the store you saw him there. Maybe he had always gone to this store, at that particular time. Of course it was one of two grocery stores in town but now, you knew what he looked like and definitely noticed him. And then, a few days from that, at the general store where you shopped for cheap household goods, he was there. Clearly he had entered after you because his cart was empty. He wasn’t staring at you but there was a distinct feeling of chase. And yesterday, after work about 5:30 a big blue truck was the only other vehicle in the lot other than yours. As you drove by it by the only exit it wasn’t hard to catch the silhouette of his hair and big shoulders. 

But this, your coffee shop, your favorite out of the way drinking hole was invaded. Now you knew he was following you. This was your main spot, you always came here for lunch, had an iced coffee and caught up with your messages. 

You sat in your regular corner with your back to the wall, front facing the door and wide widows to give you a complete picture. Sy stepped in while running a hand through thick black curly hair. It then rubbed over his bushy beard as he stepped up to the counter to order. 

Why was he here? Here??

Your hand down by your thigh immediately tightened around your jeans. Flexing with unreleased worry you glanced back down at your phone when he started to turn in your direction. Quickly you gathered up your things and stood up. 

Walking far away from him as you could, you strode toward the shop's door. “It was nice to see you again,” he called from behind you. 

Gripping the handle hard, and on impulse from your years of retail service you turned to him. He was smiling again in that sweet, pleasant way that did little for his unemotional eyes. Confirming your fears, absolutely telling you without a doubt he knew who you were and why he was there, you pushed on the door. You said nothing back and walked out of the shop. 

------ -------------------------------- ------------------------- ----

You hung up the phone and dipped your head into your hand. You weren’t crying but close to it as you tossed the phone back into your purse. 

Calling the police was the correct reaction. But now you doubted the path to how you came to it after the officer told you there was little that could be done. He wasn’t technically breaking any laws. “There’s no law against being in the same place as you,” they had said.

But it was so much more than that and you knew it. 

The day at work passed in a blur of books, in-take, and piles of cards and with it you prayed every time the front doors opened that it wasn’t him. Even when you walked across the lot that evening your car was the only one today. Maybe you were seeing things. Or better yet, maybe he had given up.

A short, uneventful dinner of packaged quick noodles settled your stomach enough to lay down after your shower. Your comforter of baby blue fading into sunset orange like a crisp fall evening invited you to climb in. And when your eyes closed and rolled to the back of your head sleep did not come. Turning in bed something papery hit your left hand. 

You pulled it out and with the light from the pale light of the street lamp you held it up above your head. Something was written on with big bold letters. Sitting up, with your eyes directly on it you read the note.

I love you. Precious one, you smell so good too. Look up baby, your man is here.  

The paper began to vibrate between your fingers. Hands trembling, a worried tickle popping up along your spine connected the dots. Something moved across your bed room and you cursed yourself for always sleeping in such a dark house. You were in the only light of the room while the closet at the other end of the room was in complete darkness. But there was more, a figure blacker than the shadow was moving, growing bigger as it came forward.

This was a dream, your mind yelled. Wide eyed you sat there, shallow breaths fell from your lips until finally a naked man came into view. Tears poured then as he came fully into the light. Sy stood at the end of your bed, shadows cut across his muscular body and face. Though there were dark rings where his eyes should have been the corners were pinched as he began to smile.

You scrambled across the bed but not fast enough. As soon as you got to your knees you were thrown back to the bed. He was all over you holding you down with a strength you had never known. Besides his power, he was heavy as he pressed his chest against yours and rested his hips between your legs.

“Come’on girl-” Sy began but you tried to kick, started to scream but he shut your mouth. “Now, now baby. Listen..I’m not leaving anytime soon. Okay?” You mumbled and then yelled again through his fingers. “Shhh..all that ain’t going to help none.”

“You have to let me go..” you blubbered past his fingers.

He chuckled, “That’s not gunna work. I’ve been watching you for months. We’re so perfect for each other. You can’t cook to save your life, but I can, baby. You don’t even go out, have friends..well I’ve never had really close people either. You’re alone and so am I. Now we have each other.”

His smile dropped at the same time his hand slid from your lips. Enveloping you within the incredible heat of his body he wrapped his hand around your throat. He licked his lips, and then kissed you lightly. “I even have a home for us. Took out most of my savings but it’s yours..I’m yours.”

He kissed you again and didn't stop there.

He suddenly shifted to the edge of the bed and pulled out a bundle of thin rope. You wrestled with him, but not for long. Easily he snatched your wrists together and then attached the rope to your intricate wooden headboard. How he touches you next was like your body was fragile ground or had finally achieved some great feat. Grazing with his finger tips from your throat and over your tee-shirt Sy bundled it in his hands and ripped it open over your breasts. 

You used the headboard, and your weight tied to it as leverage enough to bring your body up and kick at his ribs. He hunched over in pain, but only for a second. And when he returned Sy grabbed you by the throat again and smacked you hard across the face. Blinding white coated your vision.

“Baby, I’m sorry about that..- but you’re really gunna wanna hold still if you want to feel good.”

Shaking now until skin is tight and muscles rigid you can't collect your thoughts. Your momentary lapse is his success, Sy’s hands stay flush against your naked body as he descends to your underwear. Within an instant he has them off, his big arms pressing down on your inner thighs as he buries his face between your folds. 

With disgusting accuracy he rolled his tongue around the nub of your clit. Staying there, sucking and licking at it as if he had always done so. You turn your face away, an escape maybe, but you hoped it expressed that you didn’t want this. When his tongue entered you though, you jerked and he continued to taste you anyway.

He brought himself back up after, didn’t bother to wipe his face as he kissed you again. The air pushes out of you as he falls to his elbows and slips into you. Heavy breaths waft over your face, his huffing grows harder the faster he pumped. His large hands hold you down more above your armpit tightly, rocking into you, pinning you down and there was no escaping Sy. 

He slides into you over and over easily, spreading you, taking you. “I won’t leave you,” Sy keeps pumping, his beard scraps over your chin and jaw. He kisses the apple of your cheek. Then opens his mouth, licks there greedily tasting your tears, and then bites gently. Holding your skin between his teeth he thrusts into you.

He says your name in such a delicate manner that it has you turning your eyes to his face. He said it again, this time dragging out of his throat and you feel him hardening more inside of you.  

He stared at you dead in the eyes as he whispered a promise. “You are mine now,” He purred your name again. Pumping long and deep like he was making love to a long lost soulmate. He pecked your cheek in a trail down to your mouth. “I’ll love you forever…”

“And I won’t leave you..” 

The next morning you awoke to the smell of stale skin. Bruised wrists were now free, your mind begged your body to get up from the bed. Naked from the waist down, with the rags of your tee-shirt clinging to your arms you looked around. Sy wasn’t there, the bedroom door was open and you didn’t dare think to leave that way. 

Refocusing on the familiar surrounding, naturally you gazed at the window. Your whole home was on the ground floor. With horror, wrestling from somewhere in the kitchen got you up fast from the bed. You ran to the corner of the room, slid open the window and pushed out the screen. 

“Where’re you going baby?” 

His voice is the catalyst, scratching at the base of the window, throwing your body through it and hitting the ground with a scream. It doesn’t stop even when you run through the yard, to the next yard across the street, to the door of your neighbor. 

The next five hours carry through you. A smudge of memories really, talking with the police, going to the hospital to finally return to your home. Walking into the bedroom. Mechanically going about changing the bedding like nothing ever happened. But your eyes caught the threads of the rope snagged in the creases of your headboard. You finger them barely feeling anything. 

But that wasn’t true. Hunched over on your bed you stared at the strands. Memories too hard to fight back devastated your resolve. Fat tears rained, the hard wall blocking your emotions crumbled as you dropped to the bed.

This day marks the first of many days of heartbreak.

7 months later

Two years in prison wasn’t near enough. You knew that, the police knew that. And yet through a judicial technicality he eluded most of it. The person you were before Sy was slowly returning, though different still because who are we if nothing but a collection of past events. You hadn’t expected this though. 

You had settled for what life had for you now. The events belonged to you, it was your story after all, that continued to unfold since meeting Sy. He could fuck right off. 

Delicately, you stroked your big belly soothing the kicking within. You half wondered if it could feel your fear like it could hear your heartbeat. Staring at your house from the drive way you decided to continue that mind set of stanch balance at any positive moment you could get. 

You process what it means to have him back out in the world while you put away groceries. Cans in the pantry, spices in the rack and all you can think about is the moment he returned. 

Because he would. 

Carrying vegetables to the sink for washing your eyes catches an object on the counter. For a few seconds you wonder if this is the moment. Because on the surface a knife sat there that you couldn’t remember putting there. By God, you know pregnancy has brought on terrible side effects including memory blips. But this, it was the longest you had and it was sitting with the handle pointed out to the room. 

“That’s my baby isn’t it?”

You jerked so hard at the voice you dropped the bunch into the sink and gripped it like the house itself shook. With tension in your back so tight it should have broken it, you turned around slowly. It hits you hard that you were right, he would have never left you be.

Disbelieving your eyes you can only manage a simple shake of your head. Sy stepped into the kitchen with heavy booted footfalls. A sob shook from your chest, even though you had sworn to yourself he would never see your emotions again. 

“Precious girl, I’ve missed you so much.” Sy kept walking, your heart threatened to stop.

He was staring at you with that familiar kind face, and sincere eyes from when you had first met him. As if he were seeing a buddy after so much time had passed and he smiled genuinely despite your terror.

In front of you now with his powerfully built frame blocking your escape he whittled at the rim of his cap with his fingers and thumbs. 

“Why’d you have to go and do that? We love each other..I love you.”

If there was ever a moment to react it was now. You blinked quickly and cleared your throat before you spoke. “I don’t know who you are.” you said with your voice twisting out of your throat.

He tossed his cap on top of the knife behind your left side. He leaned in putting one hand on each side of you. He tilted his head, blue eyes roaming over your face with a quizzical expression. 

“Sure you do…” You flinched when his hand left the counter, he dipped down past your belly and shoved his hand under the hem of your dress. You stiffened immediately even though he easily slid his hand up to the fabric of your underwear. 

He bit his lip, glanced down to where he was rubbing his fingertips over your mound. “I’ve been here--you whined like a little puppy when I stuck it in.”

He doesn’t stop even though now his eyes are drifting to the countertops and floor. “You’ve changed shit around.” 

His eyes fall back to yours, kindly with the love he professes. “Threw some out too but you kept this didn’t you?” Sy’s hand leaves your warmth, travels up underneath your dress to your protruding stomach and spreads his fingers wide over it. 

“I told you...I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

Shivering entirely from the inside out, your voice came out in a whisper. “It’s my baby..”

“Oh come on now sweetheart..we made that together. We’re as good as married…”

The situation spiraled as his hands, both now, were under your dress kneaded your plump breasts. His eyes darken, it was the first time you had ever seen them do this. You slap at his face, hard and move to the left toward the knife. He picks up fast at just what you have planned. Snatching up your wrists before you could even touch it he turned you around forced you face down. 

Sy was inside of you before there was time to know what he was going to do. You reached for the knife again only for him to grab it and throw further down the counter. 

Worst nightmare come true, you are back to where you started with the kind patron. Sobs unfold from your lips. 

“It’s okay, precious…” He tangles your hair in his hand, wretches your neck back, your body too closer to his chest. He bends you back, belly heaving back and forth as he forces his way in repeatedly. “I’m here now..”

You brace against the sink as his hand finds its way back under your dress. He presses it against your stomach, holding you by the hair, pulling you back and gripping your stomach he fucked you hard and fast. 

Grunting, his whispers come out ground and rough around his teeth. “I’m yours baby,” He hastily moaned as soon as you went to move away, but it doesn’t help you. It only benefits him by freeing up more space so he could penetrate further. 

“Tried to put me-- away didn’t you...bi--bitch,” 

Sy’s voice growled and rolled into a drawn-out curse. His hands shoved at you until he had your hips at his mercy. At your forced submission you can feel the muscles in his thighs at yours slapping and sweating. Your sobs rattled with the vicious rhythm. 

“I told you..--wasn’t going.”

To the hilt, Sy drove in with an anguished hiss and went still.“Fuck, sweetheart.”

He slipped from you as he pulled at your shoulders forcing you to turn back around toward him. Both breathing hard, he held your head in his hands. Frightful goosebumps ignite where he touches you, breaths on you. “I love you..I do.” 

He pried your head up to him and kissed you. Scratching his beard over your lips and chin he sticks his tongue in too hoping you would respond. When you don’t he continues to squeeze your head prompting you to stiffly reciprocate the kiss. 

“You’re coming with me.” he says between his tender pecking. “I’ll help you pack.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “I can’t wait to start our life together honey. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“You no good fucking bitch,” she spits beside you. “How many times I gotta tell you to get out!” 

You turn over and look up at her. She snarls and puffs like a rabid beast. Her glare scalds. She hates you so much. She always has. 

She slams the screen door, then the inside one. You sit up and fix the backless sneakers on your feet. You check the scrapes on your knees and sigh. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time. 

How could you know she had someone over? You didn’t hear them. You thought she’d be happy to see the dishes done but that chore only riled her. She broke three plates before she latched onto you. Scratches blaze on your head. 

You get up and look across the street. Leah watches from her front porch, shaking her head as she puffs on a menthol. No one does anything. They only judge. Around here, it’s not exactly unusual. 

Your purse is inside, your phone too. Shoot. You’ll have to wait her out. Whoever she’s got in her room probably gave her some pills. She’ll be out of it soon. 

You’re not proud of that thought. You should be concerned. You used to be. Now you just accept what she is. You rely on it. Her addiction keeps her weak; keeps her from hurting you worse. 

You turn and trod along the street. You could go down to the corner shop and ask Darren to spot you a gatorade. He’s usually pretty understanding. He knows your mom and that you always come to pay for whatever she wanders out with. 

Twenty-one years. It doesn’t feel that long, yet it’s still an eternity. Things never change, they only get worse. Your mom’s hair turns gray and the lines in her face get deeper and her speech more slurred. You only get weaker, more tired, more passive. It’s just the way is. Why fight? Fighting only gets you hurt. 

A truck rolls by and the tires dust up dirt. You cough at the tan paint above the silver bumper. You watch the exhaust chuff out down the street and veer around the corner, just past the corner shop. 

You approach the Penny Mart and shield your eyes against the sun. The truck idles further down the street. You shrug and continue inside. 

Darren pop gum between his teeth. You wave and head for the fridges. You take out a red gatorade and come back to the counter. 

“Can I come back later?” You ask. “Mom locked me out again.” 

He gnaws on the gum and shakes his head, “uh uh.” 

“Oh?” The door chimes as another customer enters. “You know I’m good for it.” 

“Manny says no,” he shrugs. “Your mom threw a box of cereal at him.” 

“She... did?” You’re overly aware of the man behind. He clears his throat. “Alright then, guess I’ll put this back.” 

“Well, you know... I could bend the rules,” he smirks and winks. “Come in the back...” 

You grimace. “I’ll put it back.” 

You turn and march away, skin crawling at his suggestion. It’s not the first time but for him to do it in front of someone else, that’s humiliating. You open the fridge as the man steps up to the counter. 

“I’ll take a pack of lites and twenty on the pump. Throw in a red gatorade,” he says. 

You shut the door and drag your feet across the unmopped tile. This place matches the neighbourhood. You’re sure the prices help distract from the expiry dates, too. 

Footsteps circle around the shelves. The fridge opens. A whistle keeps you from leaving. “Girl, come get your drink.” 

You stop and turn to face the man. His head is shaved close but he sports a thick goatee. He wears a sleeveless flannel, the peek of a chain shimmering around his neck. 

“Um, me?” 

“Come on,” he beckons you. “Hot day out.” 

You hesitate and cross the store. People aren’t all rotten around here. Mrs. Haggin fed you more times than you can count and Ted let you hang around his garage on the hotter days. Still, strangers aren’t common and aren’t often friendly. 

“Thanks, uh, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Two bucks,” he clucks. 

“Right.” 

Two bucks you don’t have. Pathetic. He holds the door open and you retrieve the same bottle of Gatorade. 

“Thanks again,” you say. 

“Never know. One day, someone might help me out,” he sniffs. 

He lets the door fall shut. You turn and walk away. He follows. You have a bad feeling as he stays close. He pushes the door open above your shoulder before you can. 

Stupid. He probably expects the same thing Darren wanted. You step out and to the side. 

“I can’t pay you back,” you offer the bottle. 

“Keep it,” he waves you off and drops off the pavement ledge onto the tarmac. “Have a good one.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

He walks away. Not a look back at you. You watch him approach the truck by the pumps. Tan with a silver bumper. They must’ve needed the top-up. 

You kick off the curb and drag your feet away. You’ll go down to the park and find a table in the shade. It’s swelter. The sun beats down on you mercilessly. 

You peel away the wrapper and twist the nozzle on the bottle. You drink thirstily as you step on the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...’ 

The truck rumbles back at the shop and you hear it rolling toward you. It passes slowly and you pretend to examine the label of the bottle. As nice as it was, you’re not stupid. It’s pity. Everyone feels bad for you, but they don’t really care. 

You follow the trail through the tall grasses behind the condemned donut shop down to Smith’s Park. It’s not much of one. Mosquitoes buzz over a pond not much bigger than a puddle, tadpoles swirling in the shallows, and the trees sway over splintering benches and rotting picnic tables. 

You sit and suck on the bottle. Couple of hours and you can go home. Home... not really where you belong, just always where you’ve been. 

The brush rustles but you don’t pay any mind to it. There are coyotes around here but they’re skittish. Squirrels too but you don’t have much for them to steal. 

You put your elbows on the table and peel off the label on the bottle as the condensation soaks through. You lay it out flat on the wood. The dingy smell of the neglected boards clings in the air. 

A twig snaps. You look up as a shadow passes between the bushes. Some kids will come down to catch tadpoles. You did when you were young. Your mom dumped the toads down the toilet once they grew.  

Another crack. You twitch and look over your shoulder. You grip the bottle and turn straight. Your voice catches as you’re face with an unexpected best. A man in a ski mask. 

It’s so absurd, you think it’s a joke. Some of the hunters like to mess around but this isn’t the area for them. It’s not thick enough. They go up north. 

He’s big. The epitome of burly. He wears a grey tee shirt damp with sweat and cargo pants. He stares at you through the slits of his mask. 

“Um,” you stand. “Sorry, I was just...” 

You step over the bench and turn to head back down the trail. There’s another man. He’s in all black. He must be melting in this heat. You reel back. 

“Oh...” the back of your knees hit the bench. “I think...” you sidle along. “I’ll just...” 

You turn and run towards the thicket of wiry bushes. Before you can reach them, another man in another mask pops out. He wears a sleeveless flannel... 

You throw the gatorade at him and spin back. You’re caught by the other two men. 

“Shhh,” the one behind you hushes. 

You struggle with them, kicking the dirty, writhing as they twist your arms behind you. The man at your back secures your wrists together as the peel of duct tape tears through the hum of insects. 

“Please, who are you? Stop!” You whine. This can’t be happening. What the hell is this? 

The man in black keeps hold of your upper arm and signals with his other hand. A cloth covers your eyes. You whimper as it’s knotted behind your head. Another is shoved into your mouth. You gag. You’re shushed again. 

“It’s alright, darlin’,” you think the bigger man says. It comes from his direction as the man behind you pets your hair. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Quiet,” another warns. “Get her legs.” 

You fight to evade their grasp blindly. You kick out and your ankles are seized and forced together. The duct tape winds around your ankles. 

Your eyes water behind the cloth. It’s more than fear, it’s realisation. You’re not going to go home, but worse, you don’t think anyone will care. They won’t even notice. 

You babble around the fabric in your mouth. You choke as you’re taken off your feet, carried between two men like luggage. You’re just a thing. Why is this happening to you? 

You squirm and shake, trying to break away from the arms hooked around your torso and legs. A hinge creaks, a car door, then another metallic whine. No, it’s not a car.  

You’re loaded into the truck bed and strapped down to the ridge metal. You blink as your eyes burn. You quiver in horror as you sense a deep darkness cast over you and the truck lurches. The door of the bed snaps shut and closes you in. 

Weight shifts in the axel as the muffled noise of the doors opening seep through. You whimper as the engine rumbles to life. You try to roll one way or the other. You can’t. 

The way they worked, so methodical, it assures you that there is no escape. There’s no loophole for you to find. You’re stuck. That suffocating realisation constricts in your chest. No, no, no. It can’t be real. 

You shudder and replay the scene in your head. It happened so fast yet as you relive it, it feels like slow motion. The large man, the man in black, the third one in his...sleeveless flannel. 

The cloying flavour of sugary electrolytes stick to your tongue. You shudder. The man in the store. He followed you? Why? 

Think about it. What did he see? A woman with no money. A woman alone. A woman wandering off into the shadows. 

How stupid. You would never expect it. Never think that anyone would bother. You always just stay out of the way and no one bothers you. Only Darren and his gross leers. Only Rob next door when his wife’s not talking to him. 

The truck bounces over the road. You can hear the other cars around you as they head into the city. Right through the mid-afternoon rush. How many people are driving by completely unaware of you hidden in the back. 

The pit in your stomach deepens and you whine. You try to scream. You can’t. You try to kick. You can’t. 

You dizzily stumble around and hide it in the brush. If he's following, you can't leave any sign. Your mouth is full of saliva as your throat is scratchy and dry. You can't remember the last time you ran like that.

You keep moving. Even if you can't run, you have to keep moving. Sy will be after you. You got him deep but not deep enough.

If only you could have gotten him further over, right in the middle, maybe you could've killed him. The thought doesn't chill you, only your apathy to it. That's another thing he took from you. Your compassion, your trust, your naivete.

You trip and slide down an incline. At the bottom, sticks jab into your skin. You fix the shirt around you. The two buttons you managed to hook are loose. Your had bobbles as you blink and crawl over the ground.

You stand up and look along the curling road. Not a real one, not paved, but two dusty lines worn into the ground from the roll of tires. You turn toward the moon and start to walk.

As the adrenaline calms to a baseline thrum, your heartbeat slows enough to think. What do you do? Sy's a soldier, you're sure he's trained to survive, to find people. You're not trained for anything. And you're almost naked.

You wince as you step on a sharp stone. You hear something. A strange but familiar noise distorted by your ringing ears. You turn as a light flashes in your direction.

You dodge out of the way as you think it's him at first. But then the light splits and becomes two. It's not a flashlight, it's headlights. You hop back into the tire tracks and wave your arms.

"Hey, hey! I'm here! I'm here!" You holler and stagger.

You stare down the truck, certain it's going to run you over, then the brakes squeal to a stop. You gape at the driver as you see his shadow lean over the wheel. You can't move.

He opens his door and gets out. He strides along the hood as he sniffs, "now what're you doing all the way out here?"

You should probably wonder the same of him but all you know is you need to get away. You sputter and show your hands. "Please, I need help. Please. There's someone after me. He hurt me--"

"Who?"

"Just... this guy. Please, there's no time."

"Heh, you're telling me this isn't a trick," he scoffs and turns away, stomping up to his car door. "I know the type, you distract me and--"

He croaks and wheezes and you hear the new sound, the one you hadn't heard before that night. The noise of metal in flesh, squelching and stabbing deep. The man's body is hurled away, revealing the hulking shadow with the knife still in hand.

Your lip trembles as Sy bares down on you. His arm is soaked in his own blood, his hand in that of the man who's on the ground moaning. You take a step back, keeping your hands up.

"Sy, please, I'm sorry. I was... I was scared, please," you beg.

His breath grits in his throat like a growl, his chest rising and falling heavily as he advances on you. His eyes are pool of shadow as the moonlight gleams on the blood the slickens his flesh. He's naked, shameless, mindless. He only has one end. Yours.

You want to look around for something, anything, to get away, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

"I love you, sugar," he snarls as he gets closer and you take a pace back for everyone one of his. "How could you do this to me? I been good to you." He grips the knife tighter and his shoulders puff up. "I don't wanna do it..." he grits. "I DON'T WANNA DO IT!'

His holler echoes through the trees and leaves rustle as night birds scatter. Your heart seizes and your muscles buzz. The world narrows to just that moment, that road, and you see the dead end before you. This is it. It's over. You tried and it didn't work. He's going to kill you.

He growls again and adjusts his grip on the knife. He lunges forward and in an instant, he's hurtling sideways. He grunts as he lands in the dirt, the knife flying into the unseen brush. The snapping and snarling intermingles with Sy's yelps and grunts as you watch the dog's silhouette tear at her owner.

"Aika! Ahh!" Sy furiously tries to shield himself and she latches onto his hand. He garbles and growls as he struggles with the canine.

You don't think. You just move. You go to the truck and hop in the driver seat. The engine's still going.

You hear that man on the ground. He's gurgling. He's alive. It's not fair to leave him. He wasn't going to help you...

No, no. Sy didn't take all of you.

You get out and go to the man. He's not very big. Spindly with a bit of a pooch.

"Hey," you hiss. "Can you get up?"

He gives wet breaths and groans. He reaches for you. You plant your feet as you hook his arm around your neck. You haul him up, barely, and stagger with him toward the truck. He gets himself up into the front seat and you shove him across and follow him in.

You hear a yelp and the sound of paws scattering. You slam the door shut and hit the gas. The truck hurtles forward and you don't look back. If he's still alive, you don't want to know. You just want to get out of here. You want to be gone.

💮

The bright lights blind you as a figure blurs before you. The thumb tugs at your eyelid as the glow makes your eye water. The hand lets you go and the doctor comes into focus.

"Shock," he declares as you sit on the high hospital bed, still only in the dirty flannel shirt. "Nurse."

A woman in teal scrubs comes over and drapes a backless gown over you. Your legs dangle over the edge as you stare. They stare at you then the man in his white coat scribbles on the chart.

"She'll be fine. Not sure about the man."

The doctor leaves and the nurse eases you back to lay across the bed. You let her. She pulls the coverlet over you and her voice fogs in your ears. she points to a red string. She leaves with a hollow breath.

The walls become clearer, and the single window, the curtain beside the bed, and the shining sink faucet, dripping into the deep sink. The tempo keeps you from slipping.

The room darkens as the nurse comes back. She flips the overhead light but a lamp remains on near the bed. You rub your thumbs against your index. Someone tried to wash the blood off your hands. You can still smell the iron.

The morning rises and with it, the world settles back in around you. You take a breath as it washes over you. Is he gone? Or is he waiting right outside those doors?

Your hands rest over your stomach. You feel him inside of you. The way he tore at you, stretched you, tortured you!

You hope Aika got him good. You hope she killed him. That he bled out in the dirt.

Your eyes glaze with tears. A knock comes at the door. You don't react. It opens.

The nurse enters, a man in a dark uniform behind her. "Hon, the police wanna talk now."

You blink at the man. His face tenses. He looks at your hand and your blood-stained nail beds.

"You still got the cloths from that?" He asks the nurse. She points to the bin hooked from the end of the bed. He nods. He focuses on you and takes out a notepad. "Miss, we gotta ask you some questions."

"My computer. Check my computer," you say. You shudder and hang your head. "It's how he found me."

"One thing at a time," the officer says. "Last night. Talk about that first."

You take a deep breath then snivel. Your eyes sting and your cheeks pinch. If they're asking, you don't think they found him...

💮

Life is simpler now.

It's just you. It was before, but now for real. Just you and your books. You and the market stalls, the people, face-to-face. No more online shadows, no virtual wraiths to haunt you. This world is real. This world is only what's around you.

And Della. The golden labrador with her goofy expressions and soft coat. She's more than just a cuddlebug, more than your friend, she's your protection. The monster taught you more than he meant to. He taught you that you need to be vigilant. That it's good to have a loyal ally.

As sweet as the dog can be, she's not all soft fur and slobbery kisses. When someone gets to close to you, her head goes down. When she hears something odd, she growls. She's friendly on the outside but cautious on the inside. Like you.

You take her to the pier to paint or draw. You no longer sell online. You don't do anything online. You don't even have a phone.

That day, the dawn sky is a lazy shade of lavender dusted above cornflower and puffs of cloud. You carefully recreate the scene in watercolour, your easel set up in the sand. You never lived by the water before. The city was suffocating. This is airier.

In a way, it reminds you of that fateful day. Of him. Of that life he'd dreamt up in his twisted mind. But when you think of him, you push it away.

You're free of him and you're going to stay that way. He doesn't get any more of you. Not your fear, not your thoughts, not your grief.

They never did find him. After all the reports, the questions, the doctors, nurses, and officers, you stopped wondering. You read the short article on the discovery of a man and woman in a truck after an alleged attack at the beach, but it was so vague, it sounded skeptical. You're not sure anyone cared. The man who stopped, recovered, and wanted nothing to do with you. You didn't have much affinity for him either.

Maybe you're colder now. Maybe more distant. Wary. Wise? Some might call it that.

Three years ago, you started your page. To document your life, your existence, your thoughts. You did it to keep yourself from fading into nothing. To feel a little less alone. Now, you don't mind being alone.

You think about it. What use is it being a footnote on the internet? When you were in danger, no one cared. No one noticed. The only person who ever noticed you, well...

You sigh and step back to compare the sky to the painting. The sun's moved since you started. That's okay. The colours are close. The way the clouds curl is just so whimsical.

Della gets up and stretches, before makings circles on her blanket and flopping back down. She rolls so you can see her stomach. She wants attention.

You set down the brush and wipe your hands on the rag tucked into your belt. You go to her and squat down, scratching her belly as she wriggles and groans in delight. Her tongue lolls out and you chuckle.

In the end, you did get what you wanted. Not exactly happiness, but freedom. You have your art, you have a booth down in the town centre, you have Della, and you have the lake. It's all you can ask for and as much as you can handle.