I hated being alone in the house.
After all, why wouldn't I, after what happened to me? No matter how many times I tried to tell myself that I was safe at home, that there was no way he'd risk coming here, there was still that lingering fear, that primal terror. I saw his eyes in every shadow, heard his breathing in every creak. Even nearly three weeks after that horrific night, I still occasionally find myself waking in the middle of the night, soaked with sweat.
The damndest thing was, I couldn't tell anyone about it. I wanted to; I really did. The fear of having to go to court and look him in the eye and relive that night... I could deal with it. The knowledge that it'd keep him from ever hurting me again would be enough to brave weeks of having to tell that story, over and over again, of having to listen to bullshit excuses from lawyers, or the disbelief of backwards-thinking jurors.
So, why hadn't I told anyone?
Well, the day after, I received a pair of pictures from him on the phone. One was of my mom at the supermarket, oblivious to the monster down the aisle from her as she read nutrition labels on cans of soup. The second was of Eliza, sitting in the park as she chatted with her boyfriend.
A single word was underneath the photos.
Don't.
And so, I didn't. I could deal with the courts, with callous lawyers reopening fresh wounds, but I couldn't deal with the thought of those two suffering the same thing I did. It didn't matter if the intellectual side of me pointed out he was probably unable to carry out those threats. When it comes to something like that, regardless of who you are, you freeze. Maybe if I was older, that trick wouldn't have worked on me.
But I wasn't, and I paid for that naivete.
0
"Are you sure you can't come back tonight?" I asked on the phone.
"Sorry, Katie," my mom replied, tiredly. "It's a five hour drive from here, and I need to sleep for the meeting tomorrow."
My grip on the phone tightened. "Are they seriously making you stay for the powerpoint crap? Can't they have somebody else do that?"
"Not unless I want them to flub it." A moment passed. "You okay, Katie?"
"I'm fine," I lied.
"Okay, then," she said, not sounding very convinced. "Well, be safe, sweetie. I'll see you Monday."
"See you," I repeated numbly.
The call ended, and I practically threw my phone on the couch. Outside, yet another rainstorm had come down on the town, drenching the streets. I watched the glass-door to the porch, trying to peer through the water that ran down it. Was Jason out there, watching me back?
A shiver ran down my back, and I reached for my phone again, keeping it close as I curled up in a ball on the couch. My eyes darted to the clock, watching the minute hand slowly tick by. Morning was still eight hours away.
There had to be somewhere I could stay for the night, somewhere I wouldn't be alone. Problem was, I didn't know Eliza's new phone number, and I didn't know that many people in town.
Maybe my neighbor could do. I knew Mrs. Traoré's number, and she'd been pretty kind in the past; I still remember the time I sat on the porch with her, sipping some kind of mint tea as she talked to me about old movies. Maybe she was home, and maybe she'd be willing to let me stay for the night.
With that in mind, I dialed the number, and waited with baited breath.
"You have reached the number of-"
"Fuck!" I snapped, and ended the call. "Fuck fuck fuck!"
I glanced at the clock again. The rain came down harder than before, and the low rumbles of thunder reached my ears. The only thing I had going for me was that I'd definitely know if someone was trying to get inside, during this weather.
Then a deafening boom reached my ears, and the house was enveloped in darkness.
I jumped to my feet, heart pounding like a bass drum, and fumbled for the flashlight I'd placed on the coffee table. Finding it, I pressed the button and swung the beam around wildly, half-expecting to see him standing there.
Nothing.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, and cursed my nerves. The storm must've taken out the local transformer. It'd happened before, last summer. Thankfully, that'd only lasted half a day before the utility crews repaired the damage; I prayed that it'd be the same, this time around.
There was no way Jason could've snuck inside, but part of me still wanted to be sure. And so, I decided to slowly creep up the stairs, flashlight in hand. I still had my knife in my pocket, but the flashlight also could make for a nice bludgeoning tool.
The wooden steps creaked gently beneath my feet as I made it up to the second floor. I first swept the flashlight across the hall, then decided to check out my room. As expected, the room was empty.
The wind wailed against the windows, but another sound reached my ears. Not the low sounds of the wind, nor the pattering of the rain, but a high-pitched squeak, almost like the opening of a door. It could've just been my mind playing tricks on me, but that still didn't keep my mouth from becoming dry.
I made my way back down the stairs, then crept into the kitchen. There was no sign of an entry; the door was shut, and nothing in the kitchen had been touched, not even the landline. Still, I pressed forward, to check the hall...
My foot touched something wet as I stepped down, and I froze. Turning the flashlight down, I realized there was a small pool of water on the linoleum floor, right by the door. I tried to listen for anything, like footsteps or heavy breathing, but I couldn't hear anything through the storm.
Acid crept in the back of my throat, as I realized I'd left my phone in the living room.
Then, I ran.
I was right at the couch as something slammed into my back, and I felt a muscular arm wrap itself around my midsection. Before I knew it, I was bent over the armrest of the couch, one hand on the small of my back, the other grabbing my wrists and holding tight.
"Should've tried harder, Katya," Jason's voice crooned. "Or maybe you didn't want to try."
The hand on the small of my back moved to fondle my ass through the thin material of my sports shorts, grabbing one cheek roughly. Moving on to the other, he then pulled the shorts down, letting them fall to the floor as he groped my ass directly.
"Oh god," I panted.
"Yes?" he said, expectantly.
His grip loosened, and I wriggled free. Looking up, I could see his form in the shadows, advancing on me. I slid past and ran up the stairs in a blind panic, which proved to be a mistake. I was only five steps up when he caught up to me, chuckling all the while.
I opened my mouth to scream, only for a wet cloth to slap over it. His arm hooked under my breasts, and I leaned into it as the strength went out of my legs. Slowly, I knelt down, feeling more like putty, and I soon plunged into darkness.
