My story. My perfect guy.
How the hell can he hear me?
How does he know that I'm here... writing about him?
I think I'm in trouble!
Especially when the story starts to update itself, my thoughts are being written in there (and it's not me doing it...
Five-hundred and sixty-odd new words into chapter eight, and she barely wrote any of it. It was "Peter" and his texts, threats and my experiences with him.
Again, Sonia shuddered.
"Ok Peter, you may call. I think I'm ready now." Sonia said out loud in the general direction of her phone.
Almost instantaneously, her phone started ringing on the bench.
Unknown Number.
Sonia let it ring a total of three times, before answering it.
"Hello, Peter. How are you?" Sonia said calmly.
"Good Morning Gorgeous! How'd you sleep? I feel so refreshed! Did you know, at night - the banks of the Yarra River go insanely quiet? Except for the sounds of animals of course."
Sonia laughed quite bitterly at this. "And what would you have me do about this?" She scoffed.
Peter made a growling sound. It almost sounded like it came from the back of his throat. "You put me here. You. Get. Me. OUT!" He demanded lowly, and seriously.
"Ha! How did I put you there?" Sonia questioned incredulously.
Again, Peter made the throaty, growling sound - only this time it was louder. And scarier. "Is this your story? Or not? Did you create my character, and what I look like? Or not? Did your story not open with me on the bank of the Yarra River? Or. Not?" Peter annunciated clearly down the phone line.
"W-w-well I-I d-d-did. B-b-but it's a w-work of f-f-fiction. I d-d-d-don't kn-kn-know how I w-went f-f-f-from th-that t-t-t-to this!" Sonia stuttered and began to cry.
Hot, heavy tears were now rolling freely down her high cheekbones.
Peter grunted in what (almost) sounded like both frustration and understanding. "Well, Sonia - you're gonna need to research that, VS who I am. Its most imperative that we solve this problem - and quickly. Can I trust you with this most arduous task?" Peter asked Sonia.
Sonia simply muttered a numb "Yes" in response.
"Good girl. I'll speak to you tomorrow darling. Good Luck!" Peter said.
And with that, the call was disconnected.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Sitting quietly, Sonia contemplated who to ask for help. A priest from a Church? Sonia wasn't religious by nature and had seen online that if you wanted or needed the Churches help, you had to be a participating member of their congregation - so that was out. Sonia had only ever attended Church with relatives who had faith. Yes, Sonia believed in a higher power - but whether or not that was God, or what, Sonia wasn't willing to say. Her second idea was to contact a wielder of dark or black magic. Maybe they could guide me in the right direction. Or maybe TimberWoolf who gave me this whole idea or prompt in the first place.
Without warning, an odd wind blew through Sonia's kitchen - even though the doors and windows were closed. Sonia could hear whispered voices in that wind. They seemed to be whispering a name... Ody.
Ody! Wait, ODY!
He offered to help!
"How do I go about contacting Ody?" Sonia thought to herself.
Sonia's phone started to ring.
The number showing on the screen?
ODY.
A/N
Hello! Thanks for joining me on this unbelievable journey through the life of our author - Sonia, (far out it feels weird writing about myself in the third person!) and her terrifying circumstances surrounding Asmod- I mean Peter.
If your reading chapter-by-chapter? I appreciate your patience.
I have been managing a chapter a week over the Christmas break.
