On Friday night, a nameless package waited at my door. I halted abruptly, my chest clenching. It didn't move. Or erupt. Or do anything really. Maybe the stupid letters were stressing me out.
How long had it been sitting there? On impulse, I dashed towards the second staircase that led to the small backyard and peered down. Then I ran back out front, only stopping short at the end of the steps. My gaze swept the premises, but I couldn't see anyone.
Damn it.
I carried the package inside and placed it atop my kitchen table where it stood innocently and unmoving. Okay, then. I could open it now and live with whatever cryptic message had been delivered this time. Or I could spend the next few hours wondering what was inside.
A long sigh escaped me.
With a pounding heart, I reached for a knife and opened it carefully. The insides were filled with ripped newspaper articles. The note was probably hidden inside. I should just throw it away. This was really getting old.
I reached into the box and dug through the piles of paper, searching for a folded letter. Something sharp pierced my skin and I let out a yelp as pain shot up my hands. Fresh blood ran down my palm, the red liquid dripping onto the table. I shifted the papers and shards of a broken mirror reflected the ceiling lights.
Well, that was just great.
As I raised my head from the pillow, a shower of flaky, dry skin cells drifted down and landed on my already-sprinkled pillow. With only one hand, I spent more than five minutes trying to scrub them away. It felt as if my whole face was shedding. Another great thing to add to my amazing week.
My hand throbbed and I absentmindedly picked at the gauze wrapped around it. God knew how unclean that glass properly had been. I shuddered, my nails running up and down my arm. The broken glass had left two deep cuts, one ran across my palm, and the second, a smaller one was on the side of my ring finger. At least it was Saturday and I had nothing planned except for studying.
As it turned out, not even quantum mechanics could distract me. The numbers swam across my vision. I couldn't focus.
A car door slammed outside. I darted to the window and peered outside. A few houses down, a couple unloaded groceries. Aside from that, the dark streets were empty. I looked through the peephole in my entrance door, but the hallway was empty as well.
Okay, getting paranoid wasn't getting me anywhere. I should do something. Anything. Maybe start CS:GO and play a few matches. But the dull throb in my hand reminded me that I probably shouldn't.
Laundry felt like a safe choice, but as soon as I picked up a pile of clothes, muffled voices sounded from the hallway, followed by the sound of a door falling shut. With stiff arms, I dropped the basket to look through the peephole. What if whoever did this came again?
The lights were on and after a few moments, Sofia appeared talking and holding her phone in one hand and a small bin in the other.
Wow. Now I was spying on Sofia. God, this was so stupid! This prank was getting out of hand and it was pissing me off. It was either getting pissed or freaking out, which I refused to do, because that was exactly what the pseudo-stalker wanted, right? Well, fat chance.
Okay, Tay. Think logically.
According to reports, about seventy-five percent of victims knew their stalker. If this was even a stalker. So, who did I know, who had a grudge against me? Well, several people actually. But only one knew where I lived. Chris.
Would he really stoop that low, though? It didn't seem likely but then again, he also cheated which I hadn't seen coming either.
Fuck laundry. I wasn't going to sit around and play the victim.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Suz's number.
"Hey," I said quickly. "Can you find out what party Chris is at tonight?" It was Saturday. No way, he was sitting at home.
"Probably, why?"
"Because we're going there."
"Gotcha," Suz replied after a moment of silence and I relaxed a little. "Picking you up in thirty."
I started rummaging through my closet. I was going to dress tough tonight. Like some bad bitch who wouldn't take any shit. At least, I'd look the part. I picked out ripped skinny jeans, a tight-fitted black shirt, and my black leather jacket. Then I marched into the bathroom to grab my moisturizer and make-up bag. It was time for some war paint. My skin would have to tough it out for a few hours.
I finished applying mascara fifteen minutes later and stared into the mirror. The dark liner certainly made me look confident. Now I just had to feel it. I clenched and unclenched my hands several times. Every time I did, short bursts of pain erupted. I would not be intimidated. Especially not by my ex-boyfriend.
Suz was right on time. She took one look at my attire, grinned proudly, and exclaimed, "So, what's the plan? Should I have brought my shovel? Are we finally burying his sorry ass?"
"Nope. Just having a chat."
"With...knives?"
I rolled my eyes at the hopeful note in her voice. "No."
When she spoke up again, her tone was carefully neutral. "So, what caused this sudden epiphany?"
I hesitated for a moment before I replied. "I think I might have a stalker or something."
"What?" she exclaimed, whipping her head around.
"Hey, that light is red!"
"Oh yeah!" She slammed on the brakes, jarring me forward.
I spat out some of my hair. "How about we make it there in one piece."
Suz didn't miss a beat. "You got a stalker? Why the hell am I just finding out about this now?"
Frowning, I scratched at my arm.
"What happened to your hand? Tay?" she probed after another moment of silence. "Wait," she all but shrieked. "Don't tell me Chris has been stalking you? Is that why you've been kind of weird lately? Even Cody and Killian asked me if anything was up."
I straightened a little. "They did?"
"Yeah. And I don't have to answer them, but I don't like not having an answer about what's going on with my best friend if you know what I mean."
I felt strangely lighter all of a sudden. "I've been getting some weird...letters."
"Letters like what?"
I grimaced. My face must have spoken for itself because she continued in a higher voice, "Don't tell me, like threats?"
Hiding this from Suz wasn't an option, so, I told her. Everything. My student ID. The threats. The package.
She parked the car and turned to me with a dark look. "You think, Chris send them?"
"I don't know, but not many people know my address, right? I need to check. So, you need to back me up tonight. Also" —I pulled on my shirt—"I think I might need a drink."
She cracked her fists. "Okay. We do this systematically. You ask him first, but if it doesn't work, I can just cut him and we torture the truth out of him. Nobody has to know."
Note to myself. Never get on Suz' bad side.
We crossed the lawn leading up to a large mansion. A few students mingled outside, smoking and laughing. Soft chillout music sounded from the speakers. As soon as we entered, all heads turned to us. My nose filled with the unmistakable smell of booze and...weed.
This party was definitely different from the ones I'd been at before. I was really glad I'd decided to hide behind make-up and clothes because I felt utterly out of place.
Despite the stares, Suz navigated the house as if she was right at home. Just like me, she'd dressed up, her pointy high-heeled boots making her taller than me for once. She easily found the kitchen and to my relief, the fridge was stacked. After scouring the contents, she came up with some cherry liquor. I downed three shots in quick succession. I needed all the fake bravery I could get.
She took the fourth one out of my hand. "I think that's enough for now, these will hit you in a few. Remember you don't usually drink. And I'm not gonna let you talk to that idiot if you're wasted. I mean I can always talk to him alone. The offer still stands."
My head moved from side to side. "I don't want to make a big deal out of it if it's not him." I looked around and realized we were gathering an audience. Two tall guys openly stared at us from across the hallway. "Are you sure I can leave you alone though?"
She met the guy's stare with an arrogant one of her own. "Oh, I'll be fine. Besides, I already called for backup."
"Backup?"
"Killian and Cody. They're on their way. Personally, I think you should wait until they get here."
"What? You called them?"
"Chill, I didn't tell them anything. Just in case we need the muscle to hold him down." She gave me a look. "It's easier to cut them if they don't wiggle that much."
"Please don't mention the word wiggle in this context to me ever again." I put my game face on and glanced at our audience. They grinned and pushed off the wall, effectively blocking our exit. "Well, let's get this over with before the dynamic duo arrives."
Suz nodded and took the lead. She shouldered past the two idiots who had the dumb idea to step in her way, by accidentally stomping on their feet with her sharp heels. I finally understood her choice of footwear. They were like weapons in her hands—or rather feet.
We found Chris lounging on the couch inside the living room. The smell of weed and cigarette smoke was almost overwhelming. My confident stride faltered when I recognized his company. Mitch sat on his right, talking to two slightly familiar-looking guys.
Suz grabbed my arm. "Tay. Those are the guys that came with Chris when he came looking for you at that party before Halloween, remember?"
"Yeah," I whispered back. "I remember."
I'd barely spared them a glance at that time. One of the two was a bit shorter but wide, his muscled arms covered in colorful ink, with short brown hair. The other one was similarly bulked but taller with black hair that looked like it was dyed. Now that his face wasn't swollen and covered in bruises, he was rather good-looking actually. A cigarette dangled between his fingers. He really pulled off the bad guy image.
His arm was slung around a girl next to him. She looked so tiny next to his big frame, I'd nearly missed her. With her head down, her brown locks fell over her face, but they couldn't quite hide her uncomfortable expression. When he offered her his cigarette, she gave the tiniest shake of her head. He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by lack of response, and took another drag.
They all turned and stared at us when we walked up. Mitch tensed but the other two raked their eyes over us, displaying similar signs of approval.
I straightened my shoulders. "Chris," I said curtly, trying to ignore how Mr. Bad Boy was staring at me. That guy simply oozed bad vibes. I wouldn't be surprised if a red flag spontaneously sprouted from his back. "Can we talk?"
"Sure," Chris drawled and got to his feet.
"Somewhere quieter maybe..."
"Sure," he repeated, this time with a smug smile that only widened when the others hooted after us. Tension built between my shoulders, but I followed him deeper inside the house after exchanging a quick glance with Suz. I was suddenly glad she'd messaged Killian and Cody.
Chris led me to the second floor where we stopped inside a bedroom. Not exactly the best place but I had to hurry.
"So? What did you want to talk about?" Chris asked.
How exactly did I plan on asking him again? Oh, yeah, there was no plan.
"Um..." I started. "Did you send me letters by any chance?"
"What?"
I took a deep breath and crossed my arms. "Letters. That you sent me." My voice rose. "If you think you can intimidate—"
"Hold on a second. I'm not following. What letters?"
"Letters," I snapped impatiently. "With stupid threats written on them."
He looked at me incredulously. "You asked me out here because you thought I was threatening you?"
I tapped my foot. "Not many people know where I live and..."
At first, he seemed taken aback but then a small smirk appeared on his face. "I get it now."
Get it? "Get what?"
"Well, you're calling me out here out of the blue..." He shrugged, his smile growing. "Makes me wonder if there's something else going on here. There's no need to make up some stalker or whatever you were going for."
"I—What?"
He leaned forward. "Tay, you don't have to make up some random story. I'm willing to give you another chance but—"
I reeled back. "No. There are no"—I pointed between us— "second chances happening here, get it?"
Shit. Why the hell did I think talking to Chris would be of any help? This had been a dumb idea.
"Never mind." I shook my head. "It was stupid of me to think that I could have a normal conversation with you."
I turned away but he caught my arm. "Seriously, someone sent you threats?" The arrogant lines on his face disappeared and for a moment he looked like the old Chris.
"No. It's nothing. Probably just a prank."
He sighed. "Fine. You got my attention. What's this really about?"
My stomach churned as acidic bile rose in the back of my throat. "You're a jerk," I spat, wrenching my hand from his grasp. I shouldn't have come. The door swung open just as I turned to leave and Mr. Bad Boy himself sauntered into the room, a cocky smile etched onto his face. My eyes watered at the acrid stench of cigarette smoke that assaulted me in his presence, and I involuntarily took a step back.
"Sup, guys, thought I'd check on ya," he said in a raspy voice.
I was so done with this. I tried to sidestep him, but he quickly moved in my way. It took a conscious effort not to shrink away from his towering frame. He had at least over eight inches on me, packed with muscle.
"Hold your horses, jeez. Taylor, right? I'm Rick." He cast a glance at Chris, who'd suddenly paled. "Figure we could hang out a bit, get to know each other, you know? Heard lots about ya."
All my muscles tensed. "I don't think so. I hate the smell of cigarettes."
A raspy chuckle rang out. Ugh. His voice gave me the creeps.
"Oh, yeah?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Then he proceeded to light one and blew the smoke in my direction. "You'll get used to it, babe."
Babe? Babe? Where was the closes restroom? I might have to puke.