LEAH
The weeks following the trial felt like blurry memories from someone else's life. Like I was watching from a disparate, bleary camera lens.
I didn't believe that my life had turned into this—whatever this was.
I returned to work immediately after the trial, grateful that Seasons' corporate team still wanted me after my unexpected absence. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in my house to reflect on the things that happened before and in that courtroom.
When I wasn't working, I was at the gym or volunteering at the animal shelter, a hobby I had taken up to distract me from my friends. Although my parents had demanded I come home to gather myself after the hearing, I refused.
I wanted to be alone. Truly, alone.
Isabelle and Ryan still pestered me at least once a week, dropping by to make sure I was still alive. I appreciated their efforts, especially since I was in no mental headspace to maintain my friendships.
Every time we spoke, Isabelle expressed how mortified she was that she'd believed those texts Jarrod had sent. It was in no way her fault and I would never blame her. How could she have known?
Each day seemed the same. I knew I was getting sucked into a rut, a pit of apathy, but I didn't know how to stop.
It felt like all the joy in my world had been slammed behind bars with my tormentor.
I wasn't sure why I felt so guilty about Jarrod's sentencing. He had done unthinkable things to me—things that made me nauseous to remember.
Yet I knew that I understood him better than anyone else, maybe on this entire planet. I knew he didn't do those things to hurt me.
His emotions and compulsive tendencies overpowered even the logic of a powerful, brilliant physician. The sentiment was almost as moving as it was terrifying.
I knew one thing for sure: no one would ever make me feel the way I did when I was with him. I would never be loved by someone as fiercely as he had loved me.
Yes, his love was manipulative and possessive. But it was still love. To him, anyway.
That was certainly the part I couldn't get over. Some part of me still cared about him. I knew I shouldn't. I couldn't help it, though.
Our trauma and emotional attachment bonded us like some sick glue.
Then there was the fact that his sentence wasn't even that long. In five years, Jarrod would be trotting out of the jail and back on the loose.
He lost his medical license as well as both of his jobs. When he emerged, he would have to start all over. This time, with a criminal record.
Who would want to hire a felon? A felon who had seemingly preyed on innocent female patients?
I hated that part the most. The world would forever scrutinize him as a predator, a doctor who abused his power to harm patients.
That's not at all what he'd done, though. We had fallen mutually into a state of infatuation—of love, if I allowed myself to admit it.
In the end, his need to control me was what had smothered our flame.
I had to continuously remind myself that his decisions led him to that place. Had he never kidnapped me, he never would have gone to jail. He never would have lost his license.
It wasn't my job to imagine a future for him. He had years to sit in prison and do that himself.
In the interim, I had my own life to piece back together.
Eventually, the dull days crawled into months. Eleven months, to be precise. I crawled out of bed, performed my morning routine, fed Foxy, made my coffee.
I dressed for work in slacks and a modest blouse. My desire to look appealing in any way had been nonexistent lately. I could care less if anyone noticed me, much less thought I was pretty.
When I arrived at work, one of the tellers stopped me in the lobby.
"Leah!" he said. "Someone dropped a gift off for you this morning. I put it on your desk. Happy Birthday, by the way."
I stood there mutely, stunned for a second.
He chuckled. "Don't tell me you forgot your own birthday! You deserve a day off, boss."
With that, he walked off to his teller window.
It was true that I had completely forgotten my birthday, but that was the least of my concerns. The last time someone left a gift for me, it had been over a year ago when Jarrod brought flowers.
My stomach plummeted. Breathing a bit shallowly, I scurried up to my office. I shoved the door open and looked around.
The space was devoid of unexpected visitors. I took a long breath and went to my desk.
An aluminum covered tray with a sticky note was placed by my keyboard. The note read:
Happy Birthday, Loca. I know these are your faves so gobble up! We are definitely going out for drinks this weekend.
—xoxo Iz
I could have fainted from relief. Only then did the deliciously sweet aroma of cinnamon hit me. Peeling off the tray cover, I smiled at the steaming cinnamon rolls.
Sometimes, Isabelle was the best. I knew she didn't enjoy baking but she was amazing at it.
I learned early in our friendship that she could make mean desserts and never failed to encourage her—obviously, for selfish reasons. I would eat anything she sent my way.
My day got slightly better after that.
Considering I'd been held hostage in a cabin last year during my birthday, anything was an improvement. I treated myself to lunch at my favorite Japanese restaurant and talked to my mom on the phone for an hour or so.
She tried talking me into going on a cruise for Christmas this year but I wasn't sure I really wanted to travel yet. Then again, maybe being beached on white sand with a piña colada in my hand would be good for my head.
I left work an hour early and stopped by the spa for a massage and pedicure. By the time I got home, I was thoroughly a noodle and did not desire to do anything but finish off Isabelle's pan of rolls and cuddle my cat with reruns of The Bachlorette.
I stripped out of my work clothes, took a hot bath, and then threw on an oversized sleep shirt. Shuffling out to the kitchen, I popped a few rolls in the microwave and looked around.
Where was my little devil?
I hadn't seen her once since I'd stepped foot in the house and that was entirely unlike the needy beast.
"Foxy!" I called. "Foxy, where are you, little shithead?"
The lack of soft footpads gliding over to me or the ring of collar's bell unsettled me. Then the microwave went off and I almost pissed myself from surprise.
I sighed, shaking my head, and returned to the kitchen for my rolls. "Don't be so paranoid."
After sinking my teeth into one of the delicious hot rolls, I decided that food might be a stronger incentive for her. I dumped a scoop of dry food into her dish and shook it around.
"Foxy girl," I cooed now. "Come eat your dinner, fur ball."
Still, my sole companion was nowhere to be found. I embarked on a scavenger hunt to see if I'd locked her in the bathroom or closet on accident.
She was nowhere, though.
I rummaged the entire house and was just about to give up when the doorbell rang.
"I'm trying to find my cat here, people!" I muttered before shuffling across the house to the door. "Better be a sexy stripper waiting for me." More likely, it would just be the mailman.
Combing my fingers through my damp hair, I padded over to the front door and peeked through the eyehole. The porch was vacant.
Humming, I opened the door and stuck just my head out, listening for the snicker of naughty pre-teens.
I didn't hear anything, though. Just the winter breeze rustling through my fake plants. I pulled my head back inside and lock the door.
As I gravitated back towards my cinnamon rolls, wondering where my hellion cat was, my phone jingled incessantly from somewhere in the house. I jumped at the noise and then rolled my eyes.
I remembered I left the device in the bathroom. Walking into the room, I scooped up my phone.
A rather unflattering selfie of my mom—her contact image—filled my phone screen. I answered with a chuckle.
"Hey, Mom. Miss me already?" I said.
"Leah, where are you?"
Her raised voice instantly put me on high alert.
"I'm home," I said. "What's wrong?"
"You need to leave," she said. "Right now. You need to go to Ryan's or Isabelle's or somewhere you won't be alone."
"What? Why? Mom, what happened?"
I hurriedly exited the bathroom and grabbed a pair of sweats from my dresser. I tried to listen to her as I yanked them up my legs and over my ass.
"I just got a call from Captain Linder," she told me.
A pit of unease took root in the center of my chest with each passing second.
"She found out that Jarrod got released early."
My fingers stilled on the waist string. I stared down at the floor as my heart jumped into my throat.
"What?" I wheezed.
"I don't know where he is, but he's been released for several hours now," she said, her words coming so fast I could barely keep up. "He could be on his way to you right now, for all we know! You have to hurry!"
I suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe or think or speak. My mind could only imagine him running here, sneaking through the shadows, and breaking into my house.
"Leah? Honey, can you hear me? Are you there?"
"I'm here," I squeaked. "He's . . . out? Of jail?" My breathing spiked. "He would he stupid to come here."
So why did that thought both exhilarate and petrify me? My head suddenly exploded in a migraine.
"Leah, please go!" my mom yelled through the line. "Come home, if you have to, but just get out of there!"
Her words jolted me from my trance.
"I am, I am," I assured her. "I'll call you from the car. Love you."
I hung up and focused on getting to the front door where my purse and shoes were. When I stepped into my living room, a tall shadow stood in the dark in front of the window.
On impulse, I screamed and scuttled backwards into the dining table. My eyes were trained on the shadowy figure, as if looking away would draw him closer.
The shadow moved forward into the radius of kitchen light. Jarrod's familiar, broad form took my breath away.
He stood before me, his rippling arms encircled around Foxy's little fluffy body. Her thick black fur contrasted his plain white t-shirt and jeans.
I couldn't form a single coherent thought in his presence. My mind blanked of all logic and rationale.
He was here.
The man I desperately tried to erase from my mind and existence . . . was here.
"I'm honestly hurt that you think I'm stupid," he said.
Bending down, our eyes locked, he placed Foxy on the floor. She meowed and padded cluelessly over to me, rubbing against my leg.
When he rose back to his full height, hands now free, my self-preservation instincts kicked in. I tried to step back again, only to run into the table again. My breathing hitched.
"What?" he asked. "No 'hello?'"
My mouth parted—maybe to scream for help, maybe to answer him—but not a sound came out.
Jarrod stepped closer and now his entire body was illuminated. My gaze wrapped around him.
He was gaunter in the face than before, his cheeks shallower and his features sharper. Somehow, his muscles seemed impossibly bigger though. His shoulders rippled under the thin fabric of his shirt, his jeans clinging to his bulging legs.
"Am I scaring you?" he asked, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. "Do you want me to leave?"
Perhaps a part of me hoped that this wouldn't be the frightening encounter I worried it was.
Perhaps I had fantasized on more than one occasion that his tenderness and our chemistry from before the cabin would return if we ever saw each other again.
My body remembered in painful detail how earth-shattering and mind-bending our sex was. I squeezed my thighs together.
He must have noticed because he grinned, all toothy and gleaming white enamel.
"You're being awfully quiet, baby."
The only thing stronger than my pussy impulse was the fear for him that still haunted me. Despite the flush of need under my skin, I felt a cold sweat trickle down my spine.
Jarrod did hurt me.
He drugged me and suffocated me. He manipulated me. He stalked me and made me feel like a some poor, trapped animal.
I wasn't sure I understood the extent to which he tracked my every move even now.
"What are you . . . What are you doing here?"
He frowned satirically. "Where else would I be, baby?"
Sliding his hands down to his pockets, he stalked towards me with another step. Now we were just a few sparse feet apart.
"You're the only part of this world that matters to me."
My heart raced inside me, trying to fly away and evade my former lover's alarming presence. Every ounce of survival instinct told me to run.
But where to? I was cornered. Jarrod was as fit as ever and I knew he'd catch me.
"You know th-that you shouldn't be here," I said. My voice was quiet, weak.
I hated how pathetic I sounded. I hadn't gone to therapy every week for almost a year now just to sound like a quaking chihuahua.
"You know I can't stay away," he said. "You know I love you."
My heart throbbed. I squeezed my hands to ward off the surge of heat washing over me.
No! No. Do not fall for this shit again.
My perpetual lust for him always distracted me from reality. I gritted my teeth and tried to peel off the mental scales over my eyes.
"What do you want from me, Jarrod?"
"The same as I always have."
He moved so quickly I couldn't react until it was too late. His hands gripped my waist.
"Everything," he growled. "I want everything from you."
A muffled whimper escaped my paralyzed lips.
Jarrod's eyes, dark and swirling with intent, dropped to my mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his own lips before he looked back up into my eyes.
"I find you so goddamn sexy, I can't even stand it," he muttered. "I missed you so fucking much, Leah. Every day, I thought about your sweet eyes . . . and your candy lips . . ." He swiped his thumb across my bottom lip. "It's been a very long eleven months."
I felt light headed from all the different emotions pumping through me. When he leaned down, bringing our mouths dangerously close, I mustered the self-control to snap my head away.
"No," I whimpered. "Jarrod, please. Just go."
His grip tightened on my waist. Pushing me against the wall, he pushed his nose into hair and nuzzled my neck.
I couldn't stop my breathy moan or the way my knees shook. I couldn't stop myself from wanting him, no matter what he did to me or how hard I tried to resist.
Damn it. Damn him.
"I want you, Leah," he rasped, nibbling my earlobe. "I need you. I always need you."
I could feel my judgment swaying under my own craving for his hands. I was just as sex-deprived as he was and I didn't realize how desperate I felt until there moment.
The thought of giving back into him after what he'd done and said to me sent my mind spiraling. Panic surged through me.
I would not let him do this to me again.
Grinding my teeth, I jammed my knee right into his crotch. He released me immediately to cup himself and groan in pain. I pushed him off and bolted around him for the front door.
"Leah!" he yelled.
Tears flooded my eyes as an all-too familiar terror washed over me. Once more, I was his prey scampering off.
I hated it but right now, fleeing was my best option. I reached the door and swung it open. Before I could step out, hands grabbed my body and jerked me back inside.
I belted out a scream until he muffled my mouth with his hand. I thrashed against his grip but he was much stronger than me.
My teeth latched onto his hand and bit down as hard as I could. He jerked it away but didn't loosen his grip around me.
"Stop fighting me!" he bellowed. "Enough! Fucking enough!"
"No! Let go of me!"
I gasped at the feel of a sharp prick in my side. My body stilled as my eyes rolled up to his face.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I just want to love you."
He sounded genuinely sad about it.
My muscles went slack and the edges of my vision darkened. I heard the front door slam open, harder than I'd ever heard.
Loud voices sounded around us but I couldn't make them out. Then my world faded to black.