Contents

i. Title Page

ii. Copyright

iii. Dedication

iv. Content Warning

v. Playlist

Prologue

The Flower

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

Untitled Chapter

The Stalker

The Flower

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Flower

The Stalker

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Stalker

The Flower

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

The Flower

The Stalker

The Flower

Epilogue

Reminder

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Lexi Lane

Framed Obsession

Copyright

Copyright 2026 by Lexi Lane

ISBN: 979-8-90600-726-1

authorlexilane@gmail.com

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This also includes photography and recording.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.

Warning: This book is intended for mature audiences.

Editing and Proofreading: Loserwitch Literary Services (@loser.witch)

Sensitivity Reader: Ellie Rae (@_ellies_reads_)

Dedication

To Those with a broken past:
Their inability to love has no reflection on your value.

You are loved.

You are worthy.

By the way, how is that praise kink treating you?

Content Warning

This book is a dark romance, so reader caution is advised.
Framed Obsession has numerous kinks and exhibitionisms such as light somnophilia (dry humping), knife play, choking, praise and degradation, stalking, obsession, masturbation, non con, and consensual nonconsensual scenes. Framed Obsession also has triggers such as physical violence, violence to a child (past), PTSD, anxiety, depression, murder, light drinking, incarceration, torture, and violence. 

Your mental health means so much to me, and while I wrote a book representing mental health, I highly suggest stopping if any of these are triggers for you. 

Playlist

Dutch Melrose -Match Made In Hell

T-Pain - Booty Wurk

Jutes - SMUT

Sickick - Mind Games

Austin Giorgio - You Put A Spell On Me

Dua Lipa, Wheathan - High

Amira Elfkey - Hold Onto Me

Noah Thorne - Honey & Hemlock

Beneath Our Ashes - Falling Into You

Fight Like Hell - Motionless In White

I Prevail - Scars

Sleep Token - Are You Really Okay?

Artemas - Time Alone W U

Isabel LaRosa - Baby I’m Yours

Chase Atlantic - Into It (Bass Boosted)

AriAbdul - Worship

Dayseeker - Creature In The Black Night

YUNGBLOOD, Dominic Lewis - I Was Made For Lovin’ You

Bring Me The Horizon - Follow You

Camila Cabello - Shameless

Christian Grey - It’s Always Been You

Nessa Barrette - Pretty Poison

Jenna Raine - She’s There

Dutch Melrose - RUNRUNRUN

Prologue

Dutch Melrose -Match Made In Hell

The moment I saw her, I knew I had to make her mine. It was as if time itself were frozen. Everything else faded to black, and the outside world had gone quiet. I think some sort of unknown force had led me to this place in particular. The fact that I was even contemplating not following through with this outlandish plan has me so fucking glad that I did.

I’ve seen many professionals, if you could even call them that, to help with my—what do they call them… mental disorders? I think I’m fine. Perfect? Fuck no. But fine? You could say that. Sure, I can be an asshole. Selfish, greedy, persistent. But I’m just someone who knows what they want, and doesn't give a fuck about what I have to do to get it.

Psychopathic, that’s what they tell me. Someone with a personality construct characterized by a persistent lack of empathy or remorse. Someone manipulative and impulsive. At least that's what the internet and the psychiatrists say. If someone is a psychopath, do they know they are? Does watching her every move ever since I laid eyes on her make me psychopathic? What about the plan I’ve been constructing to make her feel my presence? To have her be mine forever?

Seems relatively normal to me. If you see something you like, why not go and get it? I mean, stalking in this day and age is more normalized. More subtle. Most hide behind a phone or computer screen, missing the adventure and thrill. It lacks creativity. Most never make a move to get what they want. Just letting time escape them, sitting in wishes and what-ifs.

Me? I started by hacking into everything she owns. Watching her from afar until I learned her routine. Quickly, it became a physical hunt. Stalking her in the flesh is an exhilarating addiction. A screen doesn't do her justice, anyway. She is too fucking beautiful not to watch in person.

I wish I had found her sooner. Fuck fate for making me wait this long.

Parker Raines Therapy Center—the place that changed my life forever. Not because therapy helped me; I’ve only managed one session so far, one painfully excruciating session, but because I laid eyes on her. Unfortunately, it wasn't with the angel that enamored me, but with someone I knew I was going to see again, and not under the circumstances she may have expected. Not that I give a flying fuck.

My eyes are set on one girl, and she is already mine.

Chapter 1

The Flower

Moving the five-step ladder out of the way, I glance at the newly installed camera in the corner of my living room. My dad came over, insisting he help install a few cameras for extra security measures in the apartment where my best friend and I live. I had a feeling that Z and my father conspired against me.

Personally, I hate them. Haven't they seen those disturbing videos online of people having their cameras hacked? I don't want to wake up at 2:00 a.m. with someone speaking into it, saying creepy things, let alone spying on me.

I get chills just thinking about it. My TikTok doomscrolling mentality definitely gave me a new perspective, and it makes me uneasy having them in our apartment. I know, it’s a me issue, but still.

The wave of a big hand blocks my line of sight. Pulling me away from my endless trail of self-sabotage. “Wipe that look off. It's for your own good. I promise,” my father says reassuringly. My face shifts from a disgusted look to an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I know you're just trying to help. I'm able to turn these off and on, right?” I ask with a questioning look. I appreciate their concern, but it makes me feel like I’m not capable of handling myself. As if I need a babysitter.

There have been a few occasions where I’ve been put in an unsafe situation alone. Shortly after I got this new job at Parker Raines Therapy Center, unusual things started happening to me. Objects seem to be consistently out of place, just enough to make me think I'm going insane. Maybe I am. Maybe this is my mind giving up on me finally, or maybe I’m just paranoid.

One time when I was walking to my car after work, and found my driver's seat door wide open. I knew I hadn't left it that way because I always double-check and set my car alarm.

I immediately phoned my dad, and he rushed over to make sure everything was safe. It was, thankfully. We had scanned the car to see if anything had been stolen, and oddly, nothing was. It’s like my quiet, slow life picked up and said au revoir.

Ever since, I’ve had this chilly feeling that I'm being watched, and it has been getting progressively worse. Maybe psychosis is trickling into my life for some unknown reason, causing me to hallucinate.

Being a little paranoid is okay, Dahlia; it keeps us safe.

When I’m alone, movements seem to catch in the corner of my eye, but when I turn, nothing is there. Like a shadow is following me. Sometimes I joke around and say it's a ghost to keep my anxiety at bay. Would I rather have a ghost haunt me than have a man make me feel unsafe? Yep, I’d rather choose the ghost.

It’s like that saying. “Would you rather be stuck in the woods with a man or a bear?” And every time, we women pick the bear. Men are scary. Not that bears aren’t, but I’m sure you catch my drift.

“Dahlia, did you catch all that? Remember this is the button you need to press in case of an emergency.” My dad pulls me out of my coursing thoughts again, pointing to a giant red button at the bottom of the page on my phone. I give a gentle smile and nod.

He explains all the ins and outs of the software, what type of cameras they are, and all the technology mumbo-jumbo that goes with it. Will I remember any of this? Probably not, but that's what dads are for anyway. He is always just a phone call away. He gets really excited about this kind of stuff anyway, so I’m sure he’d love to conjure excuses just to talk about it.

My father will take any chance he gets to be there for me. I’m grateful, don't get me wrong, but it can be a little exhausting at times. He consistently calls and checks in ever since I moved out.

It took me months of pleading and being a golden child to convince him that I would be fine moving in with Zoe when we were in college. Talk about a helicopter parent. I give him grace, though. Being a single parent who has to be both mom and dad to a girl is tough. Faced with the chaos of hormones, my father's only strategy is to toss me in a castle tower and lock me away forever.

I’m 30 years old; I’ve experienced a lifetime of events. Some good and some bad. I’ve honestly seen and dealt with some shit that people shouldn't have to go through at such a young age. But every event shapes who you are, and I’m proud of the person I am becoming, even if she is a little flawed.

The apartment Z and I found is in the city. I wanted a place where there is a lot of street and foot traffic. The more people around, the less chance of anything bad happening, right? At least that was part of my convincing. Not only to my father but also to myself.

We live on the second floor. If I had a choice, I would’ve picked to live on a higher floor, but this was the only vacant apartment the building had, so we compromised.

The building we live in is on the higher end. We had our eye on it for a really long time. So, when we found they had availability, we jumped at the chance. I needed this to work because I was going to be damn near bald if I had to live with my father any longer.

My poor, tortured, plucked hair.

The apartment is perfect for Zoe and me. We have a two-bedroom, two-bathroom place. Other than sharing the living room and kitchen, she has her side of the hallway, and I have mine. It’s the perfect friend living situation, really.

My father finishes his explanations, does one more look around, and makes sure everything is secure before we exchange our goodbyes. He gives me a kiss on the forehead; I lean in, appreciating the gesture. The door shuts gently behind him, leaving me in silence.

I pour myself some red wine and stare at the camera lens reflecting in the corner. I suppose it isn't a terrible idea. I should give it a chance before I shut the idea out completely. They are trying to look out for me after all, but I swear, if I hear one abnormal noise come out of one of these cameras, they're all coming down.

I take a deep breath, in and out, leveling my thoughts, when I feel a faint vibration in the pocket of my jeans. I pull out my phone, glancing at the small screen. A little blue bubble shines with a text.

Z

Get hot because we are going out tonight, I'll be there in 30!

I stare at the words, contemplating. Maybe a night out is exactly what I need. A break from reality, even if it's just for a moment. I double-tap the screen, hearting the message, letting her know I’m in for the last-minute venture.

Chapter 2

The Flower

Booty wurk - T-Pain

The vibration from the loud music courses through my body, and I swear the bass will be my new heartbeat. Z is trying to speak to me, but it's just inaudible noises at this point. When in doubt, just smile and nod.

The club is packed tonight with men and women everywhere—dancing, talking, sitting, drinking, and mingling. It doesn't surprise me, as this is one of the more popular clubs. It is located in the heart of the city; people from all over pack the place almost every weekend.

There is a DJ on the main level, with a generous setup near one wall. There are tables and booths that line the room all around, making a smaller space for dancing. A lit-up dance floor illuminates the center, being the main source of light, other than strobes and lasers.

Members, who pay a pretty penny, hang out on the floor above us. It has a lookout to the first level from a glass balcony. Don’t worry, we peasants still have fun down here.

I feel a soft nudge on my arm, then see a cocktail in a small hand. I glance at it, then at the person holding it. Z wiggles her eyebrows in my direction with a mischievous smirk on her face. It makes me chuckle. Taking the glass, I bring it up to my lips, and my face contorts.

“What the hell did you order?” I turn toward her.

“God, is it just me or does your drink taste like ass too?” she says with her nose crinkled.

“Yep, mine is ass too. Come on, let's try to chug these and go dance!” I yell, ready for the next venture. I take the glass to my lips and plug my nose, feeling the cold liquid sting the back of my throat like a toxic addiction.

The music is great tonight. They're playing 2000s throwbacks, and I am living for it. Booty Wurk is on, and you bet your ass we’re bumping and grinding. Tonight is all about us and forgetting ‌all our problems. Dancing is our favorite choice of activity. We basically live and breathe it. We’re both therapists by day, dance connoisseurs by night. Well, by the weekend rather.

We approach the center of the crowded dance floor, bumping into others along the way. Once we find an area that’s spacious enough, our bodies begin to move to the beat of the music.

My hands roam over my curves while my hips sway. I can feel my best friend's front against my back, matching my movements like we are two peas in a pod. Very hot and sweaty, peas in a pod.

I’m wearing a black leather miniskirt with a black lace top that you can see all the way through. Luckily, my bra leaves the imagination running. At least a little. Then, of course, my black boots. They're always a staple for any outfit I wear.

Zoe is wearing black leather pants that accentuate her ass, with a black halter top. On nights like this, we get to be someone different. We’ve even gone as far as making alter egos. And yes, we both have fake names in ‌case we get approached, accompanied by terrible accents we’ve adapted for our facade personas.

The alcohol makes its way through my system, creating a slight distortion in my vision. Little prickles of gray outline my peripherals. Suddenly, my thoughts and worries seem so minuscule. Just the feel of the music coursing through me, having my bestie with me, and dancing are all I need.

I am captured by the moment, though I can’t help but feel a set of eyes burning through me, so I scan the busy room. In a sea full of people, I make eye contact with someone who seems to already have their attention on me. I typically shy away from eye contact. Other than doing on a day-to-day basis in my professional life, making eye contact in a setting like this would attract a certain type of attention.

The man is tall with black hair that has a few inches of length to it. Messy and slightly covering his right eye with a few perfectly placed wisps. I quickly glance away, not wanting him to get the wrong impression of me or think that I might be interested.

On nights out, Z and I make a promise to never let a guy interfere with our good time. Now, if it’s a night out purposefully looking for a hookup, then that's another story. Tonight is not one of those nights, and I don’t break my promises. They're sacred.

The guy appears attractive, but the low-lighted place makes it hard to make out any other facial features. Just the glimmer reflecting from his eyes. He's got this mysterious vibe, you know? Standing there alone, arms crossed, off to the side, completely still. Definitely has that bad-boy aura. Too cool to dance, so he just hangs back, watching everyone else.

My eyes shyly look back in his direction, making me do a double-take. I try not to snag the attention of any men; that's typically the last thing on my mind, but there is something pulling me towards him. Like an invisible string that's pulling me to him.

Tingles run down my body as I notice he hasn't looked away at all. The club lights illuminate his arms just enough to reveal tanned muscles. He's covered in tattoos; veins trace through the ink, and I feel my mouth begin to salivate.

Wait, no. No more looking in his direction, Dahlia. It's girls' night.

My toxic trait is being attracted to men who look like they do bad things. Call it my savior complex. I think I can fix them. Maybe something about growing up in an almost perfect home has me wanting to attend to those who look like they have a broken past.

When the song ends, I am pulled by my arm towards the bar. I let the person drag me without a care. By the small hand tightly wrapped around, I know this person is on a mission.

“Let's get one more drink!” Z exclaims.

I think I have a slight buzz going on. More drinks equal a better time, so I comply easily. The alcohol makes my body lightly sway under the low lights, making me feel like a total lightweight. Who gets drunk off a few drinks? Me. That's who.

Tonight is supposed to be about escaping reality, yet all I can do is fixate on the man I just locked eyes with. A small part of me is disappointed that he didn't come up to me. Anytime we get approached on a girls' night, it’s typically by some dirtbag who is stumbling over, looking for a late-night hookup. Pass. No, thank you.

But if this man had come over, I would’ve at least given him my number. Maybe he wasn’t interested—maybe I misread the moment. Either way, he’s gone now; he has disappeared from his spot.

I take it as a sign. A sign from the universe that I really should break this habit and not wait for the mysterious bad boy to approach me. It’s probably for the best. I take the last drink and down it. My vision blurs quickly; suddenly everything fades to black.

Chapter 3

The Stalker

The movement of her body hypnotizes me. Everything this woman does is fucking hypnotizing. The club scene has never appealed to me, but I followed my Little Flower in here, already feeling a possessive need over her.

Something within her gentle nature makes me want to taint her. Corrupt her to the point that she is questioning every life choice she makes. She's almost too perfect. What makes an angel fall? The demons within me, perhaps.

She looked damn fucking good in what she was wearing, but the fact that other men were staring at her too, only heightened my mood. Didn’t she know other men were going to be eye-fucking her all night? Any fucker that looked her direction made me want to gouge their eyes out and feed them to them on a silver platter.

Anytime I saw another man even look like he was contemplating going up to her, I made sure they knew she was mine. The throbbing of my knuckles brings a smirk to my face. They're tinted pink, with a crack across my middle knuckle—turns out that pretty boy’s cheekbone was a little bit stronger than I gave him credit for.

All I wanted was for my flower to enjoy her night. I just sure as fuck made sure that happened. Selfishly, of course. It's beyond me how I didn't get thrown out of the club. It only took one punch to the face to get my point across. Actions speak louder than words, right? In fact, I’m not much of a talker, anyway. However, I do like to observe. One girl in particular, that is.

Her eyes meeting mine wasn't intentional. But it made me elated that she had looked my way twice. It took everything in me not to ruin my plans, walk straight up to her, kidnap her, and chain her in my basement.

If I’m not mistaken, she was eye-fucking me right back. Glad to know I’m her type. Though even if I wasn’t, she wouldn’t have another option. Fuck. The way her eyes trailed up my body until they met mine, the rosy flush blossoming across those perfect cheeks, turning them a perfect shade of pink—I wish I had snapped a photo. It’s a moment that will be engraved in my memory.

Her roommate interrupted the interaction, unfortunately catching her attention and dragging her to the bar. So, I followed at a distance. Dahlia was too busy taking in her surroundings and staring at the wall I had been leaning against that she didn't notice I was four feet away in the other direction.

Once the bartender set their drinks on the bar, I was quick to pop in my Axel special, already knowing which one she’d choose. And, like the good girl she is, she grabbed the right glass. Attagirl!

Watching her friend struggle to get incoherent Dahlia back to the apartment was pretty fucking painful. Of course, I could've been a gentleman and helped, but I’m not one. I watched through the cameras in their apartment as her friend got Dahlia changed and tucked her into bed. As soon as she was settled, I picked the lock and quickly made my way to my girl's bedroom, careful to keep quiet, so I didn’t draw the attention of her roommate after she had slipped into her own. Before entering, I opened my hacking app to make things a lot more convenient for me. And by making things convenient, I mean looping her cameras, leaving no trace of me ever having been here.

My eyes lose focus before regaining their vision again. The bright light blinds me. I’m standing with nothing but my underwear on, back pressed against the cold bedroom wall. “If I get a call from your school again, I will show everyone this photo. Is that what you want? Is that what you need me to do? Embarrass you? Because I will!” 

A wet streak falls down my cheek, and my arms cross over my midsection, trying to feel less vulnerable. I’m shaking. I’m scared. I’m always scared. 

“No, Mommy, please.” I let out a quiet tremble. 

“This is your last warning. Do you hear me? If you want to act so tough at school, I can show everyone just how tough you are at home.”

I shake my head, pulling myself out of the lost memory. Little triggers overwhelm my thoughts, consuming me without notice. The most perfect woman is right in front of me; how could I be lost in my head right now?

She is lying peacefully on her bed. The back of my hand gently caresses her cheek, and she doesn't move, not even an inch. Looks like the drugs I slipped into her drink are doing their job.

A strand of her hair falls off her face, giving me a full view of her beautiful features in the process. She is fucking magnificent; it’s picturesque. She is resting on her side with her hands placed in front, as in prayer. The way I'd give anything to hear her pray for my cock.

Mental note: Make Dahlia pray for my cock, check.

The bulge in my pants is thickening with every second that passes, making the ache of wanting to be inside her painful, but tonight I’m refraining from my urges. I want to do unholy things to my girl, but that'll come with time. Although the game is the best part, isn't it? The hunt, the thrill of it all, is what makes it so exhilarating.

My body hovers above hers as my hand continues to trail down her frame, feeling every curve, retaining it to memory. She’s so fucking perfect. Perfect for me and only me. Her silk nightgown is the only thing separating our bodies from touching, and it's making me very impatient. I want to rip it off her, but even with her system in dormancy, I fear it may wake her. I would be anything but ravenous. Something about her makes me conflicted inside.

My hand reaches the end of her nightgown. My fingers line the seam for a moment, feeling the fabric on my fingertips as I rub the material between them. I begin to lift the thin fabric cautiously until her lower half is exposed. An aching breath escapes the depths of my lungs as I glare at her. Vulnerable. Clueless. Unaware.

I give her shoulder a gentle push, her body shifting limply onto her back. I study her from top to bottom. What a fucking sight. The room is lit faintly by the street lamp shining outside her bedroom window, highlighting every curve perfectly as if it molded her itself.

I turn, reaching for a bag I had placed on the mattress beside her. Unzipping the fabric, I grab my camera, flipping the switch on. I push myself up onto my knees, getting a better view. A small flash illuminates the room for a momentarily before I quickly place the small machine back into my bag.

I'll be using that ‌later.

It’s taking every fiber in my being to not touch her. Not to shred this fucking fabric between us and consume every inch of her. Watching her limp body beg me to take advantage of her has my dick rock hard.

Fuck it. I lower myself, pressing my body onto hers. Rubbing my large bulge against her center, yearning for a little friction. The confinement of my jeans gives me more pressure. I imagine it’s her tight walls, gripping my length. I rub against her more, dry-humping her beautiful body.

My heavy breaths escape me, spilling onto her fair skin like heated kisses. I don't refrain from staring at her beautiful, slumbering face. I imagine fucking her awake. Her fear consuming her, but deep within, she is loving it.

I feel my release creep up and I spill into the crevices of my briefs, seeping through till there's a dark spot near the pocket of my jeans. I groan, feeling every drop release, emptying me out. Next time, it’ll be inside her.

I adjust myself as I lift off ‌her. I wince as the tip of my cock feels chafed from the grinding. I won't regret that later. I make my way into her kitchen. Taking a glass from the cupboard, I pour water into it, watching as it rises to the rim.

My Little Flower will be thirsty tomorrow from all the toxins. Making sure she stays hydrated is important. I’m not a monster, I'm just an asshole. She will thank me.

After placing the clear glass on the nightstand, I lower my head until my lips lay near her ear.

“See you soon, Little Flower.” I whisper, my voice low, leaving an open-mouthed kiss before slipping away.

Chapter 4

The Flower

Mind Games - Sickick

The morning sun from my window hits my eyes just right, and I groan. My head is pounding. I only had a few drinks last night. All I want to do is rot in bed, but I can't. Z and I own a dance studio where we hold classes three times a week apart from our day job. Today is one of those days, and I am now rethinking every decision I've ever made.

We primarily teach hip hop and heels, but we do like to add in a mixture of all different types. Dancing has always been a love of mine. It's been an outlet for me. Therapeutic, helping to release emotions, and a workout? It’s the best. I'm just lucky I found someone who loves it as much as I do.

Z and I opened our studio a few years back, and our classes are always fully booked. It's insane how quickly we grew, with just the two of us promoting ourselves. We hadn’t realized just how much this side of the city needed a dance studio. Sundays are our full class days. We hold two: one at noon and one in the evening. Can you guess what day today is?

My eyes widen and I look over to see 10 a.m. displayed on my phone screen. “Shit!”

I have to be at the studio in an hour! Did I sleep through my alarm? This isn’t like me. I can’t even recall the last time I slept through an alarm. I swear I’m never drinking again.

I quickly sit up, and the room starts spinning. Little swirls of color frame the outside of my eyesight, making a sickness creep up my throat. There's water on my nightstand that I don’t remember putting there. Then again, I don't even remember how I got home.
My lips reach the rim of the glass, chugging the clear, room-temperature liquid. This tastes like the best fucking water I’ve ever had in my life. Great, that means I am also dehydrated.

What a way to start the day, Dahlia. Way to go.

As my body takes a moment to comprehend that I’m about to stand, I stumble, barely catching myself, and reach for the nightstand before I face-plant onto the floor. The last thing I need is to have a concussion before class. R.I.P. Dahlia—died from lightweight syndrome. The most pathetic headstone.

The reflection staring back at me looks daunting, like she's never seen the light of day before. Disheveled, to put it lightly—give me the ring, my precious—to put it harshly. The harsh light of the bathroom makes it all the worse. I rinse my face, hoping to wash away any evidence of my night of drinking. No luck. I need to hurry—I am running way late, and Z will have my head if I’m not there before class starts.

I rush to put on my sweats and a T-shirt. Then, I make my way to the kitchen to grab a snack before I head to the studio. Opening the refrigerator, I swear a tumbleweed roll by. Groaning, I close the fridge and look at the bowl of fruit on the kitchen island, contemplating if a small apple will be enough. A black envelope, neatly placed next to the bowl, catches my eye. A lone dahlia flower accompanies it.

What the?

I circle the corner of the island and lean over, grabbing the envelope. It has my name written in the center. I turn it over and rip it open, looking at its contents. There's a piece of paper and a polaroid picture. My eyes furrow in confusion as I flip over the photo.

Oh my god.

The paper falls from my hands, comprehension hurtling through my mind as I try to make sense of what the hell I just saw. It’s… it’s a picture of me. A fucking picture of me. Sleeping with my nightgown halfway hiked up to my hips.

Who would—what the actual fuck?

With shaking hands, I pick the piece of paper back up and read the note that is attached.

Little Flower? I’ll see you soon? Is this some kind of sick joke? I look at my surroundings, scanning to see if I can find anything else suspicious. What if I’m not home alone?

“Z?” I ask hesitantly into the air. I get no response. It doesn’t hurt to check. The pounding of my heart is getting louder by the second. I grab the contents and shove them into my purse before rushing out and locking the door.

I have to ask Zoe what happened last night. Every bone in my body is screaming at me, telling me it wasn't her. And if it wasn't? I don’t know. I’m not thinking straight right now. I’ll tackle that once I get confirmation.

I swerve through traffic, running later than I already was. Teaching class has left my mind, and it is now occupied with something much worse. Arriving at the dance studio, I close my car door, pressing the lock button twice to hear the beep to reassure myself. I open the front door and see Z stretching in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

“There you are! You’re late. I was about to come back home and drag your ass out of bed myself,” she says in a not-so-subtle annoyed tone.

“I… I have to talk to you. I—”

“Jesus, Dahlia, what's with the stutter? Are you okay?”

“I have to show you something,” I say with a shaky breath. My hand disappears into my purse, rummaging inside for the picture and note. I pull them out, holding them in front of Z, waiting for her to take them. She looks down at my trembling hand in confusion.

“Dahlia, tell me what's going on. What is this?” She hesitantly reaches for the papers. I can’t speak right now. All words have vanished from my mind as I watch her study the papers in her hands, her eyes darting back and forth.

“Dahlia, what am I looking at?” Her tone now filled with underlying concern. My mouth gapes open, but no words come out. I’m frozen in place. I want to say something. Anything, but all I manage to do is collapse. Outstretched arms catch me before I collide with the floor.

“Dahlia, I need you to say something. Please talk to me,” she says in a plea.

I finally muster up the words, and they spill out like vomit.

“I found this on the kitchen island right before I came here. Please tell me you're playing a sick joke on me?” I question in a panic. By the horrifyingly confused look on her face, I can tell she was not involved with whatever this is.

“I don’t even know what to say, D. Are you thinking someone came into the apartment and put these there? I didn't see anything this morning when I left. So…” she says as her eyes wander off in thought. I feel as if my attempts to take in a full breath are failing, leaving me to hyperventilate.

If the envelope wasn't there when she left, that means someone was in the apartment with me. I can feel the blood drain from my face as fear takes over. Perhaps I might just pass away right now.

Z comes running to me with a glass of water in hand. I didn't even notice she had left my side. “Here, drink this.” She guides the cup, lifting it to my parched lips. Little streams of water roll down the corners of my mouth as I try to gulp. Instead of complying, my body betrays me, making me choke.

“Dahlia, we have the cameras!” Zoe turns to me and yells. Being overwhelmed by panic, I had forgotten all about them. That's right, my father had installed cameras yesterday, leaving them on record. My body perks up in anticipation.

“Z, you are a freaking genius!” I shake her by the shoulders.

I grab my phone from my back pocket, quickly pressing on the app in the corner. I click on the video that says “Living room” and we wait for it to play. I look over at Z, who is peering over my shoulder, and she gives me the same ghastly look back.

What the fuck.

The video is showing the quiet, uneventful living room. Static appears for a microsecond and then poof, everything is normal. I press on the next camera, labeled “Kitchen,” and the same thing happens. A whole lot of nothing, zip, nada.

No, no, no. Please. I frantically click the last camera in the hallway, praying to some unknown force that this would give me something. My heart sinks not a moment later. You guessed it. Nothing happens again. The whole reason we had these was for occasions like this. So much for catching anything. One second the kitchen counter is as normal as can be, and the next, the envelope pops up. Like an unwanted magic trick. Maybe a ghost is tormenting me.

As if Z is reading my mind, she says, “No way. There has to be a video of someone or something happening! This isn't right; we need to call the camera company or something to figure out what happened.” I nod in agreement, still trying to wrap my head around how this could have happened and why this is happening to me.

Chapter 5

The Stalker

The elevator door dings, letting me know I’ve reached my floor. A turn to the left takes me exactly where I want to be. I pause, glancing at the door handle before reaching and pulling it open. My boots carry me to the girl staring blankly in my direction. All I can see are her eyes peering over the outdated, dusty computer. I’ve been here once before, recently, actually.

“Hi, how can I help you?” the receptionist asks, awaiting my response. I look around the room, noticing the emptiness.

“I’m here for an 11:30 appointment.”

“Axel Gray?”

I nod.

“You can have a seat. They will bring you back shortly.”

I turn and head toward a single, lonely chair in the far corner of the room, with a view of the front office door. In the quiet, broken only by the clicking of a keyboard, my mind can’t help but trail off in thought.

“Ouch, Mommy, please stop! That hurts!” I yell in pain, but the pain doesn't stop. My arms shield my face from the swings of her wild arms. I know which hits will form into bruises. They sting a lot more, and the pain lingers longer.

“I wish I never had you, Axel! All you do is take from me. I wasn't able to get my fix today because of you. Do you like seeing me this way? You made me this way!” my mommy yells, arms still swinging. She never stops swinging. I fall onto the floor and shuffle to the corner until my back hits the cold, cracked wall.

“I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m sorry!” I cry out, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Axel Gray?” A faint angelic voice blesses my eardrums, and I whip my head to the left. It's her. As I stand, I take notice that her eyes trail from my boots up to my eyes. I tower over her, a whole foot taller to be exact. The unspoken dominance of my stature, shadowing her petite frame, creates a silent pull between our bodies.

“I’m Axel Gray,” I say, extending my hand, ready for her delicate one to grasp mine.

“Oh, yes. Nice to meet you, Axel. I’m Dahlia Rosen.” Her hand reaches for mine. It’s small. Dainty. Manicured. My hand overtakes hers, leaving it barely visible beneath my own. The urge to brush my thumb across her soft skin is overwhelming, but I refrain.

“You can follow me to my office, and we can get started,” she says, turning down the long hall from the doorway where she’d been standing. I follow closely. The footsteps of her boots and mine are the only noise taking space between the bland, tan-colored walls. The sweet scent of vanilla and coconut trails behind her.

Fucking delicious.

We pass three doors on the left and two on the right before entering the third door on the left. Her office is minimal, yet an elemental coziness becomes atmospheric. Little trinkets sit scattered around the room, adding a touch of warmth. Bookshelves line the wall to the left, coated in dust, as if they haven't been touched in years. Her office has a view of the city skyline below. It’s probably the best feature in her office, besides her, of course. The windows lie bare. Natural light is the only source illuminating the office, at least during the day. Her neatly organized desk occupies the rest of the area; only her computer, notepads, pens, and a few manila folders sit on its smooth surface. A coffee table is placed at a perfect distance between her chair and the sofa I assume is for clients.

“Please have a seat on the couch, Axel. Make yourself comfy first before we start,” she gestures to the brown leather sofa six feet away from the chair she perches herself upon.

I want to be closer to her.

I sit sprawled back like I own the place, and my leg begins to bounce in anticipation. She grabs a pen and a notepad, placing them on her lap. She's wearing a hunter-green dress with black tights underneath that make me want to tear a hole in them with my teeth.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself and why you're here? I looked at your file, and it seems like you have been here once before?” she questions politely.

“The person I saw before wasn't a great… fit,” I say condescendingly. She takes a moment before responding, not expecting the tone.

“Sometimes finding the right therapist can be like trying on a pair of jeans. They sometimes don't fit correctly, or something doesn't feel quite right, and that's alright. You just grab a new pair, try that one on, and hope it fits better.” The analogy brings a smirk to my face. Oh, I know she's the right one for me. It only took one glance to know that.

“So, who is Axel Gray? Tell me a little about yourself,” she asks, shortening the silence.

Do I start with, “Hi, I’m your stalker?” Or maybe, “I’ve been watching you for weeks.” Perhaps a good icebreaker would be, “I know what your favorite color is and how you like to put hazelnut in your coffee.” What about, “I was in your bedroom the other night, watching you sleep. Feeling you, touching you, rubbing against you.”

Dumb girl, so unaware of her surroundings. Letting herself get drugged. She is lucky that I love the thrill of the game almost as much as I love catching my prey. Fucking with people’s psyches gets me off. So what?

I adjust in my seat, not straying from eye contact, shifting to an almost predatory glare. I watch as her throat bobs up and down, gently swallowing in nervousness. Something within me ignites, burning a possessive flame in my core.

“Well, Dahlia, I’m here because I've been told there is something… wrong with me. And I’m seeing if you're the one who can help.” My words come out slowly. Venomously. Teasingly. She is so close but so fucking far. I want to grab her and pin her on the coffee table that's separating the distance between us. I want to watch her squirm underneath me as she begs ‌me to let her go, even though we both know she wouldn't want me to.

The way her eye contact is charged with lust, seeing the shallow breaths she is trying so hard to conceal. Reminds me of the way she eye-fucked me in the club.

She glances away.

You can't hide from me, Little Flower. Not where I won't find you.

“I don't believe there is anything wrong with people. We are all a little different in our own ways, Axel. Some may need a little more assistance than others, but that doesn't make anyone… wrong. How about we use the word unique instead of wrong? Being kinder to ourselves can help change our own perspective and narrative on how we see ourselves. Even if it's just as simple as changing a word like, wrong.” My head tilts slightly, considering her words.

“But what if there is something wrong with me? Let's say I’ve been told I'm not wired correctly. I'm incapable of understanding regular emotions.” The statement leaves my lips almost playfully.

“Who have you seen in the past besides your one visit to this office? I’m hoping no one told you there is something wrong with you. What an awful experience you may have had.”

“I’ve seen psychiatrists, doctors, therapists, guards, you name it.” My brow slightly rises as I watch her face react. It was subtle, as subtle as a second, but I saw the uncertainty. She takes a moment to gather a response, looking at her notepad before meeting my eyes with hers once again.

“Well, we can dive into all of that at a later time. Today is about getting comfortable with one another and touching on the basics. If that’s okay with you, Mr. Gray?” Her tone shifts, confident.

A full smile uncontrollably overtakes my face, leaving my dimples to cave in. My girl isn't afraid to hold her own. I’m going to love this relationship of ours.

Chapter 6

The Flower

“Good morning.” I greet the girl at the front desk as I pass her on my way to the back office. Layla is our new front-desk coordinator. She just started a week ago and the poor thing looks like she's struggling. Learning a new job isn’t easy. You have to meet new people, learn the computer system, and not to mention the hardest part—learning people's quirks.

Parker Raines Therapy Center has a total of five employees. I know it’s small. It's the only place that would take me after finishing school. I don’t mind my place of employment being small. They typically have a family-type feel, but here it seems the opposite. Everyone seems like they don’t care about establishing work relationships. Well, everyone except one person. Zoe is my saving grace. She finished school a bit before I did, landed a job here, and worked her magic to get my foot in the door.

Z and I attended the same university, becoming fast friends. She and I just clicked. If soulmates exist, she would be one in the form of a friend. Not as a lover because as much as I do very much love her, I like a P where her V is, but I digress.

I’ve only been employed here for a little over two months. Maybe I’m still learning people's quirks, but the other therapist here is kind of an asshole, and I don’t think it's me being dramatic. Besides Z and I, there’s Parker—as in “Parker Raines,” my boss—and Kyle, the other therapist. AKA the asshole.

Kyle won't say “hi.” He won't engage in any conversations or even small talk. He acts like he is above it all. Oh, not to mention, he is also a baby boomer. A very cranky baby boomer. Maybe after all these years dealing with other people's problems, he just avoids his own. Who knows? What I do know is that I gave up trying after a week. If he doesn't want to talk to me… then fine. I don’t want to talk to him either.

It’s Thursday, and it's my busiest day of the week. I have the same four clients who are accustomed to their Thursday times. Goodbye extended vacations. Other than my regulars, I have a new person on my schedule, Axel Gray. The name makes me chuckle, reminding me of a movie character.

I check the chart the front had put together for me, which typically includes the patient’s basic identification information, a brief mental health survey, and a section where they can add any additional notes or concerns while booking their appointment. There is a record of him having one prior session at our facility. Typically, a detailed manuscript of what was discussed would be in this file, but not much is written besides a few notes from Zoe.

Sarcastic, unwilling to put in effort, loves retorts.

That’s odd. Zoe would have definitely written more about her client. Well, at least I would hope she does. This gives me nothing to go on.

My eventful morning is just piling up. I woke up to another note from this anonymous stalker. This time it was left on my nightstand, in the same fashion—a black envelope with my name in the center and a single green dahlia next to it. Waking up to that was not on my docket today. In fact, it’s not on my docket any day.

What's horrifying about it is that they broke in while I was asleep again. That is twice now. Either I’m the heaviest sleeper in the world, or they’re literally a ghost. No, a demon, because only demons would scare the shit out of humans like this, making them go insane. Another note and polaroid accompanied the visit. The polaroid was of me walking to my car. Not so bad, right? Wrong. The note said:

That meant they weren't done. They weren't done with me. Why is this person doing this? Why can’t they just leave me alone? The paranoia I adopted has me constantly on edge, waiting for someone to pop out at any given second.

Not knowing who it is makes it even more terrifying. I have no inkling who this person could be. Protecting yourself becomes impossible when you can’t see the danger coming. As much as I like to think I can, this person has me beat.

I had stashed the note and picture along with the previous ones in a little wooden box in my closet. I’ll keep all the evidence, and maybe if I have enough, the police will do something. It’s worth a chance, right? By the way this person is tormenting me, I’m assuming they want me to get all riled up and scared. I’m just going to pretend ‌it doesn't bother me and go about my day. If the motherfucker is watching, maybe acting nonchalant will bother him instead.

A little green box highlights Axel's name on my computer, and I tidy my office a little before heading down the hall. Time flew by as if it were in a rush. I spent my morning thinking about the note so much I hardly noticed thirty minutes had passed.

“Axel Gray?” I ask around the room of empty chairs. A tall figure fills the periphery of my eye, and I turn. The man looks rugged. He is tall, very tall. I smile and introduce myself before walking him back to my office.

Shivers trail up my legs, trickling slowly toward my neck as I feel how close he's following behind me. His presence alone fills the air with a dark aura looming. We enter my office; the last door to the left.

I can feel his gaze roam around the office, a little longer than others typically do, and it makes me question my decor choices. I gesture to the sofa where I have my clients get comfortable. Well, as comfortable as possible. Compared to the single wooden chair I sit in during session time, the sofa is the most comfy seat.

“Please have a seat on the couch, Axel. Make yourself comfy first before start,” I suggest politely. I watch as he hesitates a moment before completely switching his energy. He sits lazily with both arms resting along the back of the couch, legs spread wide, as his left begins to bounce.

A lot of my clients have a fidgeting tic. It’s nerve-wracking to talk to a complete stranger about your struggles or concerns. It doesn't bother me. He probably doesn't even notice he's doing it. The demeanor change is interesting, though.

His gaze takes me in, slowly, eyes devouring every inch of me. I shift in my seat, quickly wanting to break the silence. I clear my throat before speaking.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself and why you're here? I looked at your file and it seems like you have been here once before.” The answer he gives me is unexpected. All the words that continue to pour out of his mouth are unexpected, actually.

“I’ve seen psychiatrists, doctors, therapists, guards, you name it.”

The words effortlessly leave his lips, while the corner of his mouth curls upward in a devilish grin. Does he think being here is a joke?

I will admit, he has piqued my interest. I want to learn more about him, but every time I ask a question, he replies with a snarky response. It makes me question why he is here. Does he actually want help? Is he willing to put in the work to make changes? Does he get off on being sarcastic?

I don’t like my time being wasted. I have a feeling that's what this is. I want to snark back. It’s not like me to do that. I try to stay as professional as I can, but my patience today is already wavering thin. He could be projecting, but a part of me feels like that could be half the case.

Keep it professional, Dahlia. Some clients are bound to be tough.

He is like a puzzle that I’m determined to figure out. I just have to take a step back and reassess the information he gave me, filter through the un-needed pieces and find the perfect one. But what even is that? I believe it's going to start with his past.

I don't want to rush into any deep-seated trauma in the first session, assuming he has any. Based on his demeanor and deflecting, I detect he has some sort of trauma and is using his sarcasm as a blanket to shield himself from the outside world. I’m not entirely sure who he has seen in the past for help, but something in my gut tells me that I will be the one to crack him open.

Chapter 7

The Flower

It's been days, and I only have two things on my mind. The intruder who has been in my apartment, and Axel Gray. I tried thinking about anything else, but my mind just kept circling right back. And I'm starting to hate myself for it.

Z and I had called customer service to see if they had any explanation on their end as to what could have happened during the time of the break-in. They said some sort of interference had made the cameras glitch out for a second. Which doesn't make any sense. How does something interfere coincidentally at that exact moment in time? It's not a coincidence.

They didn’t even seem to have the slightest concern about it. They suggested we check the apartment to make sure there weren't any electrical issues and tried to blame us for not properly installing the cameras. I scoffed at the gaslighting and hung up the phone before I said anything I would regret.

My father knows a lot about tech. Installing cameras would be at the bottom of the totem pole for him. He could write an entire book on “cameras for dummies”. I know that isn’t a part of the issue, but what else could it be?

Scenario after scenario comes and goes like trains running through my mind. Nothing seems to make any sense. Zoe couldn't piece together anything either. She's just as clueless as I am. I’ve been fidgeting with the polaroids to the point where the corners are becoming frayed.

I mean, who does something like this? Breaks in, takes a picture of me sleeping, then leaves it for me to find with a creepy note? Not to mention the déjà vu of them capturing me walking to my car. I don't even want to think about anything else that may have happened each time this person paid me a visit.

Looking at this picture isn't helping me at all, but I also can’t forget this happened, because it did. I’m convinced it is the same person who had gotten into my car a month ago, which is why daddy dearest volunteered himself to install cameras in the apartment. The activity had died down ‌a little since, and a piece of me hoped it was done.

So much for wishful thinking.

When I’m not thinking about that night, something else riddles the rest of my thoughts. Axel Gray. Something about him seemed almost familiar. The same question sticks to the forefront of my brain. Why did he even bother to see me? I was like a game to him. He would say something unconventional to gauge my reaction. No one is that open about their history in their first session. Truthful, yet facetious at the same time.

I definitely want to know more about him. Some people use sarcasm as a form of deflection. Not taking situations seriously is a form of coping and helps people process what's happening in the moment by making it seem unserious, even if it is. Most people are unaware that they do this, but it is a pretty common mechanism.

Avoidance coping. The avoidance of tackling serious or uncomfortable issues or situations. Thus, making a joke or using sarcasm to lighten the problem. The funny thing is, it doesn't solve any problems. It just suppresses it for a later time, causing it to fester into a bigger issue.

I hope he sees me again. I hope I can help him. He mentioned seeing a psychiatrist. I wonder if a diagnosis has crossed his path yet. He had also mentioned guards. I’ve seen criminals before. Complex people. If he’s had run-ins with the law, I can’t help but wonder what his upbringing was like.

Trauma in childhood can have a significant impact on one's actions as an adult. It is definitely something I need to find out. I should look into the archives for any other files containing information about him. I wonder if I can find the name of the psychiatrist he saw in the past. It would definitely help me get a handle on how to engage with him better and create an effective treatment plan.

Also, I can’t help but think he was flirting with me. Like he was trying to deflect the strain written deep within. His eyes reflected a reservation in them like he was distancing himself from the immense heaviness he has already experienced in life. There was also a predatoriness… It was as if he was looking at me like I was a meal. I couldn't help but feel uneasy. I need to make sure I set strict boundaries and remind him of the therapeutic relationship.

Oh god. Was I nervous?

His demeanor was pouring with confidence. I mean, looking like that, how can you not…?

Wait, what am I saying? He's your patient, Dahlia, not okay. We do not break the barrier. But those tattoos…

Nope, thinking of something else, anything else. Cheese. Yeah, I’ll think about cheese. Cheese is great. That reminds me, I need to go grocery shopping, anyway. Z has been preoccupied lately with some guy she met, leaving her hardly home, and I’ve been admittedly lazy. I’ve been sitting in bed all day rotting away, overthinking. My body would appreciate it if I got up and did something today.

Off to the grocery store we go. I'll make a list on my way out to make sure I don't forget anything we need. I also don't want to overbuy as Z hasn't been home to eat at all. As much as I love her, this new guy is taking up a lot of her free time.
She told me she met him online. Which is scary because he could very well be a murderer. With how little she tells me about him, I’m not checking that off my list.

She pops into the apartment briefly, ‌and it’s usually just to grab more clothes since she's been spending the night over at his place often. I never expected her to get so smitten so quickly. Maybe it's because I want to protect her. Or maybe it’s because she’s the one who protects me. I’ll mentally note to remember to shoot her a text and ask if she even lives here anymore.

Chapter 8

The Stalker

You put a spell on me - Austin Georgio

Ispy a Little Flower, all alone and ready to pluck. Time to stop and smell the dahlias. I lower the mask onto my face and pull the hood over my head, concealing my identity. I watch from afar, hidden behind a thick pillar.

She is grabbing grocery bags out of her trunk, thinking she’s in the clear to head up to her apartment. She’s unaware of the danger that lurks behind her. A pretty girl in a secluded, dark parking garage? The scenario couldn't be more ideal.

I make sure no sound emits from my heavy steps as I make my way from one pillar to the next. She turns, paranoid, looking in my direction but seeing nothing, as if her peripherals are tricking to her. Oh, my Little Flower, you're not delusional. I’m here. Lurking. Watching. Stalking. Her movements quicken until the silence is broken by the sound of a pop and fizzle.

Clumsy, are we?

“Shit.” I can hear her say in the distance. A pack of sodas has fallen onto the hard concrete, the bubbly liquid making a mess around her feet. She lets out a sigh, bending over to pick up the remainder of the unharmed cans. I’m coming for you, my Little Flower.

I circle the pillar, making my presence known. I pause, watching her head turn and slowly rise, eyeing me as she meets my mask. Her eyes connect with mine, and I turn my head with an unsettling, sinister tilt.

She’s frozen like a deer in headlights, afraid and innocent. Still bent over, she notices the sharp blade in my grasp. I grip the handle tighter. I take a stride forward in her direction; her body betrays her, too frightened to move.

Dumb girl. Dumb, beautiful girl.

I take another stride forward… and another… and another. She quickly straightens, turning and running to the driver’s side door, frantically trying to put the key in the lock. Oops, someone wasn't fast enough. My hand reaches around her face, cupping her pretty mouth. She screams into it as her hands claw at mine; her nails leaving behind stinging scratches. My other hand whips around, pressing the blade gently to the skin of her neck. She's frozen. Paralyzed. Petrified.

I lower my face to her ear, caressing it with the hard plastic, and whisper, “You look so fucking pretty when you’re scared.” She begins to tremble, a wet stream of tears pooling over my knuckles as she faces her car.

“Don’t cry, baby. I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth. If you scream, you won't like what happens next. So be a good girl and bite that tongue.” My tone is demanding and controlling. I give her a few seconds to process, but my patience is nonexistent.

“Hmm?” I ask, as if she has a choice. She gives me a gentle nod, not daring to make any bold movements. I smear the collection of tears with my thumb before removing my hand, leaving a glistening trace of terror.

“Why are you doing this to me? What do you want? P-Please take all the money I have,” she cries out. Money? I want something more valuable than money. I want her fear. I want her submission. I want her. A sinister chuckle leaves my throat.

“Shh, I don't want any money, baby.” I press my body into hers, pinning her against the car, limiting her movement. The tip of the blade pricks ‌her neck in the process. Red crimson taints her now-harmed flesh. She lets out a quiet whimper.

My eyes flutter, taking in the situation I have put this poor girl in. I think I’m going to fucking explode in my jeans. I rub my hardening length against her, letting her feel how turned on I am. Fuck, I grind my hips once more, hoping it will help ease a little tension, but it’s only making it worse.

“P-Please, let me go. I don’t know what you want, but please.”

“P-P-Please,” I mock her. With my free hand, I began to lift the front of her skirt, each inch of movement feeling painfully slow. The temptation to just rip it off is eating me alive. Teasing is fun, remember Axel?

You’re going to enjoy what I’m going to do to you, my Little Flower.

Her whines quickly turn into defeated sobs. The shaking of her body is nearly audible. My fingertips trail her skin as I reach the apex of her thighs. So fucking soft and so fucking supple.

“I’m going to make you hate how much you love this,” I say in promise. I won’t let her forget who is in control and how easily I can make her do whatever the fuck I want. She is a lucky girl today. The monster in me so badly wants to take over, to consume her, but I also want her to enjoy it.

My knuckles tease her center before I roughly move her underwear out of the way, jerking her body at the contact, like a little rag doll. A small gasp escapes her.

“You don’t want to do this, please,” she says in one last attempt.

I roll my eyes; her pleas for me to stop make me want to take from her even more. She thinks her words have an effect on me, like they have any power, any influence. Pathetic little girl—you are prey, and your predator won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

My knee comes forward, kicking her legs apart, spreading them more. I want full access to what's mine. My middle finger dips into her, coating it in her wetness before bringing it upward toward her clit. She is so wet. So fucking wet. Making her enjoy this may be a little easier than I thought.

She gasps as I rub circles. Her knees buckle ever so slightly, and I start to rub faster. She closes her eyes, feeling embarrassed at the pleasure she’s enduring.

“Nuh-uh,” I say teasingly. “I want you to look at me while I make you come.”

Hesitantly, her eyes crack open, peering over her shoulder. My mask conceals all of my face other than my eyes. I like to have a clear view of what I’m doing. It’s also a plus for eye contact. I want to watch her fall apart, and I want her to watch me while she's doing it.

I add another finger, now dipping two inside her. I curl them upward, finding her sweet spot. She moans in approval as I move steadily in rhythm, like waves in an endless ocean. Her gasps are getting sweeter and sweeter, sending sugar-coated jolts straight to my cock. I press deeper into her, and she grinds into me, not letting up as she rides my fingers in harmony. I bite my lip, my vocal cords gifting her a moan in return.

This girl is made for me.

“Are you going to come for me? Are you going to be a good girl and come on my fingers?” I ask, yearning in anticipation. Her walls clench around me, grasping onto them. She begins to close her eyes as she lets out an unapologetic moan.

“Open your fucking eyes and look at me,” I growl. And she does. She has no room for negotiation—only for obeying. Watching her orgasm consume her has my mouth falling open, feeling the lethal emotion beside her. I want to rip this fucking mask off and kiss those perfect parting lips.

“Such a dirty girl, coming on a stranger's fingers like a needy whore. Taste yourself,” I growl as I remove my fingers from her pussy, careful not to drop any remnants of her submission. She looks at me like I’m a sick, sadistic monster. I smirk, pressing my fingers against her lips, waiting for her to open. If she won't do it willingly, forcing her won’t be a problem.

I press harder. She winces, giving in and opening her mouth. My fingers dive deep into her warm mouth, making her gag. She closes around my fingers, giving a gentle suction. My imagination runs wild at what my cock would feel like in replacement.

Next time, Axel.

My fingers come out, making a popping sound in the quiet garage. Her tears had dried a while ago. Once I started pleasuring her, those tears disappeared pretty damn quickly. I expect them to return once I leave her to her own thoughts.

I want her to think about tonight. I want her to hate herself, thinking how she let a stranger finger-fuck her in her apartment parking garage. I want her to feel embarrassed that she fucking loved every second of it. I want her to wallow in it. And I want her to want it again.

“Until next time, Little Flower,” I say in promise. Her eyes widen, searching mine as recognition washes over. I push off of her, leaving her alone as I disappear into the night.

Chapter 9

The Flower

High - Wheathan, Dua Lipa

What the actual fuck, Dahlia. You could have been murdered. Someone or something is definitely watching over you—honestly, it’s a miracle you're still alive. Scratch out my last tombstone quote of dying from being a lightweight.

Instead, write—died from being a typical blonde in a horror movie. Apparently, horror movies haven't taught me a thing. What I find most strange is that he didn’t pleasure himself, only me. Creeps who take advantage of women are usually driven by their own gratification for power and control. Just because he got you off doesn’t make him any less of a creep, Dahlia.

My back hits the mattress with a low thump as I collapse onto the bed. I’ve been in my room alone with my anxiety surrounding the events that just transpired, followed by a wave of self-pity, of course. I haven't even changed out of my clothes, and the poor groceries on the kitchen counter got neglected too. I just needed a moment to wallow first.

Wallow and rethink every life choice I’ve ever made that led me here. I wish I could chalk it up to bad luck, like some unknown, invisible force is punishing me for something awful that I have no recollection of doing.

Regardless of the fact, he called me “Little Flower.” The same nickname that I have been unnecessarily blessed with in the notes that are being left for me to find. It has to be the same person. There is no way it couldn't be; it’s all too coincidental.

He made good on his promise, though—in the last note he left me: he warned me touching would be involved. The way I thought it was a bluff, too. Why is he doing this? It’s like some sort of sick, sadistic, stalker-ish game to him.

I contacted the police when it first happened and showed them the note and the picture. They said they couldn't do anything about it because no physical harm had been done. So, they just want to wait until I get murdered in order to take it seriously? Oh, how I love being a woman.

The situation has obviously escalated to being physical, and I have no fucking proof. The worst part about it is that harm wasn’t done. Other than my psyche. To be honest, I don't think I’ve ever come so hard in my life. It felt dangerous. Forbidden... exciting?

No, Dahlia. It was wrong. So wrong.

A chilling feeling takes ‌hold of me at the thought of wondering who is under the mask. Those eyes of his seemed so fucking familiar. He didn't take them off ‌me once. You should be lucky you are alive, Dahlia. I palm my forehead, eliciting a slap in the quiet bedroom. I’m such an idiot.

“Next time,” he had said. There won’t be a next time. Not if I can help it. Especially now that I know my tormentor isn’t a fucking ghost, I could at least fight a physical being.

Nausea washes over me. I can’t fight a six-foot-something guy, let's be honest. I can’t believe it’s a real fucking person doing this to me. Stalking me. Watching me. Maybe I’m in some sort of twilight zone.

But why me? I can’t think of anyone who would do something like this. All of my exes and I have separated on good terms, and I don’t have a single enemy that comes to mind. Is it my ghost from Christmas future? The more I think about it, the unluckier I feel. Eight billion people in the world and this happens to me. Me!

“What did I do to deserve this?” I ask at the ceiling, hoping God would say something. Instead, I’m met with a silence that lets my thoughts pull me into a never-ending abyss of questions and what-ifs. This is probably some sort of karma that's finally making its way back to me. They don’t lie when they say karma is a bitch.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry if I did something to deserve this!” I continue talking into the openness. “I’ll return Zoe’s dresses to her that I took. Is that it? Are you punishing me because I’m a thief? I was only borrowing them!” My arms wave above me.

I feel so alone in this. The authorities won't help me, Z doesn’t know how to help, and I can’t tell my father. He’d definitely make me move back in with him after I just convinced him that if Z and I moved in together, we could protect each other.

I laugh ironically. Protect? More like comfort one another after something fucked up happens. And I don’t want to burden Z with this situation when she’s in the honeymoon phase with this potential serial murderer guy, but I don’t even know how to help myself. If I did, I probably wouldn’t be in the position I’m in right now.

My hands cover my face, feeling the tears threatening to fall. I reach for my pillow and press it over my face, muffling the sounds of my loud screams. I’m surrounded by people who love and care about me. People who would jump in front of a train for me, yet I can’t help but feel so alone. I don’t stop until my throat is raw, my body spent, and exhaustion drags me into an empty sleep.

Chapter 10

The Flower

“Good morning, Dahlia.” A voice that makes me want to pull my hair out pierces my eardrums. I’m running on a minimal amount of sleep, and I have no tolerance today. I haven't even poured myself a coffee yet, which is what I was just getting around to before being interrupted. I turn around with a forced smile.

“Good morning, Parker,” I say shortly, wanting to end this conversation before it even starts. If he is going to start with his bullshit this early, he could at least let me pour my fucking coffee first. If he keeps talking, this might be the day I snap.

Don’t be a sassy pants, Dahlia. He pays your bills.

“A beautiful morning, isn't it? What have you been up to?” he asks. I reach for the coffeepot, touching the base to see if it's still hot. My hand jerks back, the sudden burn hitting my skin, snapping my nerves awake. I glance down at my fingertips, watching them turn a shade darker.

“Careful now… does our little damsel need someone to attend to her distress?” he says playfully. It's a good thing my back is toward him, or he would see the grimace plastered on my face. Parker Raines. My perverted boss. Did I know he was a pervert when I accepted this job? No, I found out afterwards… unfortunately. A detail Zoe left out. He is relentless and doesn't know how to take the hint that I am not interested.

I need the money, so I’ve kept my mouth shut. This job pays pretty fucking well, and I’ve built trust with my clients. Parker is someone I’ve been willing to deal with, but the longer I stay, the less patience I have for him. You would think after being here for a couple of months I would get used to it. I mean, what woman even wants to be hit on by her boss? Rhetorical question, by the way. Only if he is hot and fictional.

Maybe it’s the fact that he had to take over his father’s business. I’ve heard around that his father was quite a tight-ass and made sure that his son would take over when he retired. I don’t think Parker was built to manage anything, if you ask me.

“No, thank you. It was just a little warmer than I thought it was going to be,” I reply, taking a mug out of the cabinet and pouring the caffeinated liquid into it. It’s 7:30 a.m. and I am not a morning person. Give me a handful of minutes after I drink a coffee, then it’s probably safe to approach me. And by probably, I mean, I prefer if you still do not. Maybe I’ll invest in a mug that says “Do Not Approach Until Coffee Is Finished,” so the next time he tries to speak to me, I can just point right at it and save myself the suffering.

“Alright, I was just asking,” Parker says with his hands raised in surrender. I don't respond. I just look blankly while I take my first sip. The liquid feels even hotter on my lips. It's a burn I don’t mind. Though I’m not enjoying it as much as I normally do because of Parker's presence.

“I have to get set up for my clients today. Is there anything you need?”

I eye him while I gather my belongings, hoping he will say “no”. Gosh, Dahlia. Why did you have to ask a question? I should’ve just walked away. He smiles at me, almost hungrily, and, like clockwork, I wait for the snide remark.

“Oh, I need many things… but you can go. Have a good day today, Dahlia.”

I can’t tell if he is being sarcastic or not. Whatever, I have a full schedule of clients today and I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with his games. I grab my purse and journal, scurrying to my office, slamming the door behind me.

Oops. I need to stop kicking it shut.

I shuffle, reaching into my bag, removing my laptop and the folder with all my notes written in it. I always arrive an hour early before my day starts so I can read over my clients’ reports. It’s important that I refresh my memory on each client so I can give them the proper care and touch base on any recommended guidance or treatments that I provided in our last session.

Every client I see receives different care. So no two sessions are ever the same. There’s no one–size–fits–all approach to the job. Every person has been subjected to different types of trauma, experiences, discomfort, or disconnect. It’s why I love my job so much. I get to connect with people on a deeper level, understand where they come from, how they process emotions, and help them through it. There’s never a dull moment, that's for sure.

Today in particular will be noteworthy. I have two clients dealing with marital affairs, one client processing survivor’s guilt from a horrible accident, and last but not least, Axel Gray. Who hasn’t left the depths of my mind ever since he stepped foot in here?

Despite that, I still do not understand why he is here. When clients come to me willingly, they make it clear they want help—that they want to heal and better understand their emotions. With Axel… he speaks as if he has it all figured out. As if he isn't seeking guidance. This not only strikes me as unusual, but is also a big source of my intrigue. I want to figure him out.

I take the manila folder with his name written on the label and open it, eyeing the pages I compiled inside during my off-hours. Since his file was practically empty, I had to research his name and find a conspicuous profile of him. With a quick internet search, you can find a lot about a person. There was one link in particular that grabbed my attention, though.

Axel Gray Inmate Records Request

I remember eagerly clicking on the link when I first saw it on my laptop, not knowing if it was the Axel Gray I was looking for, or another. The shiver that had erupted and taken over my whole body was ghastly. The set of eyes that stared back at me, were ones I knew. The conflict I saw setting battle in those swirls of chocolate, I almost felt… captivating.

I found myself digging further, coming across a list of charges and felonies underneath the mug shot:

Reckless Driving

Exhibition Of Speed

Aggravated Battery and Assault

Resisting Arrest

What the hell did he get into?

The page had gone into little in-depth detail, aside from noting a two-year sentence at the county prison, which was just over two years ago.

Is he dangerous?

The Battery and Assault charges should be confirmation enough, but I wasn't present when it happened. It’s never fair to assume something about someone without knowing the full extent of what occurred. It’s part of my job to be an unbiased source.

False charges or even plea bargains to decrease sentences happen all the time. I searched for more but came up empty-handed. No articles, no other records, a whole lot of nothing. Next on my to-do list is to find out where he went for psychiatric care. He mentioned it passingly, as if it were a part of his resume.

I scoff, closing his file. He is my last session of the day; I shouldn't let him occupy my mind when I have others that need care before him today. Who knows if he will show up, anyway?

Chapter 11

The Stalker

Iget to see my girl today, and the thought is making the blood flow straight to my dick. I’ve been lurking outside her window every night since I had the pleasure of touching her. The expression on her face replays in my mind like a broken record. The way her lips parted and her eyes fluttered as she orgasmed on my hand was pure fucking bliss. I jerked off to the thought of it in the alley behind her complex before I could even make it home. I swear my balls would have gone purple if I hadn’t had the release. Next time my cock will be involved in our little interaction, and she'll be the one to get me off.

Curiosity piques my mind with wonder at what emotions ran through her after calling her my Little Flower to her face, letting her know her stalker is eager to make things physical. She wore an expression of fear that had drained all color from her face, and I fucking loved it.

No matter which version of me she gets—the masked stalker or Axel Gray—the torment never ends. I want to sink into the depths of her mind where she can't escape me. Where she will do anything for a moment of peace, but it will only be me who can offer her reconciliation. It will be me everywhere she thinks, and everywhere she looks, like an endless house of mirrors.

Misery loves company, and baby, I'm not afraid to drag you into the abyss with me.

I’m already taking up space in that head of hers. I watched her as she looked up my name, searching for any information on who I might be. The smile I had plastered on my face the whole time left my cheeks burning. I watched her dig deeper and come up with nothing.

I’ve had a way of being able to erase who Axel Gray really is. She won’t learn a thing about me unless I want her to. My little puppet doesn’t know that every move she makes is already a part of the show.

I know that in our session today she will bring up my criminal past, which is something I’m not afraid to share or discuss. I’m the one who brought it up in the first place, so she would hyper-focus on it. I want her to fear me. I want her to be so unsure that it makes her completely infatuated with me. I’m going to make her obsess over me the way she has me obsessing over her.

It’s only fair that I return the sentiment.

I brush off my clothes and open the double doors to the office, making eye contact with the same pair of vacant eyes from last week. My clothes are as unwelcoming as usual, black like my soul. It makes picking outfits easier. Black jeans, black shirt, black boots. What else do I need? I’m a no bullshit type of man.As I walk in her direction, she speaks first. “I will go ahead and check you in, Axel. You can have a seat,” the receptionist says before I take another step. I turn, walking toward the same chair I sat in ‌last time I was here. She remembered my name, how sweet. I’m here early, fifteen minutes on the dot. I wanted to scope out the place a little more before seeing my Little Flower. I brought a backpack with me this time, filled with cameras that I intend to place in a few rooms. I want to know what she's doing at all times.

“Where is your restroom?” My deep voice fills the silence of the waiting room, and the girl at the desk takes a moment to realize I'm speaking to her.

“It's down the hall, the last door on your left,” she replies, pointing at the doorway.

I grab my backpack and head down the hall, sticking my head into each room first. The first door on the right is the break room. The first door on the left is an office, which I’m assuming belongs to her boss. I take all the mental notes as I walk down the bland hall.

The second door to the right is a room for clients, and so is the one across on the left. I only brought three cameras. I will skip the client rooms, except for my girl’s, of course.
I continue down the hall and notice her door is closed—I know she has sessions before me, so I can wait, I guess. I look to my left and see the restroom that I have no intention of using.

I only asked, so I’d have an excuse to be back here alone—I need to figure out how I’m going to place these cameras so they aren't visible. They are wireless little orbs that are so fucking easy to hide. They also have microphones built into them so I can hear everything.

I walk back toward the break room, making sure no one sees me wandering. It’s empty today. The therapists rotate days, and no more than three people are in the office at a time. At least that's what I've gathered from my visits here. Very convenient for me.

I turn to the left and head into the break room. A kitchenette, a table with a few chairs, and a vending machine fill the space. I glance around, looking for the perfect spot.

A small poster hangs on one of the walls depicting a cat dangling from a tree branch with the words, “Hang in There.” I didn't think people actually had these at work. A quiet chuckle escapes me.

I take one of the small orbs and peel off the backing to reveal the adhesive surface beneath. I look around the room once more, ensuring the emptiness, and quickly press the camera onto the corner of the poster frame.

Blends right in.

I work my way back out to the waiting room, already having decided to place one of the cameras there. The chair I was sitting in is angled perfectly to give sight of the entire room. I take the small orb and attach it to the base of the armrest. You wouldn’t be able to see it unless you went looking for it.

Just one more camera. All I have to do is wait for my Little Flower to come get me. In the meantime, I’m going to test the ones I placed to make sure there aren’t any issues. We wouldn't want my efforts to go to waste.

I grab my phone and open the software I've been using for the cameras in her apartment. I see two new boxes appear with still images. I click on the first box, camera one, and the video feed switches to the waiting room. My jeans show in the periphery of the video, but not enough that they are blocking the view.

I click on the second box, camera two, and the break room fills the screen. A man in a worn suit walks in and heads straight towards the vending machine, putting a dollar in. A moment later, an ethereal blonde angel walks in. My girl. A smile fights the corner of my mouth but quickly leaves once I see her face shift into a dreadful expression. She quickly turns to exit, but before she can, the man in the suit calls her name.

“Taking a moment before your next client?” The man says.

“I was just going to refill my water bottle, but it looks like I may not have time,” she responds, looking at her naked wrist. The worn-suit man grabs his snack out of the little compartment at the bottom of the machine and starts to unwrap the granola bar.

“What's the rush? You don’t have a moment to converse with your boss?” Her boss? This must be Parker Raines. He owns the place—he had taken over the family business from his father when he retired. I briefly looked into the history of this place when I found my angel, but didn't go as far as researching what everyone looked like.

I knew his father had owned this place for over thirty years, and from the looks of it, he forced his son to follow in his footsteps, needing someone to leave his legacy to. I heard he can be quite the douche. With this interaction, I don’t like the way he's speaking to her. I’m about ready to get up and give his ass something else to talk about.

“Parker, I’m really in a rush right now. My next patient is here and my last—”

“How about we converse over dinner sometime?” he says, cutting her off. She looks taken aback, not knowing how to respond. The blood rushes to my face, and I am instantly angered. Who the fuck does he think he is? Asking my girl out for dinner? As her boss? Every hint in her body posture tells me she wants to tell him to fuck off, but instead she just stands there speechless. She can’t tell her boss to fuck off without getting fired, I’m sure.

Should I go in there and re-arrange his face?

If I did, they would know I was watching, so that's off the table. I could accidentally walk in? Her faint voice emits through my ear buds, pulling me back to the screen and away from every scenario where I beat the living shit out of him.

“Maybe some other time. I’m sorry, I really have to get to my next client.” That answer pissed me off. She should've said no. I watch her as she escapes, leaving her water bottle on the counter, and heading in my direction.

“Axel Grey?” My head whips up, reminding me I’m not home alone watching her like I usually am.

Chapter 12

The Flower

Hold Onto Me - Amira Elfkey

“I’m glad to see you came back, Axel,” I say politely, watching him take a seat on the cushioned sofa. I am glad to see him back. It shows that maybe the first session wasn't a waste of time, and that he does want some sort of help. It always makes me happy to see a client come back. It means I’m doing something right.

“How are you doing today? Are there any topics you would like to touch base on in today's session?” Just like last time, his energy is the same, but there's a noticeable absence of hesitation. This could be a good thing. He may feel more comfortable this time, which means he may be more open to conversation instead of making snide remarks.

“I’m good today. In fact, I feel great. And no, no topics come to mind. Feel free to lead the way,” he says boastfully. Wow, this feels like a completely different person. Perhaps this session will go smoothly.

“Well, since we had gotten the basics and got to know each other a little bit, let's dive just a little deeper. I want to touch base on something you mentioned last week.” His eyes show a glint of excitement before quickly masking it. I watch as he readjusts in his seat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, letting me know I have his full attention.

“Which part?” he says. I can see the corner of his mouth start to curve upward, and I watch as he fights it.

I spoke too soon.

There is the Axel from last time. Does jumping into his criminal past seem too fast-paced for a second session? I don't think he would've mentioned it if it were. And he seems pretty open to conversation today.

“Last time we spoke, we discussed your previous visits to other mental health professionals, and in passing you mentioned other topics. Are you okay if we dive into discussing those further?” I ask. I spent all my spare time digging any information on him that I possibly could; why not hear it straight from the source? With no hesitation, he gives me a nod to proceed.

“I want to get a better understanding of who you are. You mentioned you had a run-in with the law, is that right?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Please do not feel pressured to tell me anything you don't like, but may I ask how you ended up in a situation like that?” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. I reach behind me, grabbing a notepad and pen from my desk, ready to jot down any important information he gives me.

“A few friends and I are… notorious for hosting street racing gatherings. We’ve been hosting them for years, and the turnout gets bigger each time. It's a great way to make extra cash. Those who want to race, pay a fee. Those who want to watch have the option to bid. People from all over come to either race or watch. Of course, this isn't a legal or government-approved event, so those who attend have to sign a document stating they know we are not responsible for what happens to them, to make sure they won’t snitch.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. Has anyone… had something happen to them? I can imagine street racing is super dangerous. I don’t know how fast bikes can go or how your race is laid out, but it does sound dangerous in itself if they have to sign a waiver?” I ask him, trying to comprehend how open he is, while appreciating all the details he is giving me.

Patient confidentiality is important, but you do have an obligation as a professional to report if someone is of harm to themselves or to others. This has happened in the past, and according to the Google search, Axel has already paid the piper. Thankfully, I don't have to report anything unless it's ongoing…

“It's extremely dangerous. Some racers travel at 90-100 plus miles per hour at times, just to get ahead of one another. We’ve had lots of racers get injured, even some who have experienced death. I have no remorse, though. They know exactly what they're getting themselves into.” My eyebrows can't help but raise with concern.

“Why would people put themselves into a predicament like that? Besides winning, what do they gain?”

“They could win half a million dollars. Sometimes even more. Money like that can change a lot of lives. Putting oneself in danger for money is beyond me. That's why I host.” He taps his finger on his temple, indicating that he is being clever.

“And you don't feel any type of remorse? Any feelings at all? What about concern? Don’t you experience some type of feeling when you see others get hurt?” I ask, trying to dig deeper. If he really has no feelings at all for them and treats it as purely transactional, that says a lot about his character. Not making room, or being unable to make room, for how others may feel or what could happen to them raises a slight red flag in my mind of psychological disconnect or detachment.

When I have patients like this, a common mechanism or condition they have often resembles dissociation, alexithymia, or apathy. Any of these can appear from past trauma, PTSD, or being unable to express themselves due to high levels of stress. A part of me wonders if he has some sort of psychopathic tendency, leading to his narcissism.

It's so important to ask the right questions and get to know how someone has come upon such psychological detachment. Lots of conditions or diagnoses are similar, but also so different. It all depends on how one’s past has influenced who they are today, or how someone copes with emotions or stress in their current experiences.

His words pull me back to existence.

“No feelings at all. Like I mentioned before, they put themselves into these situations knowing the repercussions. One of the last times we hosted a race, someone snitched, and the cops showed up when the race was about to begin. There were over ten cop cars swarming the group. A lot got away; some didn't. It's like when you see a movie and everything is in slow motion. I watched racers get violently tackled to the ground and thrown into cuffs, organizers staring down the barrels of guns that threatened to end them.

I ran toward my bike, barely making it on, when a cop wrapped his arm around my neck from behind and put me in a headlock. So, I punched the motherfucker. Once he let go, I hit him again and again. I couldn't stop.” I watch Axel intensely. His eyes are fixated on the window in my office, lost in memory.

The expression on his face contorts as if he is reliving the moment, noticing his hands have balled into fists. I can see the blanching of his knuckles as they turn whiter the stronger his grip gets.

I don’t want to add to his anger, but it is healthy for him to release these emotions. He is also giving me a lot of important information about how he manages his emotions with actions. He may not want to admit it, but anger is a feeling. This is a good sign.

“Once he was a bloody mess, I hopped on my bike and took off. I only got so far before they chased and caught me. I typically would’ve been able to get away, but the snitch had released my name. They waited at my home. Fuckers hid from me, then ambushed,” he finishes, his tone now monotone. I’m taken aback thinking about how physical he became with authority. I knew when I read his record that it listed Assault and Battery on a police officer. A part of me wanted to believe it wasn't as intense as he described.

Bad people do bad things, and sometimes, good people can do bad things too.

I give him a moment of silence to collect himself. He looks back in my direction, giving me a piercing stare. His hands are now unclenched, his shoulders relaxed, and he leans back against the couch, returning to his previous demeanor.

“And that's how I spent two years in prison,” he remarks, shrugging his shoulders like it’s no big deal. I glance down at my notepad, wanting to find something I could ask him further about, but I was listening so intensely I had forgotten to write anything down. So I focus on asking him how the consequences of his actions felt and if it had changed his behavior or thinking.

“Has prison had any impact or given you any reflection on how you dealt with the situation? I can imagine being there for two years has given you some time to reflect. Do you regret assaulting the police officer or fleeing from them?” I pry a little more. I don't expect anything more than a “no.” If he had no remorse for those who were harmed during his races, I’m sure he wouldn't for those in authority.

“Motherfucker had it coming; he put his hands on me. It was only fair that I did the same,” Axel says, showing no empathy. Was two years worth it? If he had complied, I'm sure the time served would've been less. It probably didn't even occur to him, acting so quickly.

“I can see where you are coming from. The situation escalated quickly, and you reacted. How did you feel during the experience? I'm sure you were angry, which I assume is why you hit the officer?” I dig into the fact that he reacted in anger. He pauses a moment, not straying eye contact from me. It's like he is trying to read me. Like he is wondering why I’m asking about his feelings.

It's why he’s here, isn't it?

“I was pissed. Someone snitched. I’m still trying to find out who. Once I do, they better fucking pray to the god they have that I’ll show mercy and end their life fast.” The words leave his lips in a threatening promise. W… what? My mouth is open, but no words come out. I’m stunned. I’m speechless. Did he just threaten someone's life in front of me? I’ve never had this happen before.

I watch as he stands, circling the coffee table that separates us. My body stills. I can feel every muscle tighten and constrict. I don't move. I can't move. I just watch as he stands in front of me, peering down with his grim presence. Can he hear how fast my heart is beating? Can he hear my fast-paced breaths? Will he hurt me?

He bends over slightly, positioning his face only a few inches away from mine. Not realizing my jaw is actually open, I feel his large fingers caress my chin, closing the distance between my lips. My eyes flicker back and forth searching his, looking for any sign of what he is about to do next. His gaze moves down to my lips as he licks his own.

“I believe our session is done, Ms. Rosen.” His words coat my lips in a flirtatious declaration before he gives me a wink, and leaves the office, leaving me in silence.

Chapter 13

The Stalker

Honey & Hemlock - Noah Thorne

My skin is drenched in perspiration as I sit on my bedroom floor. My fingers are tangled in my long black hair, feeling the roots of each strand being pulled. My breaths are shallow and fast, as if I’m running a marathon that seems to never end.

I rub my eyes, trying to get rid of my tears. My eyes are swollen, puffy, and tender. My body aches all the time. I haven't been to school in weeks because of the bruises. They are bigger and darker. So purple they almost look black. My finger grazes the skin on my arm, feeling the swollen welts. There's so many, I can barely see the color of my own flesh.

I rock back fourth, feeling my fists slamming into my skull. Over and over. I need to pull myself out. I need to pull myself out. I need to pull myself out. Damn it, Axel.

The bruises are taking longer and longer to fade away. I’m being punished as if I have any control. I’m not allowed to go to school or see anyone until they’re barely visible or gone. They seem to never leave. My mom and dad come into my room every day to hit me. How are they supposed to disappear if they keep making more? I wish I could be the one to disappear. It would fix all ‌the problems.

My stomach feels uneasy, but I can’t seem to find the strength to get up. My skin is clammy, hair is stuck to my face, and the floor seems to be the only familiar place I know. I usually have my flashbacks under control, but they have been getting progressively worse, and I don’t know why. They appear like some sick game of jack-in-the-box.

I try to get away. I try to scream. I try to beg. Nothing helps. My mom tells me I ruined their lives. They always tell me they wish I wasn’t here. Why? What did I do? I try my best to stay out of their way. I try my best to be as quiet as possible. I try my best. I try.

I can feel bile creeping its way up my esophagus. I have to get up. Get up, Axel. You need to get up. I wipe the strands of hair stuck to my face, my legs tremble as I reach the bed for support. I stand and gather every bit of strength in my body to make my way to the bathroom.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot… right foot. I reach for the door handle, but all I feel is air. I swear it was right there. My eyes look ahead, and the room seems to stretch, making the bathroom door appear another 20 feet away.

Flashes of my past wave in and out. I can see my childhood bedroom. This feels all too familiar. I’ve experienced this before. I’m not going to make it. My eyes begin to flutter and I start tasting a sour bitterness in the back of my throat. I reach the air in front of me again, seeing my large hand being replaced by a child's hand. Is it mine?

My finger grazes something cold and metallic. I hope for the best while grasping and turning it. I don’t know how I make it to the toilet, but I do. Vomit leaves my body uncontrollably, as if the demons from my past are trying to escape. I wouldn’t be mad if they did.

Instant relief washes over me as I slump onto the tiled floor. My stomach leaving no remnant behind. I begin to level out my breaths before I stand and start the shower. I watch the water until steam condensates the air. I slide my clothes off, hating the feeling of them sticking to my skin.

I leave them piled on the floor, not bothering to throw them in the basket. I slide the fogged glass door open, taking one step inside, and then another. I turned the knob all the way to the hottest temperature. Maybe the burn of the water will be a good distraction.

I let the scorching water flow over me, feeling goosebumps prickle at the warmth that's turning my skin red. I reach for the loofah and soak it with body wash. Mint fills the air as I begin to scrub and scrub and scrub, as if the memories can be washed away. My fist meets the tile wall, and instant pain registers through my knuckles.

“Fuck!” I say in frustration. The shower wall has done nothing to me, but it’s paying the price for something I have no control over. A little crack ruining its perfect surface. My skin is red, my knuckles are red, my vision is red. Anger takes over, masking the trauma I just endured. I’m infuriated that I let myself get sucked in like that. I used to have control over my memories; now they have control over me. The whole reason I went to Parker Raines Therapy Center was to get a better handle on when I noticed my episodes were happening more often. Dahlia Rosen has to be my saving grace. No, Dahlia Rosen needs to be my saving grace.

Chapter 14

The Flower

My body turns while my hips dip, almost meeting the floor. My hair whips in front of my line of vision, but I don’t give it another thought. My knees stretch, making me stand, then I dip again. My hands wander over my upper body as I lose myself in the music, the air around me thickening with sensuality. I turn once more, hearing the clicking of my heels on the wooden floor over the loud music. My upper half bends forward, my hands come down, slowly feeling the length of my legs as they start from my ankles and make their way up to my thighs. Hair moving in all directions as I feel the movements coursing through, like we are one and the same. I stare at myself in the mirror under the low lighting. My mind is only here, right at this moment.

“Did everyone catch that? Or do you need me to run through it again?” My loud voice breaks through the music as I click the pause button on my phone. I turn around to face the class, making sure they heard me. Everyone nods in agreement to proceed, and I press play again, music emanating through the speaker.

“Okay, we want to see you all do it this time. Ready?” I watch as the girls turn and dip, a few of them stumbling in their heels. We have a few beginners, and watching those who have never danced in heels before is quite entertaining. They remind me of baby deer learning how to walk.

Z cuts the music once more, mid-dance. Some girls pause, not expecting the music to go silent. Others shift on their heels, turning around in wonder.

“When you turn, do it with confidence! Pick your dominant leg to flip around with; you'll have more control. Like this!” Z says, demonstrating for the class. She has them try it a few more times before restarting the music again. Even the simplest movements can be more complicated, especially in heels.

Knowing how to shift your body weight without stumbling or looking stiff isn't for the weak. Also, who knew teaching women how to feel sexy would be hard? We have a lot of attendees who join our classes to help boost self-esteem. We are all for women’s empowerment.

It's very important as a woman to feel sexy. First, because we are. Second, when you're not in a great headspace and you don't love yourself, it can take such a toll on you. We’ve had people saying it's cliché to take a heels class. That it is basically pole dancing, without the pole, which by the way, we also teach. But who cares? The amount of upper-body strength pole dancing requires is unreal—it should be its own sport.

The music cuts out once more, and I hear Z’s voice instruct the girls to take a five-minute break. It’s more for her and me, to be honest. We’ve been at this since noon. and we’re in our second class of the day. I can feel sweat coating my neck, dripping down my back, and it sends a feeling of distaste through me, so I head toward the restroom to freshen up.

I take a hand towel off the counter and run it under ‌cold water. My skin shivers as the cold, wet material touches my skin. My eyes look sunken in. You can tell I haven't gotten any sleep lately. I appreciate the girls in class not mentioning anything.

A ring at the door draws my attention. There shouldn’t be anyone coming in at this hour. I toss the damp towel into the laundry bin, hurrying to see who it is. My eyebrows pinch in confusion; there is a man I have never seen before, looking around. He is tall, pale, and good-looking. What is he doing here?

“Hi, can I help you?” I say to the man, approaching him from behind. Our classes are a man-free zone, so the women can be as comfortable as possible. He looks in my direction, confused. His eyes dart to mine, then back around the room as if he is searching for someone. My brows go up in question as I wait for him to respond.

“Uh, I’m looking for someone,” he says without explanation. My guard is up and alert. I can’t just let some stranger in here. Who knows what his intentions are? I eye him up and down, noticing something in his hands. It's a bouquet of flowers. Bright red roses, as if they had freshly bloomed this morning.

“Who are you looking for?” I say hesitantly, trying to get more information out of the man. His eyes continuously wander the room when he suddenly stops and smiles.

A squeal fills the air as I see Z running in our direction. She leaps forward, and he catches her by the hips, pulling her toward him. Her legs wrap around his waist, making them even closer.

Is this the guy she’s been seeing?

I want to be happy that she is happy, but a part of me is still unsure. She kisses him on the lips, then turns towards me with a big smile on her face.

“What a fun surprise! What are you doing here?” she asks him.

“I just wanted to surprise you.” The smile on his face is ear to ear. She squeezes him tighter for a moment before turning to me.

“Dahlia, this is Zane! Zane, this is Dahlia. This is the guy I’ve been seeing. I am so excited you're getting to meet each other!” she says. He looks at me with a shy smile, and I give him an unsure one back. He reaches his hand out in hopes of a proper greeting.

Normally, I would be delighted to meet one of Z’s boy toys, especially one who’s officially earned boyfriend status, but something feels a little… off. I can't seem to put my finger on it.
After contemplating, I reach out and shake his hand. He gives me a smile before saying,

“It’s nice to meet you. Zoe has mentioned a lot about you. In fact, she never stops talking about you.” Zane pokes her stomach teasingly, and she giggles like a little schoolgirl. A blush creeps onto her high cheekbones, and it makes something deep within me feel comforted. I haven’t seen her act this way in a long time.

“Oh, has she?” I respond with a wink in her direction. I look around to see the girls ready for class to start again. They’re all standing in front of the mirror, practicing the moves from earlier.

“You should go, Z,” I suggest, still watching her wrapped around this man like a baby koala.

“Are you sure?”

“I can handle one more hour on my own. I’m more than sure.” I give her a heartwarming smile.

“You’re the best!” She unwraps her body from his, and now embraces mine. I hug her back.

“Now go before I change my mind,” I say playfully. I watch as she lets the class know she is leaving and grabs her belongings. She gives me a kiss on the cheek before walking out hand-in-hand with Zane. I’m happy for her. I really am, but a part of me is sad that I don't get to spend as much time with her as I usually do.

I turn the music back on and continue the class for the next hour. Once all the girls leave, Zoe and I usually stay back to tidy up. Looks like it's just me this time. My body is exhausted as I sweep and mop the wooden floors. They're scuffed and scraped from the heavy labor of the hardworking souls dancing their hearts out. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

The sun is starting to dip lower, leaving a feeling of completeness in the air. By myself, it's taking me over an hour to clean up. I don't mind, though. It relaxes me to clean up alone. Our next class won’t be for another few days. Technically, I can come back and do it later, but I’m a do-it-now kind of person.

I give the studio one last glance before locking up. I jiggle the door handle, ensuring it doesn’t turn. Zoe and I came in her car, and she took her keys with her when she left. The studio is a few miles from the apartment. Looks like I am walking home today. I regret that decision now that I am walking back alone. I had completely forgotten; I was so focused on her being happy.

Everything will be fine, Dahlia. Just walk fast.

Chapter 15

The Flower

One block left, and I’m home. That wasn't so bad. It was actually quite relaxing. Walking home in the evening, with the city lights illuminating night the sky, makes me feel at peace. I love nighttime. It’s one of my favorite escapades.

I turn left into the short alleyway behind my apartment, taking a minor shortcut. The heels of my feet are feeling sore, and I want to get home as soon as possible so I can put these babies in some cozy slippers. The ambiance of the alley is dusky. Pure darkness, besides one small lamp. My pace quickens as I hop over a puddle in the center.

Just as I'm at the cusp, a hooded figure turns the corner directly in front of me. I quickly come to a halt. The figure takes a step forward in my direction without hesitation. My eyes widen in terror. I turn to run in the other direction. It’s the only rational thing I can think to do.

Run, Dahlia. Run.

Anxiety surges through my body as I take off, and my fight-or-flight response kicks in. My mouth opens to scream for help, but a large hand muffles my words. My body lurches backward roughly. I kick and kick, but it’s of no use. My hands reach behind me, feeling for a face, intending to scratch, but I’m met with hard plastic.

Oh, fuck.

The masked man picks me off my feet, and I am thrown face-first into the brick wall. I wince as my face meets the rough bricks. I press against it, using all my force, but the man is behind me, holding me in place. No, not again. I told myself I would be better prepared if it happened again. I’m frustrated with myself. I’m pinned and I can’t move.

I feel a hand cup my ass and I freeze. It's rough. It's unforgiving. It's unfamiliar. The fabric of his hood tickles my cheek as he comes closer, leaning into me more. He breathes heavily from my resistance. The hair on my body rises as a low guttering voice fills my ears.

“Stop moving, or I’ll throw you onto the fucking ground.” The words are unsettling, coating me in fear. It’s not like the tone from before. Who the fuck is this?

The hand reaches into my leggings from behind. I flail my arms, trying to grasp at anything. I need to get him off ‌me. Tears begin to run down my face, like acid on my cheeks, scraped raw from the brick. I’m thrown from the wall, and my body quickly meets the concrete, forcing the air out of my lungs. It takes me far too long to comprehend what just happened. My bloody palms struggle beneath me as I use all my strength to push myself up. A sob escapes me as the gravel prickles unforgivingly on my skin.

Get up, Dahlia. Get the fuck up.

I manage to crawl only a few inches before my body is pressed into the concrete once more. My vision blurs as my lungs seize with the lack of oxygen.

“H-Help,” I say breathlessly. I’m flipped over. Every ounce of my body braces, feeling pain coarse through me. Filth cakes my face, mixing with my tears and blood. My arms reach forward, and I claw at the man who is climbing on top of me. I am fighting with every fiber of my being. I have to fight with every fiber of my being.

I blink, trying to clear my eyesight. My arms are pinned to my sides in an instant. A wave of disbelief washes over me, leaving me frightened. I’ve never seen this mask before.

“Stop struggling. You seemed to enjoy this before. Now be a good whore and lie there.” The man says with an impatient growl. W-What did he say?

His front presses against mine, leaving me caged. I feel his slimy, rough hand reach back into my leggings, this time it's not from the back. My hips buck forward, trying to get away.

“N-no. P… please, stop,” I grunt desperately. This is not the masked man from the parking garage. He is not my stalker. My body goes numb, feeling his fingers meet my core. His touch is rough and violent, sending searing pain through my body. My sobs turn into rivers of surrender. This is it. There is nothing else I can do. I tried. I tried my best, and it wasn't enough.

The hardening of his dick on my thigh has my stomach acid stirring. He’s panting and groaning, getting off on what he's doing to me. I turn my head, trying to put any distance I can between us. I don’t think I can fight anymore. My body is exhausted. I start to count the bricks on the wall.

One, two, three, four, five…

If I just let him have what he wants, it’ll be over soon. I feel the top of my pants being lowered. The roughness of his jeans rubs against me, chaffing my skin.

Six, seven, eight…

A sudden gust of wind brushes over me, and I no longer feel a warm, revolting body weighing me down. Somewhere in my mind, I know I’m being saved, but my mind slowly fades away into nothingness. All I can do is lie there, numb.

Large hands grasp my cheeks, turning my head straight. My eyes follow behind and meet familiar ones. I should be grateful. I should be relieved. I’m being rescued, but it doesn't feel like it. I hear a distant voice.

“Dahlia. Dahlia, baby, are you okay? I’m here,” he says repeatedly. I can’t bring myself to say anything. His eyes search mine in desperation. He leans forward, picking me up, and cradling me in his arms. I let him. I stare at him, taking him in. He is enraged; I can see it in his eyes. But when he looks at me, it’s with softness.

My hand comes up touching his mask. It’s the only gesture I can make to let him know that I’m glad he found me. He looks at me like I’m a broken piece of china.

I’m not sure if being in his arms is any safer than where I just was, but a feeling deep within me knows that I am. If I wasn't, he wouldn't have saved me, right? It’s the only thought I have keeping me from breaking apart right now. I’ll hold on to it a little longer.

He carries me to my apartment. This is the first time I haven't felt frightened of him being here. All the lights are off. Looks like Zoe is still out with her guy. What am I going to say to her? I have to tell her what happened to me. She is the only person who I can confide in. I’m not ready for a conversation like that yet, though.

I wince as I’m lowered onto my bed, my body aching in pain while the room fades in and out. I see the masked stranger disappear into my bathroom and return with a wet cloth. I’m dazed. Confused. Defeated. What is he doing?

He sets the cloth on my nightstand before approaching the end of my bed. I watch as he grabs my shoes, removing one after the other. I don't have any will within me to move, so I don’t. The skin on my ankle is met with brisk air, as my socks are no longer hugging my feet. I rub them against one another anxiously.

The masked man looks at me; he doesn't have to say a word for me to know he's reassuring me that everything will be okay. His fingers graze the top of my leggings and my body stiffens. His deep voice absorbs the quiet dreariness of the room as he removes his touch.

“If you don’t feel comfortable, I won’t.” I meet him in silence as my brain runs a million miles per minute. The thing is, I don’t even think I can help myself. I’d probably just lie here in this filth for the next day or two without his help. He’s patient as he watches the war in my eyes. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have already. I give him a gentle, but hesitant nod.

He slowly and very gently lines the seam of my leggings and clasps them. Little goosebumps wake at the brush of his knuckles. I feel the material slowly start to lower, exposing me, but this time, not for pleasure. A tear spills out unwillingly, and I begin to sob again. I can’t control it. My hands come up, covering my face from embarrassment, but they're quickly removed.

“Look at me, Dahlia. Look at me. You are safe with me. I can stop if you want me to. I just want to help,” he says, as his tone begs, pleading for me to give him some sort of reassurance. But I can’t. I can't look at him. I feel disgusting. I feel violated. I feel useless.

The bed dips as he sits next to me, still holding my hands. He stays with me in silence while tears of defeat leak down my face, wiping them as they fall. He probably thinks I’m disgusting now too. I wouldn't be surprised if he never came to see me again. He just feels sorry for me. I can see it when he looks at me. At least I won’t have to worry about him breaking into my apartment anymore.

Minutes go by without a sound. He sits until all the tears are drained out of me. I’m ashamed. I couldn't fend for myself, and my stalker is now cleaning the aftermath because I can't.

He leaves my side, and I immediately feel empty. He takes the damp towel from the nightstand in one hand, and takes my chin with the other. The rough fabric feels like a betrayal as it grazes against my broken skin, cleaning the grime unsympathetically. I let out a whimper at the contact.

The masked man eases some of the pressure as he continues to wipe my cheeks clean. My eyes scan him for a moment. Noticing how gentle he is caring for me, as if it's his purpose. His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, it feels like the world has paused, and I’m no longer in my own living nightmare. I no longer feel pain. I no longer feel anything. I only feel him here with me.

Chapter 16

The Stalker

Falling Into You - Beneath Our Ashes

My lungs start to spasm the longer I’m holding my breath. I don’t know why, but not breathing makes me feel like I'm being gentle. As if a small breath would cause her pain. I have three emotions running through my system right now. One that I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. Sadness? Heartache? Or some sort of empathy? I can’t seem to pinpoint exactly what the emotion is. All I know is that I feel some sort of mournfulness about what happened to her.

Another odd feeling I have is guilt. That if I hadn't been busy, I could’ve gotten to her sooner. It’s unlike her to walk home after her dance class. She and Zoe typically ride together.

The tracker I have on her phone notifies me whenever she travels. Knowing where she is at all times is a top priority for me. I noticed the little blue dot was moving slower than normal, indicating she was headed home on foot this time.

I had a few late photoshoots today, and the second I noticed how slowly the door was moving, I rushed in my car and drove straight to her location. I turned onto the street the tracker led me to, but she was nowhere in sight. I remembered there was a shortcut through the alleyway that leads right behind her apartment, so I took an educated guess and pulled near it. When I scoped down the dark street, all I saw was red.

A small light, attached to the brick building, made them barely visible in the darkness. I only noticed because it bounced off her silky white hair. I ran, pulled the motherfucker off of her, slamming him forcefully onto the concrete. My fists came down and were met with a crack. I didn't notice he was wearing a mask until I felt it against my knuckles. I kept punching until he was limp. Or so I thought. My first thought was to tend to my girl and make sure she wasn't hurt.

I knew what he had done to her was far worse than physical pain. Plucking her apart like blood-stained petals at the force of his own hands. Tearing what I adore most about her. Her resilience. Her compassion. The trust I’d built unethically.

I’m no saint myself. Had I forced myself on her? Yes, but not like this. I want her to enjoy what I’m doing to her, not scar her for life. Once I had gotten her into the safety of her apartment, my next move was to put the bastard into the trunk of my car. I glanced over my shoulder before heading up, and saw he was gone.

The fucker got away.

He’d better count his days, because he's only got a few left now. Which leaves me with my third emotion—anger. I want to find this motherfucker and rip his head off. Maybe even bring it back to my Little Flower so she knows her attacker has faced consequences for his actions. Touch my girl and you'll see death. That is a promise.

I inhale before my lungs give out. I had managed to get her leggings off without hurting her. My eyes scan her legs. She is covered in bruises and blood, mainly around her knees. I bring the damp cloth to one of the wounds, and her leg twitches away.

The demons inside me are stirring at the unexpected tenderness. I never thought I had it in me to tend to someone else. Every time I see her, I become ravenous. I want to make her scream and cry and make her fear me. The fact that someone else has done this to her in a completely different manner makes me want to somehow show her this is the doing of someone who isn’t infatuated like I am. Like, if in some sort of way when she figures me out, she would know that the fear l instill in her is different.

I lower the towel again, dabbing the sensitive area until the dirt is no longer visible. I do the same to the other leg. My girl is half naked in front of me and it’s not in the way I would like‌ it to be.

Once I’m done washing the wounds, I sanitize and bandage what I’m able to. Dahlia has stayed quiet the entire time. I mean, I don’t blame her. I’m a stranger. She doesn’t know who I am or what my intentions are. All she knows is that I’m her masked stalker, who would never stop until he gets her.

Aw, look at that. The stalker who was tormenting you suddenly wants to play knight in shining armor. Let me tend to your wounds while you still have no idea who the fuck I really am.

She doesn't have to say anything to me, though. These feelings and emotions I am encountering have me perplexed. I don’t know what to do with them. I haven't felt this way since I was a kid. I buried these types of feelings and thoughts long ago, but for her, I’d face them and I’m not sure why.

I walk toward her dresser, rummaging around in each drawer to find what I’m looking for. Once I do, I start to lower the material around her head and shoulders. I grab the dainty strings she calls straps, and help pull her arms under each one, lowering the rest of the fabric past her thighs and hips.

The nightgown settles into place, covering the important areas. It’s my favorite one. She’s so fucking breathtaking, even beneath those bruises and bandages. She reminds me of a fragile little doll that's taped back together. I take the covers and pull them over her.

I’m caught by surprise when I feel her hand rest on top of mine. Small, soft, and torn. My head shifts to get a better view of her angelic face. It's written with shame.

“Please stay the night with me?” she pleads. She wants me to stay the night with her? I would’ve thought she wanted some time alone. It would give me a head start to catch the pig that did this to her. But who am I to say “no” to being close to her? I give her a nod. If she wants me to stay, I will stay.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” I beg as my stomach growls in displeasure. My fists are pounding on the bedroom door from the inside. I jiggle the door handle, but it’s locked. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, and now it’s night again. 

“Daddy, please! I’m hungry. Just give me something, anything,” I whine. When they lock me in my room, I think they forget about me. Sometimes I save little pieces of food so I can eat them when I’m locked in here. I forgot this time, and now my tummy hurts because I’m starving. 

My body falls forward as the wooden door swings open. It’s my dad, and he is angry. He is always angry. He throws something past me and into my room. Too fast for me to know what it is.

“There is your fucking food. You’re always so needy. Fucking kids!” he yells before slamming the door shut. I crawl over to see what he gave me. A bag of chips. A small, snack sized, bag of chips. I quickly open it, inhaling the savory scent. I take a few chips and shove them into my mouth, swallowing them fast to stop the ache. I eat a handful before rolling up half of ‌the bag to save for later. 

There is a little piece of wood that is loose underneath my bed where I can hide things for later. I shove the almost empty bag into the little hole before covering it back up. I don’t know how much longer I will be locked in my room. I hope the little bit of food that I had was enough. 

My arms and legs are becoming so thin, I can almost see my bones. It looks kind of cool, like I’m a zombie. But when my parents hit me, it hurts me a lot more. I know that one day my mommy and daddy will love me again. I don’t know when, but I look forward to that day.

I’m startled awake with Dahlia hovering over me, her face in terror. I’m sweaty, gasping for air like I’ve been starved for it. I look at her, forgetting I’m in her bed. I touch my face, and relief washes over that my mask is still in place.

“Are you okay? I think you had a night terror?” she says. Her hands are placed on each of my shoulders, shaking me. I must have fallen asleep. Normally I would be ecstatic to be lying next to her, but this is under different circumstances. Irritation seeps in at myself for letting my guard down.

“Oh, is someone concerned about me?” I ask flirtatiously, trying to ease the tension. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. She shifts on the bed, no longer on top of me, and I already miss how close she was.

“Well, you were the one screaming bloody murder. So I thought I’d help. Next time I won’t be so nice,” she implies.

“Next time, eh?” I wink at her. She turns her back to me, crossing her arms. I can see the scabbed-over scratches on her back, and it quickly removes the smile from my face. My hand comes up, brushing her hair to the side, and she stiffens at the unexpected touch. My thumb drags along the freshly painted lines, feeling them, taking them in.

Anger prickles up my neck, and I suppress the feeling. I want to be in this moment with her. I want her to know that I won't do to her what he did to her. This woman has me wanting to take care of her in a way that is frustrating, almost irritating—I really wanted to mess with her psyche more.

She still doesn't know who Axel really is, and that we are the same person. Which gives me options. Giving her two tormentors doesn’t sound so fucking bad to me. Double the attention. She's going to be more on edge and less trusting of the world now because of that piece of shit though. I won’t let this bump in the road mess my game up.

“I should go,” I say, removing my hands. She doesn't move or say anything. She just nods in agreement. I’m not entirely sure if that's what she wants me to do, but I have a varmint to catch, and that is the only thing on my agenda today.

Chapter 17

The Stalker

Fight Like Hell by Motionless In White

The engine of my Challenger fills the air as I roar through the city streets. I pick my phone up and dial someone I know I can trust with my life. The phone rings twice before the call is answered.

“Hey, I need your help with something, and it’s gotta be now,” I say, without even letting him get in a “hello.”

“Right now, right now? It’s four in the morning, Axel. The fuck do you need?” His voice is husky. I know I woke him up, and I don’t give a fuck. I haven’t needed a favor from him in a while, and he owes me big for dealing with the chaotic events that involved the cops last time. Fucker took off and left me to play cat and mouse.

“Does it look like I give a fuck what time it is? Get your ass up and meet me at my place,” I growl.

“Well, I can’t see you, so I can’t tell if you look like you give a fuck or not,” he mocks me. My patience is wearing thin from this conversation already, and I’m about to snap my fucking phone in half. I don’t respond.

“Okay, okay, give me a few. I’m with the girl. I’ll get dressed and I'll meet you there, cranky pants.”

Dude is a fucking child. I can't remember why we’re friends. I end the call and turn the volume on my speakers all the way up, playing Fight Like Hell by Motionless In White, setting the tone for the day. The bass instantly radiates through me.

Once I make it back to my home outside the city, I pour myself an Old Fashioned. The city isn’t for me. Too many things going on all the time. No one knows the fucking word “privacy” there. Not having to deal with nosey, complaining heathens every day keeps my mood tolerable. I live alone, and I like it that way. Just me and my one-story home with two bedrooms and a basement. What more does a man need?

I'm sure I pissed people off with my obnoxious music blaring this early, but I’m still infuriated about last night. Watching her body trapped on the ground replays in my mind, giving me constant fuel. The desire to strangle something has been clawing at me since. Heavy footsteps behind me catch my attention.

“I have a job for us,” I say without hesitation, knowing who is in my home.

“What stick is shoved up your ass, Axel? I was enjoying my sleepless night with my girl, and your rude ass interrupted,” he snickers at me while making humping gestures. I whip my head in his direction and come face-to-face with him.

“I’m not in the fucking mood today, Zane. While you were out playing with your toy, Dahlia had no choice but to walk home, and she… she fucking…” The thumping of my heart gets louder and louder, filling my eardrums.

“Whoa, calm down. What happened to Dahlia? Is she okay?” His tone now serious, coated with worry. He places his palms on my shoulders, pushing me to sit on the chair beside me. I oblige, taking a step backward until I’m met with the soft cushion.

“I caught some pig on top of her in the alleyway behind the apartment. And you can imagine, it wasn't willingly,” I growl.

“I was following her, but I didn't see her. I didn’t fucking see her… until I pulled up toward the alley. The point of the story is, he fucking got away and I need your help finding him.” I cut myself short. He doesn't need to know the details. It’s irrelevant to him. All I need him to do is help me track the piece of shit, and I can do the rest.

Zane is a fucking wizard with tech. He taught me everything I know. Like how to hack and install software so I can spy on my Little Flower, which is basically the bare minimum because anything beyond that fries my brain.

Oh, remember when I said I had a way to control what my girl can find about me online? Well, that was all Zane. He helped me erase everything, aside from my criminal record. Let's say it was another favor he owed.

“What do you need me to do? Does Zoe know?” He asks.

“Do. Not. Tell. Zoe. It’s not your business or hers. I need you to hack into the street camera footage from last night and scan through everything from five o’clock onwards. Look for anything suspicious, like a car parked nearby, or a masked, hooded man,” I instruct him. I trust he will be cautious when looking.

“Masked man? Isn't that your thing?”

“Yes, and the fucker has now ruined what I had going, smartass. How long will it take ‌you to do this?” I snark. I need him to get on this as soon as possible. I don’t want this guy roaming the streets, thinking he can attack my girl again. I pull my phone out, clicking on the cameras to her apartment. My mind is put at ease when I see her still in bed asleep.

“Give me a handful of hours. I have to find the line to the correct street, and that alone will take most of the day,” he says, reaching in his bag and pulling out his laptop. I watch as he clicks and codes a bunch of gibberish. I don’t know what the fuck I’m watching, so I get up to leave.

“Where are you going?” Zane pauses, watching me. I wave him off as I disappear into the hall. I need a shower. I was so focused on making sure my Little Flower was clean, I didn’t realize I was just as filthy. There's soot on my jeans and speckles of crimson scattered on my hands. It's more Dahlia’s than it is mine. When I pounded into the guy who was on top of her, my knuckles hardly broke skin.

I lather, washing all the evidence of the last few hours away. I watch as the drain drinks the red-tainted liquid, while my mind pulls me back to the moment his body hit the pavement. My muscles twitch, pain seeming to course through me as if I were him.

Swirls of color fade in and out of my vision. My head has a searing ache that shoots straight down my spine. My arms and legs are weak. Little tingles from my crushed nerves take over. I reach into the air, trying to feel for something. For what? I don’t know. There is a shadow of a figure clouding my vision as I struggle for air. I slowly begin to be able to articulate who it is. A familiar face stares at me, enraged.

I run my face under the hot water before turning it off. My broken Little Flower… she was mine to break. I wanted her to break for me. I wanted her to break with me. I’ll piece her back together, then tear her apart again.

I dry myself off. All I can do now is wait. As much as it fucking kills me, I know Zane will find who did this to her. I’ll make the fucker beg. Not just at my feet, but at hers most of all. And she’ll be the last face he ever sees. She is going to be the last face he sees.

I pull my phone out and click the camera to my girl’s room again. I notice she has gotten up, and I can see her backside in the view of her bathroom doorway. I walk into my bedroom, turn the TV on, and connect my phone screen to display on it.

I hid a camera in her bathroom, too. I know, call me sick and twisted, but that's when she's naked most of the time, and you think I’m going to skip out on that? No fucking way. I love seeing all of her.

I watch as she winces in the bathroom mirror while re-bandaging her wounds. Her hand comes up and traces the outline of a long scratch on her cheek. She grabs her makeup, contemplating if she should even bother. She sits the glass container back down on the counter in defeat. Even I know there is no covering that up.

She leaves the bathroom and heads into the kitchen, scanning both it and the living area. I think she's looking for Zoe. Too bad she was fucking with a headache of a man all night. All my doing, by the way. Another favor from Zane. She plops onto the couch as she waits, for all of two seconds, before Zoe shows up.

Dahlia doesn't move or say anything. I can tell she is nervous. Instead, she waits for Zoe to notice that she is sitting there. I watch as Zoe jumps in fear at the unexpectedness of my girl sitting there in utter silence. Not a minute goes by and I see her rush over, cupping my Little Flower’s face in concern. I turn the volume up, taking a seat on the edge of my bed, not wanting to miss the conversation. I shouldn’t be listening in the first place, but I can't help myself.

“What the hell happened to you?” Zoe starts.

“Something happened when I was walking home after dance class last night.”

“W-What happened?”

“Well, I was… attacked. I was in the alley behind the apartment when this masked guy came and tried to take advantage of me. Well, he sort of did. Do you remember the guy who has been leaving me creepy notes and pictures of me around the apartment?”

Hey, they are love notes. Thank you very much. Only mildly creepy.

“Did he do this to you?” Zoe asks in concern.

“No! He saw what was happening and helped me. I don’t know how he knew I was there, but if it wasn't for him, I’m not sure what else would’ve happened. The man that attacked me pinned me on the floor in the alleyway. And the stalker guy pulled him off me, and I’m not sure after that… the next thing I knew, I was being carried into the apartment.”

Yeah, thank fuck I was watching her. She doesn’t need to know how.

“Wait, wait. What the fuck? You got assaulted and your stalker was there too?”

Saving the day.

“Zoe, he helped me. He didn't hurt me; the other guy did. He carried me to the apartment and helped clean me up. He didn’t lay a finger on me without my permission.”

“Dahlia, that doesn't make it any better. He could have easily hurt you, too. I mean, Jesus, you don’t even know the guy. What you do know is that he is a creep.”

“But he didn’t hurt me, Z. He saved me. The thought of me being unsafe with him did cross my mind. But he took care of me. I couldn't fend for myself. I blacked out pieces of it, even though I thought I was strong enough to withstand it. I know you're concerned, and thank you for that, but I’m not looking for a lecture. What I’m looking for is for you to be here for me. Be the best friend I know I can always count on. I need you now more than ever.”

I’m a little ticked that Zoe keeps talking down on me. She wasn't there; she left her best friend alone to walk at night. I was there. I was the one who took care of her. She wasn't there to witness what happened.

My blood begins to boil. I stand to pace around the room, zoning out the rest of their conversation. I can sit here and put the blame on her, but it’s not her fault. It’s not like she would've been any help, anyway.

I peer at the screen, watching as they embrace each other in comfort. I turn the TV off, not needing to see anymore. I have to check on Zane to see if he has made any progress because it’s killing me to not torture the fucker right now.

Chapter 18

The Flower

1 Week Later

The trash bag rustles as I toss old bandages into it, instantly feeling a weight lift off me. I won’t be missing you, I think, as I wave goodbye to the worn cloth. The scrapes and bruises have mostly faded, leaving behind last week’s tortuous evidence as if it never happened.

I’ve been beating myself up about it every minute of the day, thinking how I could have done more. I know it's not good for my mental health, but I am scared shitless that it can happen again. Think of the paranoia I had before, and now times that by a billion.

I turn, leaning over the doorway from my bathroom and glance into my bedroom. A small, warm smile perks up as I gaze over the endless amount of bouquets I received from my stalker. And by endless, I mean it. There has to be over twenty-something bundles that are filling up every space in my room. You can hardly see any furniture. I’ve even resorted to placing a few in the living room and kitchen.

I don’t think Z minds it. At least she hasn't said anything to me. I know she still thinks this guy is a complete creep and doesn’t understand why I’ve been accepting these love gestures with open arms. What else am I supposed to do? Throw them out? They're too beautiful.

It’s kind of endearing and slightly amusing that they're all the exact same bouquet. Green dahlias, big and small, surrounded by greenery and baby’s breath. The apartment has never smelled better, and I kind of don't want it to end.

He even accompanied the last bouquet with a photo of me surrounded by the flowers. I looked like I was floating in a pool of dahlias. It caught me by surprise. But a good surprise. He must have taken it when I was asleep. I’m still unsure how to feel about him and what he's doing for me right now.

He has also been leaving me notes, reassuring me that he’ll catch whoever did this to me. He even includes vivid, passionate, and unsettling details about what he plans to do once he does. A part of me feels concerned. I don’t want him to kill the man. Do I want him to pay for what he did? Yes, but in some other way. Some other sane way.

I don’t think there is any convincing my stalker, though. I do appreciate him being angry, even though it is hypocritical. After all, he forced himself on me too. I think he forgot that. Or maybe not. Either way, this is all too much for my brain to process at once.

I have work in about an hour. I took last week off, and Parker was not happy with me. He thought I was calling in for some me-time. There is no way I’m going to tell him what happened. I owe no one an explanation. My excuse was that I fell and sprained my ankle. Obviously he didn’t believe me, but that is a him problem.

The last thing I want or need is everyone asking what happened to me. I can feel the anxiety festering just thinking about it. I could cover my arms and legs, but I couldn’t cover my face. The splits were too noticeable.

My clients probably hate me for not seeing them this past week. That part makes me feel so guilty. It practically eats me alive. I’m always there. Maybe they will understand. They should understand, right?

Z thinks it's too soon for me to go back. If I don’t, I will wallow in my self-pity for eternity. Work will help distract me, anyway. Plus, my schedule is now overloaded with clients being rescheduled. I’ll now be seeing double the amount of clients, which means long and late days all week. Perhaps it will be good for me.

I brush my long, wavy hair before splitting and putting the upper half in a black bow clip. We’re supposed to dress professionally, but this adds just enough personality to satiate me. I slip on black cat-heeled boots to tie my look together. I'm wearing a long green maxi skirt and a ruffled black top. If I were a librarian, I’d bang me.

Before I leave, I check the kitchen counter one last time. It’s empty. It seems my stalker is causing me to form a new habit. I grab one of the bouquets to take with me. They will be perfect for my office. Not just for my clients, but because it might make me feel a little safer, knowing I have some deranged, unhinged man protecting me. That sounds bad, but not any less truthful.

My bag slips from my grasp onto the carpeted floor as I struggle to get the glass doors open to the office. I hold the bouquet tightly, refusing to let it fall, while I prop the door open with one foot. I pick my bag up haphazardly and uncoordinatedly turn around. Great, I probably look like a fucking mess. I notice Layla watching me.

“Goodmorning, Layla! I’m glad to be back. Are you ready for a busy day?” I say with a chipper tone. She responds by giving me an unsure nod. I guess a nod is answering my question. I give the desk two taps with my hand as I pass by.

“Okay, great,” I say, turning and heading toward the hall and into my office. She is probably angry with me for forcing her to reschedule my week. It’s part of the job, hate to break it to her. Plus, I’m sure I beat her in the anxious department.

I set my bag on my desk, and the bouquet on the coffee table, enjoying how perfect it looks there. I smile, looking at its beauty. I have a lot to catch up on. Eight clients in one day is a lot for me. I never cram my schedule because I love spending time with my clients and am very thorough with my charting after each session. I don’t like to rush. I would hate to make anyone wait any longer to see me though, so I am more than happy to do this for them.

I can do this. This will be good. Good for you and good for everyone.

I take a seat at my desk as I reach into my bag for my laptop. I open the schedule for the day to prepare myself for the chaos that lies ahead. I look through the names one by one, noticing all my clients from last week not missing the opportunity to be seen this week. We also have those who were already scheduled. No one cancelled.

“Great,” I say sarcastically.

“Great what? Great, that you’re back?” My head whips upward at the sudden intrusion. Parker is standing in the middle of the doorway, unamused, and I’m not surprised. If you do anything he does not condone, you're on his shit list. I wonder if that's why Kyle is always in a bad mood.

“Yes, I’m happy to be back. Thank you for letting me have last week off.” I say in a sugary-sweet tone. He doesn't say anything. He just stands there with his arms crossed, sporting his comical authority. I sit in the uncomfortable silence, not knowing what else to say. His chin perks up as he walks my way, and I feel a sticky sense of dread erupt down my spine. I knew I was in for a scolding; I’m confused as to why he hasn’t yelled at me yet. Normally, this is where he would threaten to fire me.

“A sprained ankle, huh? You needed a week off for a sprained ankle?” he asks condescendingly. I know it’s a rhetorical question. He’s just baiting me. Don’t worry, I won’t bite. He circles my desk, reaching his left hand out, tracing the edge as he comes closer. I watch the excessive gesture cautiously.

My body wobbles as I feel the turn of my chair. My hands grip the armrests for balance, ensuring I don’t fall over as if I’m on an unstable rollercoaster. I'm met with a repugnant smell as Parker leans in toward me, too close for comfort before he spits out.

“You and I both know you weren't out with a sprained ankle, Dahlia. What we can do is talk about the real reason you missed a week’s worth of seeing clients for the next hour, putting you behind on your schedule even more, or you can let me take you out to that dinner we discussed.”

Oh, fuck. I forgot about that. Why didn’t I say no, again? Screw my people pleasing tendencies.

Oh, right. It's the fact that he’s my boss and I wouldn't put it past him to fire me if I say “no.” Isn’t that fucked up? He treats me like a mouse, waiting to capture me in his sick, narcissistic cage. He probably has some weird work fetish or something. I want to barf at the thought of it.

I kick my feet out, pushing the chair and myself backward a foot. Rather than moving, he just gives me a grimy smile. I stand, trying to sport any ounce of authority I have in return. I clear my throat before responding.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for a boss to ask an employee out for dinner.” I eye him, gauging how he might respond. My pulse quickens. I fear this is the end of my time here. I can list twenty pros and cons. A pro would be that I wouldn't have to deal with Parker anymore, but a con would be that I’d miss out on not being able to see my clients anymore. I have formed such an amazing bond with each one of them.

“Would you rather I fire you to justify the action of two individuals conversing over a meal?” he suggests. Is this my out? Should I just say fuck it and move on with my life? I can’t. I’ve worked so hard; it can't all be for nothing.

“Of course not. When would you like to go?” Looks like the cat caught the mouse.

Chapter 19

The Stalker

One fucking week and we still have no clue who fucked with my angel. Zane spent six hours tracing back the footage and replaying it until we could find a lead, and all we came up with was that the bastard avoided a lot of main street cameras to get to her apartment. The fucker had thought this out; this wasn’t an impulsive attack.

All we came up with was a medium build, black jeans, a black hoodie, and a black and red mask that looked like it came from a children's toy shop. At least we have a profile. It's not… nothing. Knowing that will make me suspicious of every fucker that has a build like him.

I’ve been on extra stalker duty ever since, not straying an eye for more than a minute from my girl, ensuring I don’t miss anything. She stayed home all week. I watched her cry. I watched her kick herself for not doing more. I watched her eat her weight in ice cream. And I watched her laugh while she spoke to herself in the mirror, saying words of affirmations and talking to herself.

Don’t worry, baby. I’ll find the fucker. Even if I have to set this whole world on fucking fire. I’ll do it for you.

My ego inflated seeing the smile she had on her face after receiving bouquet after bouquet after bouquet. There is no such thing as too many, right? I’d buy her every fucking flower on this planet if I could. Then after I would chase her down and fuck her till she forgot why we were there in the first place. That would be the perfect situation.

Once we get over this hump, I’ll see to it happening. My girl is strong, resilient, and smart. I believe she can overcome this, whether she wants to do it on her own, or if she needs me to lie in her bed beside her.

Did I also install a tracker in her car? Yes. I knew she would be back at work as soon as she felt she could. I also made sure that I was seeing her today as a client. Deep within me, like another version of myself, feels right when I’m with her. All these fucking feelings are colliding inside me and I’m unsure how to deal with them.

Between Zane crying like a fucking baby for breaks, and me going completely unhinged, we spent the rest of the week hunting down every store that sold the type of mask that scumbag was wearing. We narrowed it down to three locations. One in town at a local mom-and-pop toy shop, which won’t be difficult to look into. Another in the next city over, about a thirty-minute drive from my Little Flower. The last is way the fuck out on the outskirts of town.

We tracked every camera in the surrounding areas, looking for the same attire, assuming he bought it the same day. If not we would search for someone with the same build. My god, playing detective is fucking hard. Who would’ve thought? Zane makes it all look so damn easy. Too bad listening to him bitching and moaning all week was anything but.

Let me see my girl this and let me see my girl that.

He acts like if he doesn’t get his dick wet for one fucking second, the world is going to end. I forgot about the Zane before this version of him; it’s like he’s a whole new person. Am I turning into another person, too? Who fucking knows and who fucking cares? All I care about is seeing this bastard pay while I fuck around with my Little Flower some more. Which reminds me, I have to get going.

I shut the TV off that has multiple cameras of my girl's whereabouts on the screen. Giving my hair one last comb back, I grab my helmet off the bench by my front door and leave. I went with my bike this time. My ZX-10RR is a fucking beauty. Other than Dahlia, this girl has my heart. She's never strayed me away. I have her decked out in custom black chrome all the way around. Baby can go sixty-three miles in ten seconds. Back when I used to race, finishing first was a piece of cake.

I had her decked out with custom attachments and exhaust back then. Now those aren't needed, with me hosting and all. This perfect body of mine isn’t what it used to be. I mean, it’s perfect still ‌but aging fucking sucks. You gotta worry about fragile bones now. The fuck? I’ve had to incorporate omegas and vitamin C, D, and a bunch of other shit into my daily routine. Never thought I’d be here, but here I am.

I zoom through the city traffic, not wanting to be late. A few lights and irritated middle fingers later, I arrive at Parker Raines Therapy Center. I get off my bike and pick at my crotch, pulling down the tightness of the jeans that rises a little too high when I ride, and sigh in relief. I unbuckle and remove my helmet, holding it under my arm for security. Checking myself one last time in my small rearview mirror, I comb back any wispy strands of hair that may have fallen out of place before heading into the building.

I open the clear doors and notice the girl behind the desk already looking in my direction. I can’t tell if she is trying to be good at her job by staring at the door all day or if my presence intimidates her. Once I enter, she lets me know she will mark that I arrived. It’s kind of nice not needing to speak to anyone besides my girl. I could get used to it.

I pull my phone out and click on the cameras I have placed in here. Nothing like a little stalking to pass the time. I sneakily placed the camera on her office doorframe, when I was here last. My Little Flower is still in session with a client. God, she is fucking beautiful. She could wear a trash bag and I’d still get rock hard. I flip through the other two surveillances, curiosity piquing my interest.

There is an older, ungroomed, disheveled man eating a poor excuse of a lunch in the break room. My face turns in disdain at the sight, instantly put off by the unprofessionalism of his look. I flip through to the next video and, oh look, it's my jeans. I’m already bored, and I have a whopping two more minutes until I see the most beautiful woman that's ever been on this earth.

I twiddle my thumbs and my leg gets restless. I’ve never been fond of waiting. I'm quite an impatient person, actually. Punctuality has always been my thing. Why waste time sitting around when there are more important things to do? Like stalking my girl.

I check my wrist for the time and notice she hasn't come out yet. We are now running five over, and I’m already uncomfortable being alone in a room with an awkward girl who keeps peeking over her computer with “here comes Johnny” eyes.

Not being able to wait any longer, I stand and head toward the restroom. I might as well use it since I obviously have the time. I make it nearly halfway before I’m greeted with a face that I already want to cave in. He is passing me in the other direction, and I can’t help but ‌give his shoulder a little nudge.

“Is there a problem?” he says, whirling around and sizing me up. This guy would be better off running a circus; he behaves more like a clown than anything else. The corner of my mouth perks up in amusement. I have about five inches on him, forcing him to look upward.

“I don’t know. Do you have a problem with women saying no?” I ask, sarcastically knowing damn well there is truth behind it. His brows furrow in confusion, and I want to wipe that look straight off. But I refrain.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?” Oh, he's angry now, and it only amuses me more.

“I think—” I’m cut off unexpectedly.

“Axel?” I turn, seeing a magnificent woman with white-blonde hair peering at the two of us in concern. If she hadn’t interrupted, I think people would wonder why the walls were all the sudden painted red. I peer down at her and give her a playful smile. The apples of her cheeks turn pink, and I can't help but feel pleased inside.

“I’m ready for your session, if you are,” she says politely, unaware of the confrontation taking place in front of her. I gesture to the door and bow, letting her know I’m ready. I turn around and give Parker a wink before following her inside.

Chapter 20

The Flower

Scars - I Prevail

The tension in the air is thick when I open the door from my office. Axel and my boss are having a heated conversation and the last thing I want is for him to ask me to terminate Axel as my patient. Parker has issues with people asserting ‌dominance over him. He thinks everyone should bow down to him like he is some ethereal being. He definitely has some sort of god complex, and it's comical. No one should be subjected to that kind of idiocy.

“Is everything okay?” I ask curiously, not entirely sure if I want to know the answer.

“Peachy,” Axel answers calmly. The look he gives me is devious, as if he is trying to get under Parker's skin. The only thing that will cause is more headaches. He follows me in with an eyebrow raised, already knowing the routine, and plopping onto the cushioned sofa. I shut the door and sit across from him. He eyes my coffee table with a look I can't quite put my finger on.

“Nice flowers.” He points at them, removing his black leather jacket, placing it on the arm of the couch, and shifting to get more comfortable. I glance down at them, instantly reminded of the sentiment behind them. I can feel warmth creeping its way up my neck and onto the peaks of my cheeks.

“Thank you.” I say, tottering in my seat, trying to make the rosiness of them less noticeable. I had been so focused on my clients this morning, I had forgotten they were even there. Still as beautifully bloomed as when I got them.

“Well, whoever got them for you has good taste, and I can see that you agree with the way your face is tomato red right now.” He smirks. Oh fuck. Is it that obvious? I clear my throat and take a sip of water from my bottle on the floor, trying to wash down my embarrassment.

“Yes. They are beautiful, aren't they? Why don’t we get started? I wanted to apologize, I ran a little over time,” I say, changing the subject. I hope he isn’t put off by the schedule delay. It isn't a common trend for me. I value the time my clients give me, so I always want to give that in return.

“No worries about it. Shall we pick up where we left off?” His tone is snide as he brushes it off. I retrace my thoughts from the last session. I did peek at my notes earlier, and we left off discussing his experiences with…

Oh gosh. I remember now.

He threatened someone's life in front of me. The audacity he had to wink at me while I sat there, jaw on the fucking floor in awe. I’m used to being hit on by clients. The line between client and professional sometimes gets blurred. Those who have never had someone care about their problems can easily trigger some sort of attachment. I could never see my clients in that way. It’s unethical, and I don’t have a problem letting them know that as well.

I could have easily terminated him with that stunt from the last session, but something within me is determined to help him. This bad-boy persona is a mask; I just know it. So today I want to dig deeper with him. I want to know what makes him tick.

“I thought maybe we could talk about your upbringing today.” I think speaking about this can help me get some clarity, and possibly help him too. I can see the hesitation in his expression. It seems like a touchy subject for him, and he is masking the vulnerability.

“Are you analyzing me, Ms. Rosen?” I'm caught off guard by the question. My eyes dart around in bewilderment. I, by any means, don’t want him thinking I’m judging him.

“Relax, it was just a joke. What would you like to know?” He asks, preventing my mind from spiraling. I chuckle in relief. I never know what he is going to say or do next. I’m unsure of my feelings surrounding it. Toying with me appears to be one of his favorite games. Of that, I have no doubt.

“Tell me about how you grew up and what your parents were like? You can start anywhere,” I say. Letting my clients have control over what to share makes them more comfortable, and I never want to pressure them into saying more than they are comfortable with. He doesn’t need to give me the nitty-gritty right off the bat, but if that's where he wants to start, I’m okay with that too. I watch him shift on the sofa, looking for another comfortable position before responding.

“Half of my childhood is a blur. Sometimes I’ll get these… glimpses? Glimpses of things that happened to me, but I’m unsure of the whole event, like I can't remember exactly the whole memory. What I can remember is that my parents were the worst fucking human beings on this planet,” Axel says through gritted teeth. I can see the pain flash in his eyes.

My heart already hurts for him, and I don’t even know the details yet. Childhood trauma resulting from an unstable household can have a huge impact on how a child sees and reacts to the world. I’ve seen many clients who have had dysfunctional families, and understanding that and processing those memories is the first step to healing that old part of yourself.

“Tell me more about these glimpses. Are they flashbacks to the past? With what you can remember, can you tell me the feeling of the scenarios you're in? Like if it's a good feeling or a bad feeling or even sad?” I ask, wanting to know more about this. If it is some sort of flashback experience, he very well could have dissociated a lot as a child, and can experience some sort of PTSD from it.

He shifts once more, lying down on the long chaise. I sit in silence as I wait for him to respond, not wanting to rush. His head shifts to the right and to the left, scrunching his brows like he is trying to remember. There is a heavy weight in the room as he palms his face with both hands.

“It’s never a good memory. Flashbacks are exactly what they are, and they used to never creep up on me until lately. They are happening often, and I don’t know what to do about them. Fuck. I feel like a bitch talking about this. I don’t talk about my feelings. In fact, I prefer not to have them.”

“Axel, I know it's tough speaking about things that have made you feel bad or sad. Feeling emotions is what makes us human. I don’t believe for one second that you are incapable of emotions, You’re allowed to say, they hurt me,” I say to him, referencing what he shared in our first session.

The person lying in front of me right now is someone who wasn’t given the opportunity to be loved properly. I can see it in his eyes, as if a light was stripped away and was tossed out. We all deserve to be loved properly. He turns his head in my direction, still lying face up.

“I try to suppress them. It doesn't work a lot of the time. I was an only child. The memories I can’t seem to grasp were the events of my life until I reached the age of thirteen. What I can remember is the feeling of always being hopeful. That even though I was unhappy, and that even though I endured abuse after abuse, a piece inside still clung onto this need for love, but the thing is… I knew my parents never loved me. They even told me themselves. They wished I had never been born, but felt like they had some moral obligation to raise me, even though they resented me. I wish they had given me up to the system. Maybe I would've had a chance.”

The feeling in my chest is heavy. Like a ton of bricks weighing it down, ready to cave in. No child deserves to be treated like they are unwanted. Axel is just misunderstood. Waiting for a sliver of acknowledgement from someone. Waiting for love.

The look on his face in remembrance is heartbreaking. Like he is grasping at a distant memory that he wishes so badly were different. To be better. The corner of his lip frowns in disapproval, and I wish I could help relieve that feeling. But he has to do it for himself.

“I’m sorry you had to hear and experience that, Axel. No child should be put in a situation of being unwanted. How did you cope when these situations occurred?” I struggle to finish my thoughts.

“They were cruel to me. I was treated as if I were a burden to them. I was the child they never wanted, but were forced to keep. I guess a part of me always knew when the abuse was coming. There was no way out for me. I just took it. I had to. How am I supposed to know who I am when I spent my whole life trying to be someone else? How was I supposed to wake up every day and pretend that everything was okay, that it was normal? As much as I thought it was, I was naive. I was just a kid who didn’t know any better.”

His body perches as he gets up to stand. My head tilts upward at his stature, watching as he rolls up the dark sleeves of his shirt until they meet his elbows, showcasing a beautiful inked canvas of tattoos. He steps in my direction, coming closer, and my breath hitches. He holds his forearms out to me.

“If you look close enough, you can see the scars,” he says with no emotion in his voice. As if he had experienced enough with just the few memories he gave me. I lean in closer, looking behind the artwork to see raised scars that tell a horrifying past. Without thinking, my hand comes up, meeting his tanned skin.

I bush over the ridges, feeling instant empathy. Minutes go by without him or me saying a word. They're everywhere. If he hadn't covered them up, I’m not sure of the amount of unharmed flesh that would be peeking out. I pause, peering up at him, thinking something about this moment feels all too familiar.

Chapter 21

The Stalker

Are You Really Okay - Sleep Token

The compassion radiating from her is palpable. I don't want her pity. I don’t want her to view me in some sad light. The internal battle I’ve been struggling with has been suffocating. Like if I had smoke-filled lungs. To let her know, or not to let her know… either way, I need the fucking help, and it’s killing me to admit it.

I shift on the sofa again. No matter how much I adjust, there is no getting comfortable. Not if I’m going to be reliving the past that I’ve tried so hard to leave behind. If we’re going to talk about it, then let’s fucking talk about it.

I stand. The anxiety that is taking over my every muscle has me wanting to collapse back onto the couch, but I force myself upright. I can feel her watching me intensely as I roll the sleeves of my collared shirt up. I wanted to keep my tattoos hidden in ‌case she had seen them on my alter ego; eventually, she will know. The fabric constricts my large forearms, and my veins bulge out instantly.

I want her to know; I want her to see my past carved into me that I can’t escape. The dark ink that covers my skin is everywhere, masking over scars that you can feel if you just reach out to touch them. She looks at me like I’m going to harm her. I can see her body go stiff, a feeling all too familiar. My arms stretch out in front of her in display.

“If you look close enough, you can see the scars,” I say, hoping she will lean in closer. She scans my arms, studying them. The air in the room thins as both of our breaths go shallow. She reaches out a hand, tracing the grim memories through the ink. I watch her. I watch as ‌pity and sorrow flow like rivers through her eyes.

Showing her tells my story without me needing to tell it myself.

The way she traces my scars instantly reminds me of the way I traced hers. She doesn't have the visual reminders, but we both bear the same emotionally torturous mementos that I wish I could take from her.

Her hand abruptly pauses as she quickly removes it, peering up at me through long thick lashes. Did she feel reminded of that night too? She isn't supposed to know who I really am yet. Before she can say the first word, I pull away and plop back onto the leather sofa.

“I have ‌constant reminders of what I endured as a child, but I can’t seem to remember exactly how I got them. When these flashbacks appear, bits and pieces are ‌played like scenes from a horror movie.”

“I remember being starved; I remember being isolated, and I remember feeling lonely. You know what fucking angers me? I had to go on like it was normal because I didn’t fucking know it wasn’t. I didn’t fucking know that other children weren’t getting beaten by their parents. I didn’t fucking know that being kept a prisoner in your room for days without food wasn’t normal. I didn’t fucking know, because they made it seem like it was. Like they conditioned me to believe all families were the same. And my parents went on like they didn’t have an ounce of remorse for their actions,” I blurt out. My pulse beats at an alarming pace, thinking if I don’t calm myself, who knows what I will fucking do.

Pain radiates from my palms, not realizing the white-knuckled grip had imprinted on my skin. I knew I was fucked up, but I didn’t think I was this fucked up. Saying it out loud makes it all too real for me, and I hate it.

Soft tissues meet my skin drawing me out of the panic stirring inside me. They’re nudged inside my palms and I open them to welcome the material. I watch as they are instantly painted red, the blood spreading like a disease. Small, soft hands cup mine, and my head whips forward, reminding me I’m in the presence of someone else.

She looks panicked. No, frightened that I was able to draw so much blood from doing so little. It doesn’t bother me as much as it does her. Pain is second nature to me. I close my fist around the tissue, applying pressure onto the little crescent lacerations.

“I should probably go,” I insist.

“Are you okay? I don’t mind cutting the session short if that is what you need, but I want to make sure you’re okay before you leave,” she insists back. I love that my girl cares about my well-being, even though I clearly frighten her. I have plans in motion for my girl tonight, so this won’t be our last interaction of the day.

“I’m fine. I promise. I’m a big boy,” I joke, but I don’t think she is in the mood for any of that right now. The silence speaks for itself. She cocks an eyebrow, waiting for a real response.

“Ms. Rosen, I’m fine. Let’s reconvene soon?” I reassure her. It’s all I can give her at the moment, and I hope she accepts my response. She gives me a small but intentional smile, respecting my honesty.

“It’s Dahlia, and okay. I trust you know yourself well. I’m sorry if this has been a lot today. I believe we made a ton of progress.”

“I hope to see more flowers the next time I'm here.” I smirk, signaling to the perfectly arranged bouquet. It looks great in her office. The fact she wanted to take a piece of me here has my ego off the roof. I want thoughts of me to fester inside her like a virus with no cure. I want to haunt her mind, even when she doesn’t know I’m there.

Didn’t I say I wanted to be everywhere she looks and everything she thinks about?

She gets up from the couch, still so close to me. I take in a breath, and smell the scent of vanilla and coconut floods my senses, easing the tension inside me. I want to lean in and show her who she belongs to. Slam her body back onto this couch and have my way with her while she screams my name loud enough for everyone in the office to hear. Maybe I’ll fuck her in front of her boss…

Mental note for later, check.

Dahlia gives me a smile before walking me to the door and out to the checkout desk. My eyes trail over her as she turns, leaving me. The bouncing of her ass in that tight skirt sends dirty thoughts straight to my head. And I’m talking about the one in my jeans.

I put my leather jacket back on and pull the helmet over my head, securing it in place. I left it on my bike, not waiting to bring it with me. Glad to see no one snagged it. They wouldn't be too happy if they did.

I turn the key in the center, igniting the ignition with a roar. The sound echoes loud in the enclosed garage. A vibration rumbles in the confinement of my pocket, causing me to pull my cell out to see who messaged me. As you can imagine, I don’t have many friends, so I already know who it is. I just want to know what the fuck he wants.

Zane

I have a surprise for you.

Me

Well, what the fuck is it?

Zane

Come to your house.

Me

Are you at my house right now?

Zane

...

Me

What the fuck are you doing in my house. You know I don't like surprises, Zane.

Zane

Calm down, big boy, you might just enjoy this one.

Oh, don’t be alarmed by the screaming.

This dude is going to be the death of me. He knows I like to get stright to the point, but he just loves to fuck with me. If I find him in my house fucking Zoe, and that’s what he is referring to as the screaming… I swear to fucking God, I’ll break him in half. He would be the type to do some shit like that.

I rev up my bike before taking off, a loud purr of approval coming from the exhaust. It takes me less than thirty minutes to zip my way through the city. This sudden change of plans really puts a kink in my schedule. I don’t have time for this, but Zane never bugs me unless it’s important.

I reach the end of my driveway, pulling in until I reach the three-car garage. One of the doors automatically opens, and I slowly inch inside. I turn my key, shutting the bike off and removing my blackout helmet.
My garage holds my two bikes and my Challenger. Is it more space than ‌I need? Absolutely, but I use my garage for other extracurricular activities as well. We don’t need to get into detail.

I open the glass door to the shelf I had hung snugly on my wall, and place my helmet inside. Numerous custom-designed helmets and headgear line the clear shelf, displaying them in all their glory. Collecting is an understatement.

Loud thumps and mumbling ‌screams assault my ears. I burst through the door that leads into my home, not knowing what's on the other side. My temper escapes me, knowing I will leave a trail of wrath in my way.

“Zane, you better not be fuck—” I yell into the air, but I’m quickly stopped once I catch sight of what’s going on in my living room. I see Zane’s fists making contact with some guy's face, leaving splatters of blood all over my floor. The man is turned away from me, tied to one of my dining chairs.

His hands are bound tightly, leaving no room for him to wiggle out. Each ‌of his ankles is zip-tied to the legs of the chair. When he tied him up, it was with intent.

Is this the guy who…

The man turns and spits red slobber onto my hardwood. I watch the action, noticing a tooth mixed in the liquid. I come closer, my heart racing. Not knowing if it’s from the excitement of who it may be.

Zane hadn't noticed me walking in, being fixated on beating the living shit out of the man in front of him. He glances upward, giving me a cheeky smile, and takes a step back, no longer torturing the man.

“Ah, the man of the hour. Perfect timing. I was just getting him warmed up for you,” he says in accomplishment. He reaches for a rag that he preemptively grabbed and cleans his bloodied fist with it. Motherfucker took one of my nice ones.

After giving him an eye roll, I circle around the chair in curiosity. My shoulders relax, and my brow raises in confoundment at the familiar face sitting in front of me. I turn to Zane, wondering what the fuck.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” I ask.

“I found you a snitch,” he replies smugly.

The feeling I have in my chest is new. It's somewhere between disbelief and disappointment. Disappointment that it’s not the pig who fucking touched my girl, and dumbfounded that we have the fucker who sent me away for two years. As much as I want to shake and get angry at Zane for making me believe it was the prior, it’s my fault for setting that expectation.

The man in the chair is Flynn Foster. A low-life piece of shit who always hangs out at the underground racing events. I knew something about him was off. Fucker was always lurking in the background, watching.

His dark brown hair is messy, pulled in every direction. His eye is already swollen shut, and a ring of purple colors the skin around the raised area. I look at him in disgust, wondering what the hell I’m going to do with him. I had plans mapped out for a certain someone else; I hadn't thought about what I was going to do to the snitch. I lean against my kitchen island that he’s facing, propping an elbow to rest on the cold granite.

“So tell me, Flynn, was it worth it?” I ask, giving no context, but he knows damn well what I'm referring to. His head is slung forward, leaning side to side like it's unscrewed from his body. Droplets of blood land on my shoes as he laughs at me.

“Fuck you.” His words leave with a slushy sound.

“No, thank you. I’ll happily pass,” I respond, turning, meeting his face with my fist. His head whips to the right, and I cringe at the sound. I have no problem doing this the hard way. I want him to fucking pay for taking two years away from me. Two years I fucking can’t get back. Should I just keep him locked in my basement for the same amount of time? Returning the favor, of course.

“Tell me what you got out of this, Flynn?” I pace the floor in front of him, rubbing the tension from my knuckles.

“I’m not telling you shit,” he scoffs.

Fine, have it your way.

I look over to Zane, rolling my eyes, and he chuckles. This isn't our first rodeo, and this fucker is about to find that out. I open my hand, gesturing for Zane to hand me the rag, and he does. I put the rough fabric over Flynn’s face, holding it in place. He squirms around in the chair, trying to move his face from underneath.

“W–What are you doing?” he asks in panic. Zane jogs around the island and approaches the sink, turning it on. I watch as he tugs on the small faucet on the side, pulling the tube along with it. He hovers the nozzle over the towel, and I nod, giving him the go-ahead.

Water aggressively spurts out, drenching the towel, soaking through it. Zanes grip tightens on the little nozzle, and I can hear the water leak through as the snitch underneath starts to squirm and gurgle. Waterboarding is an effective form of torture. It’s worked for centuries, so I’m damn sure it'll work today. We wait thirty seconds before stopping. Flynn gasps for air, coughing and wheezing.

“We can do this the hard way, Flynn.” I say, already bored of the time spent on this idiot. I keep the cloth in place, waiting for him to respond. He doesn't. Zane pushes on the nozzle, starting the spray of water again.

I struggle to keep the rag in place as his head thrashes back and forth. Zane’s other hand comes down on his skull, knocking him out. I don't know whether to be grateful or annoyed. I remove the towel from his face, throwing it onto the floor.

“Damn it,” Zane says, bummed at the outcome. I glimpse at the watch on my wrist. I’ve spent too much time on this and have gotten nowhere. Wishful thinking that he would be easy to crack. And that’s my impatience talking.

“Can you finish this one on your own?” I ask Zane impatiently.

“You’ve got somewhere to be? Come on, we waited so long for this!” he says, peeved at my question.

He’s right. We have waited a long time for this, but my priorities have changed. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still make him pay for what he did to me; I just can’t do it right now. I don’t have the time to do it right now.

“As a matter of fact, I do. You got a problem with that? Just deal with him until I get back.” I demand.

“I got a problem with the fact that I dragged this fucker here for you, and you don’t even want to put in the effort to teach him a lesson!”

He sounds like a nagging housewife. But what about my feelings? I mock him internally. I don’t see why he needs me for everything. I bend over to wipe the blood off my boots with the rag from the floor before responding.

“Like I said, I will deal with him when I get back.”

“And when is that?” he questions, crossing his arms.

“Jesus, Zane, I don’t know. I’ll be back.” I turn to leave, grabbing the door handle and twisting it open. Just as I’m about to leave, I turn back one last time and say, “Oh, and would you please put him in the fucking basement. I can hear him from the garage.” I slam the door shut, ready to head back out and see my Little Flower.

Chapter 22

The Flower

The headache that sears through my brain may just be the death of me. I’ve been at work for eleven hours… and counting. My last client for the day just left, and I have a pile of notes that I need to chart. This will probably take me hours. Maybe I’ll just do a few now and finish the rest at home. I’m not sure how much longer my ass can stay planted in this chair before it starts taking its shape.

I stand, stretching my legs one last time, and it feels so fucking good. The clicking of my kitten-heeled boots fills the quiet air as I make my way down the hall. My stomach grumbles, reminding me of the late hour.

I peek out into the waiting room, taking notice that everyone has left, including Layla. I don’t blame her; poor thing was required to stay late with me as a request from Parker. I insisted I could stay behind alone, and he insisted that I shouldn't.

I shrug and walk into the break room, heading to the vending machine that sits alone on the back wall. My eyes scan the flavorful packages inside. Do I want salty or sweet? I keep looking until something appetizing catches my eye. I click on “D5,” watching as the slot eats my last dollar.

I reach down into the one-sided door at the bottom, and grab my small bag. My stomach elicits a small growl again. Shh, I know. Down, girl. I open the plastic and reach inside eagerly, popping a cookie into my mouth. My taste buds instantly salivate at the contact.

“Mmm,” I groan. Cookies are my favorite. Chocolate chip to be exact, but I don’t discriminate; I love them all. A small thud from the hall catches my attention. I thought I was alone? I turn and head toward the open doorway, peering around the corner, and I’m met with nothing.

Confused, I head down the hall, making my way back into my office. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest when I notice Parker rummaging through my files. Did he not notice that I was still here? I stand with my arms folded over one another, and clear my throat loudly for him to hear.

“Can I help you?” I ask in annoyance. He pauses and closes the manila folder he was looking through. Fidgeting, he glances around in panic, like a child caught in the fridge searching for a midnight snack. He straightens, brushing his blazer.

“No. Wait, yes.” He quickly changes his mind. I can almost physically see the lightbulb appear above his head. The dread of not knowing what's coming next seeps into my muscles, already wearing me out.

“What are your plans for this evening? Shall we have dinner?”

I almost want to vomit in front of him. Should I? It might finally make him leave me alone. I roll my eyes. If it is not now, he’ll bug me till the end of time. I already hate what is about to leave my mouth.

“Sure, Parker. It’s just dinner, and that's it,” I say for the record. He smiles as if he won the lottery, and I instantly want to take back my words. Every cell in my body is already dreading the next few hours.

“Give me a few to clean up,” I say, trying to get him to leave my office.

“Don’t make me wait too long now.” He grins as he walks around me, leaving me alone in my safe space. When I’m in my office alone, it almost feels serene. Like it’s the only time I can focus on doing the thing that I love.

I walk toward the other side of my desk and open the folder he was flipping through. It’s Axel’s? What does he want with his file? As my boss, Parker should not be looking at my notes. No one should due to HIPAA, so this leaves me a bit confused. I’ve never seen him go through my notes like this before.

Maybe it's the way Axel was toying with him in the hall, thinking I didn’t notice. Parker doesn’t know how to let things go. You could even tell him blatantly and he still wouldn't stop unless it’s on his terms. And it’s the reason I am now going to dinner with him.

I dip my head under the frame as Parker holds the car door open. I glance around the interior of the vehicle and it’s pretty well kept. It’s clean and polished. Black leather displays all around me, covering the seats, the doors, and the dashboard. Little pieces of chrome spread out in the accent.

My nose stings as I inhale the over-sprayed cologne in the confined space. I can feel as the scent practically singes the hairs inside to a crisp. My face crinkles and I try to breathe through my mouth.

The wind brushes my hair sideways as the car door closes behind me. Parker runs around the front, and plops into the driver’s seat. It’s already too close for comfort. He gives me a predatory smile as he starts the engine. I buckle myself in. He does the same. I tug on the fabric of my skirt, pulling it lower, noticing it has ridden upwards.

He doesn't deserve to even see an inch of skin.

Classical music aggressively hits my eardrums, then quickly goes quiet. Parker turns, giving me a nervous chuckle. I can't help but throw him a look of judgement. I know I’m being so mean, but he deserves it, really. He makes my life a living nightmare.

“So, where are we going?” I ask in the awkward silence. He reverses from his parking space and exits the parking garage. The outside only lit by streetlights.

“It’s a surprise,” he says. The last thing I want is any surprises from him. My forehead muscles hurt from the cocked eyebrow that hasn't left since I sat in his car. My hand comes up, rubbing the area. I peer out the window and notice we’re driving down the main street of downtown. Buildings and food chains pass as we enter a part of the city that is of higher class.

He turns into one of the side streets that has hotels lined up like a catalog display. We drive upward as he looks for an area to park. As soon as he sees an opening, he backs into it. I don’t think I’ve ever been to this part of the city. It’s definitely out of my budget.

The car door swings open, and my boss holds his hand out for me to grab. I ignore it and exit. I attempt to fix my wrinkled clothes one last time before we start walking down the street. And you bet I’m keeping a healthy distance.

“I’m going to treat you tonight. I bet you have never dined like this before,” he says confidently. Did he just call me poor? Should I ask for a pay raise? After this, I feel like I should get one. I give him a forced but awkward smile, not acknowledging the backhanded comment.

My head tilts upward in awe of the tall building as we approach it. Valet attendants are standing in front of the outdoor check-in desk, waiting for the next person to come up. I stand a few feet behind while Parker checks us in for dinner.

He gestures for me to walk ahead of him, as the host is ready to show us to our table. I feel Parker's hand meet the small of my back, and I instantly feel disgust course through me. I inch forward, putting space between the contact. I’m still wary of touch since that night. Even thinking about it makes my body tense.

“Your table,” the male host says, signaling to the dimly lit, linen-covered surface.

“Thank you,” I politely respond, nodding and giving him a smile. I pull my chair out, quickly planting my butt on it before Parker has a chance to try to do it for me. Him being polite is only a front. We all know what a jackass he is.

The restaurant is beautiful. It’s dimly lit everywhere, setting a romantic feeling all around. Circular tables for two are evenly spaced from one another. There is a candle and a small single rose centered in the middle of each. So private. So quaint.

“A beautiful girl deserves to eat at a beautiful restaurant,” my boss says, pulling my attention from the decor and immediately ruining the moment. I don’t think there is anything he can say or do that wouldn’t give me the heebie-jeebies. I’ve already engraved the feeling into my brain.

“It’s just dinner, remember?” I remind him politely, not wanting to be too loud.

“I’m just stating the obvious,” he retorts. The waiter comes by and greets us. He pours water into our already set glasses, and I quickly drink the water, hydrating my parched throat. Parker and I then order our dinner, and the waiter leaves us. I almost begged him to come back. I guess I have to engage in small talk with him, don’t I?

“So, how's the business going?” I ask.

“Good. How's this week been for you so far? Seeing that you're doubling your schedule this week. Which is good of you. By the way, what's the real reason you were out?” he pushes. Is this an interrogation? Who am to expect anything more of him?

“I already told you, I sprained my ankle. And it's been busy, but good,” I say defensively. I’m sticking to my story. He can ask me again and again, and I won't stray from it. He eyes me as if he can see through my lie.

“If you insist. Is that why you have a scar on your cheek?” He points to the left side of my face. My eyes widen in horror. I touch the skin on my cheek and feel the slightly raised line. It’s too tiny to notice, so how did he?

“Uh—I fell. That's how I sprained my ankle. I must have hit my face also,” I make up another excuse.

“The concrete must have really done a number on you, huh?” he asks, chuckling, then taking a sip of water. Every bone in my body freezes at the question. The palpitations in my chest feel like heavy drums. Banging louder and louder. I move my hands to rest on my lap as they start to shake, making sure he doesn't notice.

“W-What did you say?”

“You said you fell. I’m just saying that the floor must have really done a number on you,” he implies, changing the important word from his reiteration.

“N-No. You said concrete. How did you know it was concrete?”

Chapter 23

The Stalker

Time Alone W U - Artemas

Iraced my way back to Parker Raines Therapy Center, hoping to catch my girl. I made sure to snag my mask with the green neon LED strips attached to it, which I so proudly made myself. I haven't shown up as my alter ego in a while, and I feel I’m due to pay her a visit.

I’ve been leaving her notes with flowers, but I don’t want her feeling like her stalker abandoned her. That's the last thing I would ever do. I pull into the garage on my bike, circling around, looking for her car. I smile, seeing it still parked.

Damn, she’s here too fucking late.

I glance down at the time, doing a double take as it reads a quarter till eight. I make my way up to the office. Sliding the mask over my face, hiding my identity like a thief in the night. I take my phone out of my pocket, pressing on the surveillance software. A few clicks and the cameras are now on a loop, leaving no trace of me having been here.

I pick the lock with ease and quietly push the door open. I’m light on my feet as I make my way down the hall, glancing around the empty rooms as I pass, ensuring solidarity. I see that my Little Flower’s door is open, and I make my presence known as I stand in the doorway.

Disappointment fills me quickly. Where is she? I was certain she was here. If her car is here, then where is she? I whip out my cell again, clicking on the tracker. Her cell shows she is at a hotel downtown.

What the?

I leave the office in a hurry, making sure I lock the place back up and re-set the cameras to record live. I run down to my bike, remove my mask and replace it with my helmet. I don’t give the engine a moment to breathe as I zoom out, making my way to the Baltimore Hotel.

A million thoughts and questions enter my brain. This is out of her routine. It pisses me off ‌with how confident I was, thinking she was working late. I'll check her phone’s location first before her car’s next time.

Who the hell is she at a hotel with? I’ll murder whoever it is, without thought. That is, if she is out with another man. My blood begins to boil, and I can feel rage seeping through my veins at the thought. I park in front of the valet and hand the guy a hundred bucks.

“If you scratch this, I'll end you,” I threaten. He cowers at the insane look in my eyes and nods. I leave the key in the ignition and walk in.

“S-Sir, you can't just—” The man at the host stand tries to interrupt me, but I keep walking. There's a restaurant to my right and the entrance to the overpriced hotel to my left. I glance in both directions, contemplating which area I should check first.

I turn to the right, walking into the restaurant. If I look here first, it will be faster. I don’t think I have the patience to look through forty floors with this irritation flooding me. She better not be here with another man or I’ll fucking—

My thoughts are cut short when I see beautiful icy hair in the dimly lit back corner. There she is. I remove my helmet and run a hand through my disheveled hair, trying to tame it. It looks like she is talking to someone, but I can't quite see who with the darkness.

A tap on my shoulder makes me jerk my head sideways. I’m on a fucking mission and I keep getting disrupted. She is right there. I can smell her from here. The man from the entrance catches up to me.

“Sir, you can’t just dine in without a reservation,” he states, breathing heavily.

“Get me a table in that back corner there.” I point in the direction of my Little Flower.

“I can’t without a reserv—” I cut him off by shoving a wad of money into his chest.

“How much?”

Not a moment later, I’m being escorted to the back area. Not as close as I'd prefer, but I’m a few tables away, close enough to watch yet far enough for her not to notice. The bewilderment on my face could be painted and framed. Why is she here with her boss? I could have sworn by the way she acts toward him, she wouldn’t want to be within ten feet of him.

She doesn't look like she is exactly enjoying her time, anyway. My hand glides down my face at the sudden memory of him asking her to dinner a few days ago. And she never said “no.” I’m the only one ‌she obeys to. He will find out soon.

“Hi, how are you doing?” the male waiter in my periphery asks, and I know he doesn't actually care. I don’t stray from looking in the direction where my angel and her boss are sitting. I give the waiter a wave of my hand before responding.

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me an Old Fashioned and I’ll take an eight-ounce sirloin, medium rare with the brussels sprouts,” I say, sounding like an asshole. I know I am.

“Of course, Sir,” he complies before leaving. My finger impatiently taps the table in anticipation. I want to smash Parker’s head until it’s a bloody fucking pulp. Then kidnap my girl and fuck her until her body gives out. A quaking feeling simmers into my pants, and I adjust myself as I go stiff.

She makes me so fucking hard. These thoughts of having her are going to drive me insane.

A clink of a glass being set on the table has me looking down. The waiter sits my drink in front of me and leaves without saying a word. Just how I like it. I’m never in the mood for small talk.

I bring the chilled glass to my lips and the hairs on my body rise at the strength of the whisky. I let out a long, open mouth exhale after taking the sip. I’m sure they made it double, assuming the mood I’m in, and I’m not necessarily mad at it.

I peer upward and notice terror written on my Little Flower’s face. My attention only strayed for a moment. Who knew so much could happen? I watch cautiously, waiting to see how the conversation pans out.

The tapping coming from my fingers quickens, becoming a constant rhythm. I set my whiskey-filled glass down roughly. The brown liquid spills over the brim and the sound catches the attention of the surrounding tables. Including my girl’s.

I feel eyes from all over looking in my direction, giving me judgmental looks. It doesn't bother me one bit. The distraction was intended for one person, and one person only. A set of radiant, honey-colored eyes roam around until they meet mine.

As if in an unspoken agreement, she and the world come to a standstill together. A perplexed look overcomes her expression, trying to make out who I am. I take it as my sign, and I stand, walking toward her. She doesn’t take her eyes off me for one second as I approach, towering over their presence.

“Fancy seeing you here,” I say, tipping my imaginary top hat on my head and bowing. My attention is solely on her. I couldn’t stand seeing the horrified look that came over her. It practically suffocated me.

The perfect girl with icy hair stares at me with her jaw wide open, not expecting the sudden intrusion. I pat her overbearing boss on the shoulder, making him lean forward slightly at the shove. He and I both know the force was intentional.

“You’re not giving the girl a hard time, are you?” I imply, knowing his intentions without blatantly saying it. He cocks his head and gives me an antagonized look. I know his type. Cocky, entitled as if he has the right to everything that comes across him.

“I don’t think it's polite of you to interrupt our dinner. Did you need something?” he questions, but it's more of a statement for me to leave. I turn around, pretending to give him what he wants. I can feel the smirk of victory on his face from behind me, and I want to beat it off of him.
I see a woman eating alone at the next table over, so I grab the empty chair that accompanies her, whipping it around to their table. I take a seat, joining in on their dinner.

The rubbing of the wood on the tile makes a loud scraping sound, bringing even more attention to our direction. If looks could kill, Parker would be on fire. I clear my throat with a smile, pushing down the laugh that is clawing to escape.

“I don’t know… three is a party, right?” I respond to his question. His forehead crinkles in confusion at the reply. I thought he was supposed to be smart? I stare at him and sigh.

“You asked if I needed something. I think ‌you’re the one in need. So, why not make it a party?” I question back, returning the same smart-ass tone. Dahlia sits there, frozen in place, not knowing what to do. I give her a playful wink, causing her to sink into her chair, bashfully.

“You’re bringing the mood down in here,” I follow up. Parker stands dumbfounded at my audacity. He looms over me, peering down as if I’m below him. The linen napkin falls from his lap, sprawling out on the tiled floor.

“You need to leave. You are not welcome here. What are you even doing here? Are you stalking us?”

I give a wide-toothed grin. I mean, yes. Yes, I am stalking, but only my Little Flower. I couldn’t give two shits about him. I stay planted in the seat, not impacted by the dominance he is trying to exuberate.

My neck pops as It stretches, cranking my head to make eye contact with him. I’ve never needed to look up. I’m usually the one having to look down. This is fun. Dahlia shifts around uncomfortably, but stays quiet.

I can show her how to be thankful later. She and I both know I’m saving her.

“I was having dinner, just like you, until I saw Ms. Rosen. I wanted to come show my appreciation for today's session. You don’t mind now, do you?”

I turn over to her, including her in the one-sided, heated conversation. She looks at me, then at him. Her mouth opens, her bottom lip twitching. I watch as the words fight their way out.

“I–I think I should go…” she says.

“We haven’t eaten yet,” Parker appeals. His efforts are dismissed as my girl places her napkin on the table and stands. A wave of relief, ever so subtly, washes over her. I’m sure the pig in front of her missed it, but I didn’t.

“If the girl wants to go… let her go,” I say, pushing my chair out, joining them in stance. Red blotches prickle up his neck, creeping onto his pale face in aggravation. I take a step backward, not wanting to catch the splatter if his head explodes.

“You don’t even belong in this conversation. Who are you to tell me what to do?”

He sizes me up, even though he is five inches shorter than me. I’m not fazed one bit. I actually think it's quite amusing. He’s making an ass ‌of himself. Not only in front of Dahlia, but in front of the folks around him trying to have dinner.

Quiet whispers tickle my ears from the surrounding tables. I see a man dressed in black, appearing closer and closer. I wave my hands in surrender, putting on my charm to convince my Little Flower and the rest of the restaurant that I’m not the bad guy.

“Calm down there, tiger. Let’s not make a scene in front of these classy people now. They’re trying to enjoy their dinner.” I say. The condescending tone ignites the flame within him. His now pink skin turns scarlet. His head bobs in shock, peering around us and noticing the judgmental looks and whispers he is receiving.

“Is there a problem?” the man in the suit asks eagerly. It’s the same man from the front. His eyes move side to side in question at Parker and me. The look on his face telling that we need to leave, and I am more than happy to.

“N–no. We were just leaving,” my Little Flower speaks up. She walks past the rows of dinner tables, making her way toward the entrance of the hotel. I pull out my wallet and throw a handful of cash onto the table, knowing it’s more than enough to cover my bill and theirs. I nod at the host, assuring him we are making our way out.

Parker storms out, trying to keep pace with my girl. I follow closely behind. I don’t trust him. Especially now that he’s pissed off. Who knows what he will do. And I am here to ensure no one harms my Little Flower.

Dahlia stands under the street lamp with her arms crossed. She is probably pissed at ‌both of us for embarrassing her. I’m not sorry. I knew she needed my help. She may not feel it now, but she will feel glad that I did. I could argue it wasn’t my intention to get him riled up, but that would be an obvious lie.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” Parker tells her by grabbing her forearm a little too tightly and pulling her. She jerks her arm back in defiance, but the grip he has on her stops her from getting away. She pulls away again.

“Let go of me!” she screams out. Wetness in her eyes glimmer under the night light, and my temper explodes. Tension in my jaw sears upwards with my grinding clench. I’m trying my best to look calm, but on the inside, my madness is stirring.

The crack of my fist connecting with Parker’s face causes Dahlia to gasp in horror. The shock alone is enough for his grip to loosen, resulting in her getting free. Her boss falls onto the sidewalk, grasping ‌his lower face. Blood splatters onto the floor as he spits. The thick red liquid coats his lips like a bloodsucking creature.

“If you touch her again, I’ll cut your fucking hands off,” I spew at him in promise. The valet in front watches the altercation happen. Contemplating whether to intervene. They all take a few steps backward, protecting themselves from any collateral damage. It’s not a part of their job to break up a fight, especially if it's off company property.

“Are you okay? I can give you a ride home instead,” I ask, offering my Little Flower an alternative. Her hands are still clutched in front of her face as she looks at me, then back down at her boss. I give her a moment to weigh her options. Fear still written all over her face.

She nods her head slowly in acceptance of my proposal. At this point, she is better off riding with me than spending another minute with that jackass. We both know I’m the better choice, even with the violence.

A rev of my bike gets closer as one of the valets pulls in. Wow, five-star service. I didn't need to tell them to fetch it. I’ll be sure to leave a review. My girl gives me an “are you serious?” look, and I return it with a grin. I glance around, forgetting that I left my helmet and ‌mask inside. Fuck, I can’t grab my mask without revealing I’m her stalker.

“Stay here, I need to grab my helmet,” I tell her, then turn to the valet.

“Make sure this fucker stays away from her.”

I run to my table, seeing that my possessions are still there. I grab both my mask and helmet. Just as I’m about to exit, I toss my mask into the garbage, watching it sink into the black plastic. I guess I’ll have to make another one.

Parker is now standing on the sidewalk, refusing to leave. This motherfucker is relentless. I pull the helmet over my angel's face, watching her cheeks pucker at the tightness. She is so fucking perfect. I fasten the strap under her chin and give it a slight tug.

“Does it feel too tight?” I ask her before removing my hand.

“No, it’s okay. I–Uh, I’ve never been on one of these before,” she tells me, uncertain of the ride she's about to receive. By the way, she is standing here still; it seems she would rather hop on the bike than be left alone with Parker. Not that I would let her. I lower the visor for her, hearing it click into place.

“You can't put her on one of those–—” Parker begins to give his opinion that very much isn't needed. I continue with my girl, ignoring him. And she does the same.

“Just hold on to me tightly. Lean when I lean, and you’ll be fine,” I give her the reassurance she is hopefully looking for. She gives me a nod of confirmation. I can hear her boss still babbling in the background, waving his hands all over the place like a madman. A few of the valets are standing in front of him, blocking him from ‌both of us.

He definitely won't be welcomed back here.

I look at my Little Flower from head to toe, wondering how the hell she's going to sit comfortably with a tight, ankle-length skirt on. I scratch the back of my head. She’s not going to like what I’m about to propose, but she has no other choice at this point.

“You’re going to have to hike your skirt up,” I say, signaling to her lower half. Her expression goes still, surprised at my demand. She looks down at herself.
“Excuse me?”

Chapter 24

The Flower

Baby I’m Yours - Isobel Lerosa

“Excuse me?” I ask at the absurd statement.

“You’re not going to be able to hop on like that. Your skirt is too tight,” he explains. Is he crazy? I’m not going to hike up my skirt. If I do, I'll be exposing myself to everyone. And I won’t, especially with Parker being right there.

“You can’t just expect me to—”

“Just do it. I’ll help you,” he interrupts. I watch him pull his leather jacket off. He swings one leg over his motorcycle, then sits down. I stand there confused, wondering how the hell he is going to help me.

“I’ll hold my jacket in front of you so no one sees. Once you’ve gotten it to your upper thighs, place a foot on the peg there,” he gestures to the left side of his tire.

“Swing your leg over, like I did, then place your other foot on the other peg.” I glance down, trying to remember his instructions. I hesitate for a moment. God, I’m going to do this, aren’t I?

Yes. Yes, I am.

“Fine. You better cover me or I’m never seeing you again,” I threaten, pointing a finger at him, and he chuckles. The corner of my mouth perks up, not being able to help myself. He leans sideways, holding his large, black jacket in front of me, blocking the view from anyone next to us.

The fabric of my skirt tickles my legs as it brushes against them, getting higher and higher. My pulse races. I’ve never done anything like this before. I hold the crinkled material in place, leaving a little length to the front and back, not wanting to take any risks.

“How am I supposed to get on?” I ask, already forgetting what he just told me.

“You’re going to have to let go of your skirt. You need to hold my shoulders for support.” Let go of my skirt? He didn't tell me that initially. I let out a sigh, look up, and give the sky a silent prayer before placing my hands on his shoulders, positioning my left foot on the peg, and pushing myself up.

The bike wobbles at the movement and I quickly hold on tighter. I’m sure I look like an absolute idiot. Thank goodness Axel is facing away from me. He lets me adjust myself before removing the leather. I look down as he places it on top of my lap, covering my front.

“Wrap your arms around me,” he instructs. I fold my arms over his neck, assuming he meant to keep my hands near his shoulders. He lets out a loud laugh, giggling endearingly, and it makes me smile. Is he laughing at me?

“No, wrap them around me like this.” My wrists are gently grabbed and moved to his midsection. Heat pools between my thighs. I loosen my grip, not wanting him to get the wrong impression, even though I’m probably the only one feeling this way. He notices and wraps me tighter.

“You’re going to want to hold on tight,” he says, turning and giving me a side view of his face. I examine it in the low light. A little dimple creases his cheek, making a dark crescent that makes me melt. Glad to see my confusion amuses him.

“You’re not going to let me fall, are you?” I ask, needing all the reassurance I can get.

“The only falling you’ll be doing is in love with me,” he says, surely. He lifts ‌the kickstand ‌with his foot. We wobble to the right slightly, now balancing on two tires and a pair of boots.

“What did you just say—?” I'm cut off by the roar of the engine. Heat rises from below and encompasses my legs. My nipples harden with my body pressed into his in anticipation. I’m holding on for dear life already when we haven't even moved yet.

He shifts the bike into gear, and we slowly inch forward. My eyes tighten shut. The feeling reminds me of being on a rollercoaster, except I'm not held by a seatbelt. Only by adrenaline. My body jerks backward, immediately feeling my soul leave. It causes me to pull in closer to him.

We make it down the short road. The main street just feet away, making me question why I agreed to this again. The touch of his hand on my knee slows my racing heart unexpectedly. Like an unspoken comfort.

“Are you doing okay back there?” he asks over the loud pipes.

“Barely!” I yell. Probably louder than need be, but I can barely even hear myself. My head rests against his neck. The thick helmet rumbling against him, making my vision shake.

The grip I have around him constricts as we drive onto the main street. We turn and I lean slightly with him, remembering his instructions. Wind kisses my exposed skin, and it feels freeing. One eye opens, peeking at the movement around us. The other eye follows.

The city is a blur from the position ‌I’m in. Axel stays steady on the street. The sweat on my neck dries instantly as I move my head from the kinked position. I glance around, viewing the buildings, cars, and people getting left behind. I’m not sure how quickly we are going, but it's fast.

Am I still scared shitless? Yes, but another part of me feels liberated. Now I know why people drive these things. I take in the beauty of the night from a new perspective. It’s way better than driving in a car with the window rolled down.

The streets become familiar, observing that he is taking me back to work. How did he know to bring me back here? Maybe he just assumed I rode with Parker to dinner after work. Which isn’t wrong, and I deeply regret that decision. I know I’m going to pay for the events of tonight later.

Axel pulls up next to my car. It's the only one left parked. The feeling of the dark, spooky garage lifts with the sound of his bike alone. I hear the kickstand come out, and we lean slightly to the left. The ignition is silenced, leaving just the two of us in the quiet.

I stay planted in the leather seat, waiting for instructions on how to get off. My hands are then held by his, and I yank them back, not realizing I was still attached to him. He runs his hands through his tangled, darkened locks before he swings a leg over, getting off the bike.

The leather jacket slides forward, no longer being held up by our squshed bodies. His eyes are charged with lust as he eyes me, and I quickly shift, grabbing the coat, covering myself up again. Axel leans into me, unfastening the strap and lifting the helmet. A moment of blindness encompasses me as my cheeks are squished upward at the motion.

I don’t want to open my eyes because I know there's a prominent blush on my cheeks. How am I supposed to see him for another session after tonight? I’ll just have to remind myself that it was just a ride home. I’ll have to remind him too.

That's it, just a ride home and nothing else.

I try to convince myself, but I know it won’t work. I hold the cold leather against me as I struggle to get off, not wanting to flash my client. Oh god, it sounds so terrible that way. He is just Axel Gray. A handsome, troubled, toxic—No. Just gonna stop you there, Dahlia.

He stands there with a smirk on his face, watching me stumble off the bike, quickly brushing my skirt down. That was fun, but I won't be doing that again. I could have died. I clear my throat, breaking the silence.

“Thank you for the ride,” I say to him. He looks at me like I’m the only girl on this earth and we need to hurry and re-populate. He is flirting too much, and he should not be. There needs to be boundaries, for both our sakes. He knows that.

“Any time. I’m, uh, sorry he put his hands on you like that. I hope I didn't scare you too badly when I hit him.”

I was hoping the elephant in the room had quietly walked away. It was nice of him to come to my defense. I am not sure how I would have handled that. It reminded me of the roughness of that evening over a week ago. I probably would have just broken down. I actually felt myself breaking down with the brief contact.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” I say, acknowledging that it was highly inappropriate. My hand brushes over my arm where he grabbed me. Axel observes the movement, and the look on his face changes softly.

“Don’t you ever apologize. It was not your fault. I’m just glad I was there,” he demands, grabbing his jacket that I placed back on his seat. I’m glad he was too. I feel like Princess Peach, consistently needing to be saved. How do I keep getting so lucky and unlucky at the same time? I swear the universe just loves to fuck with me. It’s starting to make me think there's no rhyme or reason for everything that's been happening, just pure chaos.

“I mean, I was a little taken aback, but he got what he deserved. Thank you again. I don’t know how I can repay you,” I vocalize shyly.

“Don’t worry about it, Ms. Rosen. I’m sure it’ll work itself out.”

He gives me that panty-wetting wink, making me look away at the effect of it. I think my nipples have taken it upon themselves to stay hardened. Why am I like this?

Chapter 25

The Stalker

Into It - Chase Atlantic (Bass Boosted)

Toying with my Little Flower’s head will always be my favorite pastime. I watch as she gets into her car, starting it up and taking off. I lower the helmet onto my head, taking in a deep inhale of the sweet scent she left behind. Little streaks of makeup are painted on the fabric that lines the inside, but I don’t mind it. Now I have a piece of her with me wherever I go.

I follow behind my girl as she makes her way home, keeping my distance so she doesn't notice. Thankfully, she doesn't live more than a handful of minutes away by drive. She pulls into her complex, circling around and parking. My eyes dart around her, making sure she is safe as she enters the building. As soon as she leaves my ‌line of sight, my hand reaches into my front pocket, pulling my cell out to watch her through the cameras inside.

A few minutes pass, and I see their front door open. Zoe makes her way out of the bedroom, hearing the commotion. I lean back on my bike as I continue to watch. They embrace each other and talk for a few minutes.

It’s late, Zoe is already in her pajamas, and was probably sleeping. The yawn she expels through the lens has me doing the same. I rub my tired eyes through the visor space in my helmet. She makes her way to her bedroom, and I’m quickly woken as my Little Flower pulls her shirt over head.

I glance around, making sure no one is near as I watch her. The parking lot is lifeless, not a person in sight. As if the universe knows to leave me the fuck alone in this moment. I pull forward on my bike, finding a more secluded area in between a few cars. I quiet the ignition, basking in the serenity of stalkery.

I pinch my screen, zooming in closer.

I watch her kick off her heels. They fly in different directions, one bouncing off the wall before falling. She grasps the top of her skirt, beginning to lower the soft material. I bite my lip, and unbutton my jeans, releasing the tension of my hardening cock, instantly feeling relief.

She spins around, turning the lock on her door. She jiggles the door handle, guaranteeing her seclusion. Her long hair falls perfectly behind her, almost reaching her tailbone. Almost too perfect. I want to wrap my fist in it and fucking pull it.

She moves over to the nightstand near her bed and pulls the bottom drawer open. She rummages inside briefly before pulling out a small box. My head tilts with curiosity. Her fingers lift the lid on the small wooden box, then placing a finger to her chin like she is deep in thought. She reaches in and pulls out a light pink vibrator.

Oh?

The small machine has a curved base ‌with ridges lining the shaft. Leaving the other half specifically for her clit. My curiosity is now at full pique. She closes the box and sets it on top of the nightstand next to a familiar set of flowers. The bed creaks as she crawls into it. She unclasps her bra, and tosses it onto the floor, leaving herself bare.

Fuck.

I unzip my jeans, fully freeing myself. My dick is so hard it’s starting to fucking ache. I imagine myself sucking on her supple pink nipples. Nibbling on them as she screams out in pain and pleasure. I lift my helmet enough to spit on my hand before grasping onto my length at the base. The yearning for her igniting me like fire in my bones. I’m double the size of her toy. And that thought makes me even more excited.

She lies back, kicking the comforter and pillows around her away. My breath quickens, watching her hands roam herself, starting from her neck and teasing down to her breasts. She runs a finger over a nipple, twitching at the sensitivity.

I start stroking at a slow pace, thinking if I go any faster, I'll fucking combust. Waves of pleasure ripple through me, making my knees weak. I lean further onto my bike, lying back on the slightly tilted seat.

Her fingers continue to graze over her skin, trailing down to her center. She arches her back, biting her lip. I envision myself biting it instead. Drawing out a prickle of blood, and licking the phantom iron taste. She leans over and picks up her phone, grabbing my attention.

Does my girl need a little visual?

The screen lights up, and she quickly types something on her browser. I zoom in even closer, interested in what she's needing in a time like this. She taps on an image, making it expand. My eyes widen when I see what she’s looking at. I stop stroking, being completely infatuated with what I’m seeing.

Her thumbs hook under her white lace panties, lowering them at a painfully slow pace. This is the first time I've seen her like this. I hadn't realized I had stopped breathing until a breath forced itself into my lungs. She kicks the last piece of fabric off her body, now completely nude. She looks fucking angelic. I want to fucking ruin her.

She grabs the vibrator she rested beside her and clicks it on. The low vibration filters through the camera, setting a constant hum. The pink toy circles her breasts, and she moans at the flutter. It travels, teasing her rosy peaks, and makes its way lower and lower.

I begin to rub myself again. My muscles aching with need as I watch her. Up and down. Up… and down. I let out a hungry, low growl. I’m completely enamoured. Completely consumed by everything she fucking does.

Fuck yeah, baby.

She brings the screen up toward her face, the bright light illuminating her perfect features. The vibrator slightly disappears between her legs. She lets out a loud moan of approval at the contact, and I grind my teeth. She shoves the bottom half inside her without any resistance.

I know you’re so fucking wet, baby. So fucking wet for me.

She begins to thrust the toy in and out. I match her movements. She goes in; I stoke down. She goes out; I stoke up. Our bodies move in sync; I can practically feel myself inside her. I grip myself harder, pushing my hips for more pleasure.

Her mouth falls open, blessing the air with quiet moans. Her eyes half-lidded, focusing on the image in front of her. The bed creaks beneath her slightly as she moves the toy faster in pace. I can tell she is already close. Causing my release to reach the edge. Come spurts from me as soon as one word leaves her perfect lips.

“Mmm, Axel.”

I practically see stars as I spill onto myself. My soul feels as if it has escaped its physical form, heading into a realm of pure bliss. The sensation causes my head to whip back, and my eyes close, feeling the ecstasy travel through me.

“Fuuuck,” I moan into the confines of my helmet. The fabric inside muffling my heated breaths. I milk myself dry, feeling every drop leave my body. I turn my attention back to my phone, watching my girl reach her orgasm right after.

Her legs begin to tremble, knees buckling inward before locking rigid. Her moans go deathly quiet, leaving the low buzz singing alone. The phone falls from her grasp, plummeting to the floor. Her empty hand kneads at her breast as her climax takes control.

I think I’m going to come again.

I snap a screenshot of the impassioned moment, saving it for later. She pants heavily, removing the vibrator from her slit. It glistens in the low light, and it makes me want to lick it clean. She lies there bare for a while. Not moving, not picking up her phone, not doing anything.

The rise and fall of her chest evens out. She pushes herself up into a sitting position while grabbing her underwear and slipping them back on. She hunches over the edge of the bed, picking her phone back up. The screen lights up as she taps on it, waking it up. Her finger swipes upward, closing the tab.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” she says, bewildered at her own decision. I shove myself back into my jeans and zip them up. Thick, milky splotches are caked onto my jeans. I know I don’t regret my decision. I can’t believe she got off looking at my mug shot… naughty girl. I’m already forcing my way through her mind and she doesn't even know it yet.

Chapter 26

The Stalker

Anotification from my phone blocks the top of my screen. And I quickly swipe up, removing it. Another comes right after, and I roll my eyes. I open my messages, seeing Zane’s name highlighted as unread. I open the text thread and I’m met with capitals.

Zane

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU??

Zane

HELLO, EARTH TO ASSHOLE???

Me

WHAT

Zane

I’m tired of playing babysitter, get your grumpy ass here NOW!

Oh shit. It completely slipped my mind that I have some jackass tied up in my basement. Well… hopefully, in my basement. That’s if Zane could fucking follow directions. I let out a growl in frustration, not wanting to head home.

I shut my screen off and tuck my phone into my pocket. I tug the lower half of my shirt, rubbing it against the now white, soaked jeans, trying to create some friction. The stained color lightens, but doesn’t completely go away.

Damn it.

The last thing I need is Zane making fun of me. This is something he’ll never let me live down. I can already feel the fucking headache from it. I keep rubbing until it's barely visible. Fuck it, that’s good enough for me.

I lean forward, restarting my bike. The rumble is deafening in the quiet night. I rev my engine up a few times, just to be an asshole before taking off. No traffic is visible on the late-night streets, taking half the time to get to my house than it usually does.

I pull into my garage, already feeling déjà vu. I open the door that leads inside, and to my surprise, Zane actually followed directions. The door to the basement is down the hall past my kitchen; a slight indent in the structure indicates the door.

I swing it open a little too roughly, and the handle chips the drywall. Of fucking course. I close the door behind me, leaving the dusky basement lying ahead. Luckily, I'm not afraid of the dark. The dark should be afraid of me.

I head down the long flight of stairs, counting sixteen steps subconsciously. The floorboards creak beneath my heavy steps as I storm down. Zane has the captive still tied and bound to the same chair, this time sitting underneath my one lit bulb surrounded by darkness, making it look like a scene out of a horror movie.

Zane perks up at the sight of me, looking relieved yet annoyed at the same time. I glance at him and Flynn, who is still struggling against his will. The rope that hugs his wrists chafes his skin raw. No sound comes from him, just muffled moans.

“It’s about fucking time!” Zane snarks at me. He's leaning against an old, large chest freezer that's been collecting dust. Other than that, there isn’t much down here, just empty space. The basement is unfinished. It’s not exactly at the top of my priority list. Especially in cases like this.

“I duct-taped him. I couldn’t take another minute of his fucking blabbering,” he follows up, watching me circle around the chair.

“Did you get any more info out of him?” I ask, hoping he did so we can end him sooner rather than later.

“As a matter of fact, I did. Took a few teeth-pulling sessions to get it out of him. Apparently, he’s been working with the feds this whole time. Taking part in this sting operation to take us down for our races,” Zane explains. I grind my teeth, fury already coursing through my veins. He's been at almost every fucking race. My face goes warm from the heat as I spit in Flynn's face, leaning in and caging him in more.

“Who’s the one who fucking vouched for you?” I ask. He leans back, trying to put distance between us with the little wiggle room he has. Not everyone can just show up and join our events. You need to know someone. Someone who can be accountable for their referrals. We trust those who have been attending for years. We’ve never had an issue until that night. Apparently, it was years in the fucking making.

I rip the tape from his mouth, and he winces. The skin underneath is red and covered in crimson, assuming from the assault on his teeth. He yells in pain as his eyes gloss over, and I just eye him. Fucking pathetic.

“I’m not telling you shit,” he bites back, lisping with the now present gaps in his teeth. I tug his head backward, grabbing onto his hair. It’s wet and matted. My other hand meets his jaw. He groans loudly.

“We can do this all fucking night. I don’t have anywhere to be right now. Do you?” I look over to Zane, dragging my words out. He shakes his head no. I grab my pocketknife that I always have tucked in my back pocket.

“Do we need to start removing fingers?” I say, pointing the tip of the blade at each finger that is pressed up against the arm of the chair.

“N–no. Please!” he begs, but I don’t give a fuck about it. I want to know who fucking vouched for him, so I can pay them a visit too. I dig the blade slightly into his thumb, drawing out a sliver of blood from the puncture. He wiggles, but it’s of no use.

“This little piggy went to the market—” I move the blade to his index finger, digging it into that one too.

“This little piggy stayed home.”

“Stop! No!” His words fall on deaf ears as I continue. The blade makes its way to the next finger. And I continue to press into each of them. Letting little prickles of blood meet the air. I move on to the next.

“This little piggy had roast beef,” I make a small cut on the top knuckle, and he cries out.

“This little piggy had none.” The lullaby comes out sinister.

“And this little piggy cried–”

“I’ll tell you! I’ll fucking tell you!”

“Wee, wee, wee. All the way,” I continue, pulling the knife off ‌his last digit before coming down with force.

“Home.” His finger from the knuckle up comes clean off. Cries of pain fill the air as he bounces in the chair. My blade is embedded in the wooden armrest where his pinky once was, and I leave it. Rivers of tears fall from his eyes.

Like I said, pathetic.

“I used a fake name to get in,” he says, slouching over.

“You couldn't have gotten in with a fake name,” I counter.

“I promise. I don’t know how it worked, but it did. P–Please, my hand.”

His head moves from side to side, dizzy from the amount of blood he’s lost. His open finger spurting crimson everywhere. I don’t give two shits about his hand and neither should he. He won’t be breathing in a few minutes, anyway.

I look over to Zane, furrowing my brows in question. He is in charge of all ‌the organizers of our events. He doesn't co-host with me; he just helps. He looks from side to side, bracing how I’ll react. I turn to him and meet him face to face.

“Did you let this slip through the fucking cracks?” I point my finger in his face, and he swats it away. He stands straight, looking ‌me straight in my eyes. I know Zane can handle his own, but he knows not to fuck with me.

“Someone fucking did. I’ll find out who, and don’t ever put your fucking finger in my face, ever again.”

“That responsibility is on you, you fucking asshole. Don’t go blaming someone else. Are you fucking kidding me?” I'm infuriated that it’s his fault; he had a part in this. He is never fucking careful. He brings a hand up and runs it down his face in disbelief.

“I’m fucking sorry, okay? Look. I made it up to you by bringing Flynn to you, didn’t I?” he says, trying to save himself from my loose fuse. I can’t fucking believe him. I spent two years in prison, time I can’t get back, all because he was careless? I could tie him to this fucking chair right now and beat the shit out of him too.

“You and I—” I say, this time shoving my finger roughly into his chest,

“—will finish this later. Let's deal with Flynn first.” He nods in agreement, and I can already see the worry hidden in his eyes. He knows how my wrath can take over, and I’m telling you, it’s not fucking pretty. I turn to the snitch sitting in the chair. He’s passed out.

Great.

“Yoo-hoo. Buddy boy, I want you to be awake for this.” I say, slapping his cheek. His neck moves to the side, and one eye flutters open. I slap him a few more times until both eyes open. He moans, blood still dripping from his toothless mouth. I hand Zane my pocketknife and he looks at me in confusion.

“Now you owe me,” I threaten. He lets out a sigh and grabs the blade from me. I move to the side and reach an arm out, implying he can continue. He stands in front of Flynn, bringing the blade to his neck. He thrashes in his chair at the realization of what's about to happen, and just as he is about to scream, the sound of flesh separating fills the air, leaving a gurgling sound.

“Make sure you clean my knife really well,” I say sarcastically as I head upstairs to take a shower.

Chapter 27

The Flower

My limbs shake as they stretch out. A deep yawn and chills instantly erupt, waking all the follicles on my skin. I've had such a long week I almost want to forget half of it. What happened to my life being uneventful? I think I’ve taken that for granted.

The early morning sunrise peaks through my curtains, leaving the room lit in a soft yellow light. I peer over at my phone, pressing it awake, seeing it read 8 a.m., I press the little x button to cancel my alarm. Wow, I woke up an hour early today? Who is she?

I lift the covers off myself and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Soft, pillowy cushions hug my feet as I slip them inside my slippers. I wiggle my toes for a moment, basking in the comfiness.

I lean over my nightstand, smelling the bouquet that's on its last day of life. I take a big inhale of the earthy scent, a smile heatedly overtakes my face. I blink a few times, noticing a familiar black envelope next to the glass vase.

Here we go again. Is it concerning that I consider it ‌part of my daily routine now? I tear the little sticky fold open and reach inside. One note and one picture lay inside. I hold them up, reading the note first.

Taste me after what—?

Oh god.

I hold up the polaroid, seeing it's a picture of a recording that looks like it's coming from my room. It's me. Last night? No, no, no. Did he watch me get off to Axel? I look around my room, scanning the walls and ceiling as if I'm going to find an obvious camera. Nothing but paintings and white walls accompany me.

“Hello? Are you watching me?” I yell into the open air. It’s not like he's going to talk out of nowhere and say, “yes, I’m watching you.” I can’t believe he spied on me. I haven't felt the need to.. get off in a while. Since before the night of my attack.

I’ve been disgusted by any touch. Going to the grocery store and the cashier accidentally touching my hand had me feeling repulsed. I even have a little hesitation with Zoe. Not to mention Parker. I can’t believe the scene he caused and what he did to me.

Every touch just repulses me, besides Axel’s, and I’m not sure why. My only connection to him is through our professional relationship as client and provider. Oh no. I hope dropping me off at work wasn’t weird for him. I hope I didn't make it weird. So many thoughts play in my mind, torturing me, and I don’t know what to do with them all.

Is it possible to run away from your own mind? Yes, Dahlia. It’s called dissociation, and we are not doing that. Sighing, I place the picture and note back on my nightstand, not wanting to even deal with it. I stand, grabbing my robe that hangs on my bathroom door, covering myself and tying it in place. My body grumbles, needing my morning coffee. I turn the knob on my door and peer out of it before heading down the hall to the kitchen. Zoe is an early bird, and I already know she is out there.

The delightful smell of coffee brewing is already blessing my senses. As soon as I reach the kitchen, I see Zoe doomscrolling on her phone. She is sitting at the island on a tall bar stool. She turns my way and raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Wow, someone's up early!” she says, teasingly. I give her a gentle smile. The appreciation I have for her bubbly personality is monumental, but it is still early, so I need to process her words for a moment. I shuffle to the coffeepot still being kept warm by the base.

“Good morning to you too,” I respond, grabbing a mug off the little rack that's placed next to the coffee bar. I hear a little giggle behind me, and I can't help but grin. The brown liquid pours like a beautiful amber waterfall. I swear, coffee was one of the best things to be created.

“How have you been feeling lately?” she asks at my back.

“I’m okay. I have something I should tell you. That I can’t believe happened to me yesterday, and I need some advice.” My voice is shaky at the unknowingness of the judgement I may receive. Like I said, it’s one thing after another and I can’t seem to catch a break.

“Oh no, D. Did something else happen?” she asks. I hear her adjust in her seat behind me. I pour some of the hazelnut creamer she left out into my coffee until it turns a pale milky brown. The liquid swirls like a mini-tornado as the spoon I use to combine the mixture clinks against the ceramic, stirring it all together. I turn to her, seeing she’s leaned forward with elbows rested on the granite.

“Yes, but before you freak out… also no? I don’t know how to describe it. I’ll just have to tell you about what happened.” I move around the island and pull out the other bar stool and climb onto it. I’m pretty short, so everything is extra work for me. It’s nothing I mind; climbing onto everything is second nature to me.

“You came home pretty late last night. It's unlike you to be out other than with me.” She elbows me, and little splashes of coffee leak from the brim of the mug, staining the counter in contrast. I don’t bother cleaning it up.

“Yeah, about that… So, many things happened. I know I’ve mentioned once before that Parker has been increasingly annoying with his flirting. Last night, while I was working late, he basically forced me to have dinner with him.” I roll my eyes in memory.

“Shut the fuck up! He did not? What happened?” Her hand comes out, giving my forearm a hard squeeze in surprise. The gesture makes me wince in multiple ways, but I don't remove it.

“Well, it was fucking awful! I was getting ready to leave, but then I found him rummaging around in some of my notes. Like, what the hell was he looking for? Anyway, he acted like I caught him doing something wrong, which he definitely was by the way, and changed the subject quickly by asking me out to dinner. Well, we both know he did not ask. I went against my will.”

“What the hell was he doing there that late, anyway? I wonder why he was being nosey. Oh my gosh, this is tea. What did you say?”

“I don’t know, but whoever knows with him, right? I knew that if I wanted to keep my job, I had to go with him. So I did. I just want to vomit reliving it again.” I stick my finger over my tongue and make a little exaggerated gagging noise.

“We rode in his car and he kept trying to be a gentleman,” I continue. I hear a little “pfft” come from Zoe’s mouth, with an “are you kidding me?” look. Gosh, what I’d do for it to be a joke.

“Yeah, like everyone doesn't know he's not some narcissistic asshole,” she says, agreeing with my internal thoughts.

“Totally! Well, he took me to some fancy restaurant in a hotel and basically spent the evening giving me backhanded compliments, calling me poor, and saying that I’ve never had dining like that before. I wanted to tear my skin off the whole time. Thankfully, it was short-lived.” A bashful smile creeps up, remembering Axel saving me.

“First of all, ew. Fuck him. Second, why are you blushing like a schoolgirl?” She squeezes me tighter, and this time I can’t hide my reaction. Physical touch is her love language. As much as I want to pull away, I don’t. I’m too excited to tell her about Axel, but the fact that he is a client also makes me terrified. I could lose my job if anything escalates. Well, who even knows if I have a job to go back to anyway, with how things panned out.

“Please don’t judge me; here is where I need advice,” I plea, placing my hand over her strong grasp that will probably leave a permanent indentation on my skin now. She leans in closer, nodding her head in agreement.

“Okay, bitch, continue then!”

“Okay! Well, while we were waiting for our food, someone came up to the table and interrupted us. To me, it was more like he was saving me, but I’m sure Parker disagreed—”

“Who? Who was it?” She interrupts me. My hand fidgets, and I look down, unable to look at her while I tell her the next part. All I can do is hope for the best. Here's to not keeping secrets.

“So I have this client, Axel, who has been seeing me for a few weeks now. He happened to be there at the same time we were. I don’t know if there was a sign written on my face asking for someone to help, but he literally pulled up a chair and joined us,” I say with hesitation. There is a stretch of silence so long I have to look up to make sure she hasn’t had an aneurysm.

“A client? Dahlia, you know you can’t—”

“What did I say about being judgy?” I cut her off before she states the obvious.

“I know. It won’t go anywhere. But I’m allowed to feel my feelings, so let me share them with you.” I say.

She gives me an apologetic look, gesturing for me to continue. She and I both know she is judging me internally. Shit, I’m even judging myself. I know better, and she knows I do too.

“The look on Parker's face was furious. I mean, who is Axel to just interrupt us? I’m not entirely sure why he did, but it was better than being alone with him. Axel has this way of…” I trail off in thought, looking for the correct words without making him seem just as narcissistic as Parker does.

“Being unserious. Like he teased Parker the entire time, and I swear he strangled Axel in another universe. We got kicked out because it caused a whole scene. And I ended up riding back to my car with Axel,” I finish. Zoe and I just stare at each other in disbelief. Her, at my story. Me, with how last night transpired and that I actually lived it. Kind of sad I didn’t hit Parker myself if I’m being honest.

“Wait, so let me get this right. You went to dinner with Parker. A client of yours that has you giddy like a schoolgirl happened to be there and just decided to sit with you guys? Teased our boss the whole time to the edge of murder, then you ended up leaving him and riding back to your car with Axel?” she reiterates.

“Yep, that about sums it up. That sounds bad, doesn't it?” I say in anguish. Hearing it laid out that way makes me sound horrible in the narrative. The blush on my face instantly puts me into a panic. I knew I fucked up; I should’ve just called an Uber.

“Did anything happen between you and Axel?” she asks. I look at her dumbfounded. She could at least give me a little credit here. I know better than to have a personal relationship with a client. Even if he's hot.

Why me?

“Absolutely not. He gave me a ride back to work. I hopped into my car and came straight home.” I decide not to mention that the ride back was on his bike. And that I had to lift my skirt up the whole time. And that it was thrilling, and I loved every second of it.

“Have you spoken to Parker at all since? Did he just let you go? I find that hard to believe,” she scoffs. I can see her picturing him in her eyes, angry and all. She isn’t wrong. It’s worse, in fact. She is going to be so disheartened when I tell her.

“The thing is… Parker grabbed me very roughly. Like, really rough.” I lift the fabric of my robe up slightly, showing her the bare skin on my forearm where she has coincidentally been latching onto. Light blue and purple pool in tiny circles, where his fingers carved into me.

“Oh my god, D. Are you serious?” Her soft finger grazes over the top of the marks. Bewilderment written all over her face. She looks at me with her sympathetic eyes, and I instantly begin sobbing. I don’t know what comes over me, but tears stream down my face like sharp crystals. Like unwanted memories forcing me to remember them.

She pulls me closer, embracing me. Feeling sorry. I felt like I had somewhat processed the night of the attack enough not to cry about it anymore, but the way Parker grabbed me made me relive the touch of that night. And now, I’m reliving it again.

“I’m so sorry, D. Are you okay? Do I need to fuck him up for you?” she asks, completely serious. As tiny as she is, it would be funny to see her pounding on our boss. Though, I don’t think she would win. I pull away slightly and slide my palm against my cheek, feeling the wetness disperse.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry. Where I was going with that was that Axel actually punched Parker in the face for it. As much as I would love for you to come to my rescue, he had his instant karma.” I pick myself out of my path of misery before it overcomes me.

“Shut the fuck up! Go, Axel. I can’t believe that happened. What I would have given to see that. What happened next?”

“He fell onto the floor. He was pissed. I was... grateful. That's when Axel offered me a ride home, and the rest is history.”

“Holy shit. And you left him there? Aren't you scared about what he's going to say to you?” Oh, I’m way fucking scared, but I don’t want to send her into a panic. What happened was already disastrous. I honestly don't even want to think about what's to come.

“Left him there, haven't spoken to him at all. He didn’t reach out. I'm guessing he is saving his scolding for me on Monday, or I might just be fired.”

“I refuse to let him fire you. Over my dead body. He put himself into a situation like that, thinking he had no repercussions for his actions. He needed a lesson for sure,” she argues. She makes a great point. He knew I didn’t want to have dinner with him in the first place. He knew I couldn’t say no. Bastard.

“Well, I'm just glad you're safe, and thank you to Axel for being there. I think you just need to make sure that Axel understands it was just a ride home, so he isn’t assuming something is going on between the two of you. And just gauge how Parker is on Monday. There's nothing you can do about what happened. None of it was your fault. I'm just going to smother you in bubble wrap from now on, okay?” she says, lightening the mood, and I’m happy she does. I giggle, sort of agreeing to the fake scenario. Maybe I do need to be put in bubble wrap. That, or just throw me into a padded room, away from the rest of the world.

Chapter 28

The Flower

Worship - Ari Abdul

“Holy shit, did you see this?” Z shoves her phone in my face. The screen is so close that it looks like tiny, blurry words. I swerve a little to the left, as it takes my attention off the road. We’re on our way to the dance studio, and we only have one class scheduled today because I cannot fathom teaching a full day for my own mental health.

“W–What am I looking at?” I ask, not risking trying to read the small letters strung together on her screen. I’m good at multitasking, but not that good. I’ll crash this car into a building, then we both won’t be reading anything ever again. The phone is quickly moved away from my face as she reads the article aloud to me.

Breaking News

A body in the downtown area was discovered. A middle-aged male, white, possibly in his thirties, was found mangled with missing fingers, and tied to a tree. More details to come about this gruesome attack. If anyone has information, please contact Seven News.

“That’s terrifying! Tied to a fucking tree?” she exclaims. We haven't had a murder this gruesome in years. What is this world coming to? And it's so close to home. Adding “watch out for a murderer” to my list of problems.

“No way? Oh my god, that is terrifying. If he was tied to a tree, that means he was displayed for some reason. How sick.” I say back to her. The tires rumble beneath us as I pull into a parking spot next to the dance studio. Cars screech past in a blur as I wait for the traffic to clear before opening my door.

I hate street parking.

“Knowing your luck lately, you're not staying out late, missy,” Zoe says, implying the worst.

“Shut up, Mom. I’m definitely not taking any chances,” I joke back, but a part of me feels a little unnerved by it. Work, then home. Dance, then home. That's all that's on my agenda.

The bell to the studio dings as I unlock and swing the door open. My mood shifts instantly. Dancing is my safe haven. No matter how bad the world gets, or should I say, no matter how bad my world gets, I can always count on dancing. Don’t mind me while I drown out the chaos of my life for the next few hours.

Zoe comes in after flipping the switch, illuminating the space. My eyes go blind for a moment before adjusting to the fluorescent lights. I set my bag behind the small check-in desk to the left of the door, and Zoe does the same.

“I think the class has the routine down. Should we have them solo today?” I ask her. She places a finger on her chin in thought.

“I don’t see why not! I think it would be so fun to have them do that. Make them build the confidence of not having the class as backup,” she agrees. I just hope the girls agree too. If I dim the lights enough, I’m sure it'll be okay. Everything is better in the dark, isn't it?

“Totally, like, surprise! You get up there and shake that ass alone today.” I laugh, kicking off my shoes and placing them on the mat near the door.

“They’re going to kill us.” Zoe has a fear of making people angry. That excludes me, of course. Being friends long enough, I would hope she would push my buttons every once in a while. She places her shoes next to mine, and I shake my head in disapproval.

“You know it gives me the ick when you wear socks with sandals, right?” I say with a judgy tone. She chuckles and turns, walking toward the mirrors like she's proud of it. I can just imagine the overstimulation of them on my feet. I wiggle, my body shaking in fake chills.

“You wish you could be like me.” She winks, smiling. I roll my eyes and follow her to the floor. We both sit on the hardwood, stretching our limbs. Being thirty and all, stretching is essential now. What I wouldn’t give to be twenty again.

I sigh, loving the feeling of my muscles extending. Zoe and I do the same preparation. We kick our legs out, touching our toes. Then we swing our arms up over our heads, pulling on one another, feeling the tingle on our triceps. We do a few more stretches before getting prepped for the class.

Z and I have this unspoken language. It’s like a gift of telepathy that none of us asked for. I click play on my phone; a warm-up song fills the air. We both get into pose, ready to practice before the girls arrive for class.

The music is loud, being an enjoyable distraction to my constantly running brain. We wait for the beat to drop before we move in sync. Worship by Ari Abdul plays around us. The sensation of feminine energy washes over the two of us, and it’s like we turn into vixens.

We step forward, walking sensually before dropping to our knees. I swing my head, flipping my hair backward as I crawl forward. The skin on my knees and hands rubs against the hard surface. I sit up, running my hands from my hips up to my neck, and grab the sensitive skin there with a light strangle.

Our bodies move like we are one and the same. A breath of lust leaves my lips as I bite down on the bottom one. My right leg kicks forward into the air. I hold myself up on my hands, leaning back at the motion. The hard floor meets my foot with a thump.

My weight shifts onto it while swinging my other leg from under me, making me move into a downward dog position. The fabric of my shorts hugs my curves, enhancing my suppleness and adding to the illusion.

Zoe and I both trail our hands from our feet to the apex of our thighs, slowly, sensually. My hair whips backward once again. I stare at myself in the mirror. My hands rest on the front of my hips while my body rolls. Looking like a soft wave on a beach.

We turn around in unison, twirling an arm above our heads. The center of my body continues to wave, feeling myself get lost in the music. Little strands of hair cling to my face in every motion. We drop down, bend our knees, then come back up, and repeat the move. I spread my knees wide in the process.

The pacing of my breaths is quick, already feeling bent out of shape. We turn, facing away from the mirrors, and roll our bodies one more time before ending with another pose. The rise and fall of our chests are at a steady pace. We both smile at each other at the accomplishment.

The members of the class should arrive in just a few minutes. I press pause on my phone before the playlist continues. I can’t wait to see each person solo today. When a momma bird pushes her baby off a tree and it takes flight, that's what it always feels like. Some may stumble and fall. But we always get back up.

Chapter 29

The Stalker

Fuck.
I grit my teeth. The need for her is worsening. Her body moves like a fucking symphony and I want to bathe in the music. The way her hips roll has me imagining doing filthy things to her. I want her to dance for me. For me and no one else.

My thumb slides over my tip, spreading the pre-cum around. Shivers erupt at the sensitivity. My hand grabs the head of my cock and I slide it downward slowly. I don’t think I’ve ever been this consistently fucking feral in my life.

I’m watching her through my phone screen, a little angry at the fact that this is how close I’m getting to her lately. If I could just reach in and grab her… My breath hitches, leaving my jaw to open a little wider.

I placed a few cameras in and around her dance studio. I’m not taking any chances after what happened last time she was alone. There is no such thing as too many cameras in my book. Her being fully clothed still has me as stiff as a board. Though I’d rather see her with nothing on, this will have to suffice for now.

My hand moves up my length with a forceful grip. I look down and spit, giving myself a little more slip. The song they're dancing to needs to be on repeat with how short it is, but I know it won’t take me long to come. I zoom in, centering her on my screen.

She bounces up and down to the beat, her hair whipping in all sorts of directions, and I imagine her bouncing on me. Moving her hips, slapping herself against me. My eyes close shut, and I bite my lip roughly.

Fuck yeah, baby, just like that. Such a good girl. Ride my cock.

I can hear the imaginary moans kiss my ears. The way she parts her mouth and grips me in approval. My head leans backward, feeling the closeness of my climax reaching.

I open my eyes once more, needing to see my Little Flower move again. She’s caressing herself, panting heavily, and I love to watch the rise and fall of her breasts. My face contorts before my warm come shoots out. I moan, feeling my release deep within escape me.

I close the video and clean myself up, not feeling one bit ashamed of my need for her. If I don’t have her soon, the world will fucking pay. For now, I have to pay Zane a visit. He's been on his hands and knees for me since the other night.

I forgave him. He’s been by my side since forever. Will the need to strangle him ever go away? Probably not. He’s like the “Robin” to my “Batman”. The very annoying Robin to my muscled, chiseled, badass Batman.

I grab my mask from the glass shelf in my garage before leaving. I spent this morning remaking it, so I definitely want to put it to use. This time I hop in my Challenger. My Little Flower knows the bike Axel drives, but luckily, I have choices.

The engine howls as I make my way to Zane's house. He lives a few minutes from me. The thought of living in the city never appealed to him either. Makes it easier for me to see him. And it makes it easier for him to do me favors.

I arrive and park in his driveway. It’s just as big as mine. He may have to upgrade soon, with how fast the relationship between Zoe and him is moving. I wouldn't have thought it was going to get as serious as it is. He is fucking whipped.

The car door slams behind me while I approach his front door. As soon as I lift my fist to knock, the door opens on its own. I peer around the hardwood, and he isn't in sight. What the hell? I push the crack open a little further, suspicion picking at my senses.

“Hello? Shit head?” I ask into the darkness. First of all, it’s daytime, why the hell is it dark in here? Second of all, how the hell did his door open? I pull the knife from my pocket, ready to use it at any moment. I wait for a response, but all I hear is crickets.

I slip through the doorway and make my way down the short hall that leads to his living area. A small white light shines through into the hall, as if a TV is on. I’m quiet with my steps, though my boots would love to disagree. I round the corner and see Zane's computer on, but no Zane. I cock an eyebrow.

“Boo!” A voice shouts from behind me, and I swing my arm toward the person. I miss. And I’m glad I do. The startle I felt quickly turns into fury at the man who is chuckling in my face. Maybe a little cut wouldn't hurt him, might teach him a lesson.

“I swear to God, I will fucking kill you one of these days,” I say, waving the blade in front of his face. His head shakes and he throws his hands up, pretending to surrender.

“The big bad wolf is coming. I’m scared. You would never, you need me and you know it.” He pushes my hand away, and I let him. He’s right. I do need him. As much as I fucking hate to admit it.

“How the hell did your door open anyway?” I ask, entering his living room. I glance around at all the screens that are placed neatly on his desk. He has six monitors. Three stacked on top of one another. He has multiple light-up keyboards scattered, and cords snaking around the floor.

He has way more equipment than the last time I was over. Why does one need this much? Who knows? How he feels about tech is how I feel about my helmets though. I can't fault the guy for having a hobby. I swear he is more of a fucking creep than I am.

“You like it? I installed this new system that has facial recognition, so I can click a button to open the door if I know who it is. And if I want to let them in.” His eyebrows rise and fall a few times, with an ear to ear grin. I shake my head, acting like I'm impressed. He's extra, and he knows it.

“Guys like you don't understand the complexity of things like this. Plus, I built it myself,” he says, feeling accomplished. The smile drops from his face as I just stand there, not saying anything. He waves his hand in my direction.

“Do you have some info for me or not? I’m not here to talk about doors.” I push, knowing damn well he has something to help with our ongoing investigation. He rushes to his desk, quickly sitting on the cushioned chair behind it.

“Well, you remember the mask he was wearing, right? And I told you that only three stores had that specific type in stock?” I gesture with my hand for him to continue.

“It was the store located closer to town. It was purchased at the one near D’s house. I hacked the system to trace purchases made and kept an eye out for that mask in particular. Turns out no one has bought that mask in months. The last one sold was the same day D was attacked,” he continues.

“Do you think it was premeditated planning? Or do you think it was a spur-of-the-moment thing?” I ask. I’m glad he was able to narrow down the purchases, but I definitely wasn't expecting that the mask was purchased the same day of the attack. I would assume it would have been thought out, with how we couldn't find a trace of him. Speaking from experience, of course, but that doesn't make it any better.

If it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, it may be harder to find the person. If it was planned, that doesn’t make it any fucking better, due to it potentially being someone she knows. The fact that she could have been stalked while I was stalking her makes me feel more protective of her. How could I not have noticed?

“I’m not sure. I do know that he was driving a red SUV. I traced the cameras back to that day and watched. His face was well hidden. He wore a hood that covered him well, so I couldn't get a look at his face, unfortunately.”

“Were you able to trace his car to the next place, or before that?”

“I tried. He kept going beneath underpasses and back roads where there are limited cameras. He was driving in all directions. It was like he knew he was being wat—”

Searing pain ripples through me, and I collapse on the floor. The tightness in my chest constricts me. I struggle to take a full breath in. I can see Zane’s figure over me. It's a black blur, almost like an apparition. My hands clutch at my chest, the pain feeling like a hundred knives.

“Why can’t you just be normal?” she says.

Everything goes quiet. Tears begin to pool. I’m fucking tired of this. My body slumps to the floor. I curl in on myself, pulling my knees into my chest and banging my head against my kneecaps.

I don't know how to be normal.

I don't know how to be normal.

I don't know how to be normal.

I don't know how to be normal.

My vision clears. The wind from the ceiling fan hitting my face. I stare at the rotating panels. Round and round and round. Zane’s face pops in front, interrupting.

“Bro, what the fuck? Are you okay?” he asks. My head is hazy, causing me to rub by hand against my temple. No fucking way I had a flashback here. Zane doesn’t know about them. No one needs to fucking know about them, besides the angel who will help me fix them.

“Hmm? Yeah, no. I’m fine.” I push myself up into a sitting position, instantly feeling the throbbing in my skull. My face clenches with pain. I hate the headaches that come with them. Who would've known flashbacks came with extra side effects.

“You sure? You kept mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to be normal’ over and over,” he says with eyes boring into mine. The thought of telling him what’s been going on with me makes me want to jump off a fucking cliff. If I can get these episodes under control before then, there won’t be a need for a ruckus.

“Yeah, no. I’m good. I’ve just been a little stressed,” I say, avoiding the truth. He gives me a nod, and I can tell he’s not buying it, but I couldn't give a shit about what he thinks. There are more important things to deal with right now.

“So, you said he knew he was being watched?” I question. The thought alone makes me want to break every bone in that fuckers body. Does he know about me? Has he watched me with her?

“It seems that way. I mean, we don’t know for sure… yet.” He eyes me up and down, concern still in the air like a fucking plague. Personally, I don’t like people in my business, let alone their pity. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Red SUV. Got it. And, uh, thank you,” I grit, hating the sentimental words. His eyes shoot up.

“Umm, yeah. I owe you, remember?” he says awkwardly. Both of us are uncomfortable with feelings. It’s what makes our friendship work. A toxic, dysfunctional, unstable relationship that is. I eye him, wondering if he's just as damaged as I am.

“Yeah, you do. Forever, dipshit.”

Chapter 30

The Flower

Creature In The Black Night - Dayseeker

Ahefty exhale leaves me. I shut the door behind me and turn the lock on the handle. The metal shakes as I double-check it. I have the apartment all to myself tonight. Zoe hasn't left my side for the past few days. Which I am thankful for, but the girl checks on me like I’m in trouble for even sitting or standing.

She has plans with her guy tonight, so I am more than happy to drop her off at his house. Which is super fancy, by the way. Z never told me what exactly he does for work besides saying he's in tech. Which can mean so many things. She probably doesn't even know the extent of what he does.

Anyway, ice cream and—

A large bow-tied package sitting on the floor catches my attention. Don’t tell me my stalker has now resorted to obnoxious gifts. What if he blew up a photo of me to giant size?

“He better not,” I mumble under my breath, making my way toward the neatly wrapped package. A little envelope is placed underneath the bow, peeking at me like a game of hide and seek. I tear it open and remove the card inside.

A card? This is new.

The outside is blank besides a few little flowers that look like printed paintings. I open the fold and a smile erratically takes my face.

To my babygirl. Please enjoy this painting. It reminded me of you.
-Love your pop

A wave of guilt washes over me. My whole life right now has been revolving around what’s been happening to me, that I’ve completely shut out my dad. I should call him. He’s probably worried about me.

I unwrap the paper. Loud rips and tears fill the air like Christmas morning. I take a step back in awe as I stare. It’s beautiful. Probably one of the most beautiful paintings he's ever gotten me. And I don’t say that lightly.

There’s a girl sitting cross-legged on the floor. Paint is splattered and brushes are scattered on the floor around her. She is holding a brush, facing the half-colored canvas in front of her. Not a care in the world.

A passionate tear falls from my eye, noticing the black bow holding half her hair up. I bring a hand to my own. The soft material telling me I’m the girl in the painting. I’m left speechless. Where am I going to hang this?

I look around at the white walls of the apartment. A few small paintings already displayed around the place. I keep a few in my bedroom, aware that I’m not the only one living here. I pace around. Maybe this one can go in my room. Especially with the sentiment behind it, it feels like it was meant for only me.

I bend over, picking up the canvas framed in gold. It’s heavy. I stumble a little before leaning it against me, careful not to drop it. I wobble to my bedroom and put it on the floor flat, noticing there is a space opposite my bed empty. That'll have to do.

I walk over, moving my overly full laundry basket out of the way. Pieces of clothing fall from the side, and I just kick them away. I stare at the blank space, wondering if it's even big enough. I reach my arms out in measurement. Bringing them stretched over to my painting and eyeing like it would fit.

A ping from my phone comes from my pocket, I reach in and grab it. There's no name or number for the message. Spam texts aren't anything new. I get like twenty a day, but I’ve never seen one with no numbers. I click on the blank message. My body flares with alarm when I read what it says.

Unknown

A little to the left, Little Flower.

Me

Who is this?

Unknown

Take a guess, angel. By the way, you look beautiful.

Me

Are you watching me? Creep.

Three dots appear and then disappear. I glance around my room in panic. My head whips to my window, but the curtains are closed. Oh shit. I forgot about the last picture he sent me.

“Do you have a camera in here?” I yell, sitting in silence, unsure if I even want a response.

“Hello? You know this is an invasion of privacy? This is illegal!” Not that it's anything different from what he's already done to me. I wave my hands in the air, looking everywhere for a camera, but come up with nothing. I put both middle fingers up and wave them around.

“You creep! Thank you for being nice to me, but it doesn't excuse this!” Another ping pulls my attention to my lap.

Unknow

You know you like what I do to you. Don’t lie to yourself, baby. Just accept it.

Me

I’m only accepting that you're a creep. Now get this camera out of my room! I don’t consent to this.

The hopefulness quickly dies once I hear a door slam from the hall. My eyes widen, and I quickly type into my screen. I struggle to type the words correctly as my hands shake.

Me

I didn't mean right now!

My text gets ignored, and the panic sinks in more. I haven't seen him since I asked him to stay with me that night. I’m not even sure what to do. I crawl, trying to find something I can use to defend myself with. At the end of the day, I don’t know what his intentions truly are. What if he wanted to keep me alive so he could murder me himself? A figure stands in front of my doorway.

“Too late,” he says, taking up the entire frame. A feeling within me is relieved; it's a familiar mask with green illuminating LED lights on the left eye and mouth. I crawl backward until my back hits the wall. My hands reach around me, feeling for anything I can use. Smooth plastic touches my fingertip, and without looking, I clutch the object, holding it in front of me.

“You’re going to defend yourself with a shoe?” he asks, not impressed. I just have to be confident about it, right? Like I knew what I was grabbing. Maybe I have some unknown heel-throwing skill. He doesn’t know that… And neither do I.

“Hey, women have killed using heels. I can easily jam this into your chest. So, you better back off,” I say, holding the heel higher. Who am I kidding? I’m fucked. He says nothing, but instead walks closer. He’s tall and stocky. Even with the black hood he wears; it outlines his bulging muscles.

Uncertainty pervades the air. I just lay there, still holding the shoe as if it's going to protect me. Once he’s close enough, he slowly squats. My lungs inhale and exhale rapidly.

He latches onto my ankles and drags me toward him like I'm a rag doll. My stomach drops at the force I’m pulled by, and my hands reach around me; the black heel no longer in my grasp. I let out a scream. The carpet in my bedroom rubs against my shirt, causing it to lift upward. The friction making my body arch.

He’s on top of me in an instant, pinning my arms above my head. He waits, letting me catch my breath. I blow the tufts of hair that cling to my lashes, trying to clear my line of sight.

He grabs both of my wrists with one hand, while the other gently caresses my cheek, helping me. My instinct is to flinch at the movement. I can feel him pause momentarily before continuing.

“Are you okay?” he asks. The question taking me by surprise. My head turns to face him, and I search his eyes. His identity is still completely hidden, but he leaves the most vulnerable parts open. I search his eyes and he searches mine. The moment feeling way more intimate than it should.

I know he's checking to see if I’m okay with this unspoken want. While I’m checking for his true intentions, I get this feeling of looking into a mirror. He has beautiful dark brown eyes. Eyes that tell a similar story to someone I know. But there is no way—

My thoughts are cut off by my legs being shoved open. I let out a gasp at the sudden intrusion of his weight pressed on me. I can feel his hardness through his jeans. Warm heat stirs between us, and I inch forward. I don’t know what's wrong with me. I shouldn’t want this. But I do.

He looks down, noticing the minimal space now gone. I bite my lip. I know he wants this just as badly as I do. Probably even more. I’m not sure what I’m even wanting, but I know it's something.

God, who am I?

He glances at my bitten lip. My face warms, feeling the embarrassment of my need. The way we both aren't saying a word has me flushed and wanting even more. I can hear his heavy breaths underneath his mask, and it makes me want to pull it off. I know he wouldn't let me, and I’m okay with that at this moment.

His open hand cups my cheek and his thumb slides across my bottom lip, where I’m still biting down. I can see the feral look in his eyes. The need to consume me. And the way I want him to. The way I want him to take from me.

His hand moves lower and lower, tracing my breast over my shirt. I arch more, leaning into his touch. A little moan escapes me as he aggressively cups a breast. His large hand covering it completely.

He's staring at it intently. Like he's completely lost in lust. My wrists are freed, but what he does next makes me writhe under him in ecstasy. My breasts pop out, feeling the cold air, as he rips the buttons of my shirt apart down the middle.

I stay in place, not moving my arms from where he left them. He takes me in, eyeing my exposed skin. Our breathless cries of need are the only sounds in the room. Goosebumps prickle at his gaze, my nipples ready for his mouth.

His hands reach for my breasts, this time grabbing each with both hands. He squeezes hard, and I let out a whimper. His thumbs run over my hard peaks, and I jerk at the sensitivity.

“P–Please,” I whisper. He looks down at me and I can see something switch in his eyes. His hands lower to my waist and he tugs my pants down forcefully, taking my underwear with them to my knees. I wiggle, helping him remove them completely.

The way he brushes his hands over my legs leaves a silent promise of devotion. I feel it and he feels it too. He adjusts himself in his jeans, pulling on the tight material that's outlining his large bulge. I scoot closer to him, waiting for him to take what he wants already, because I want him just as bad. The shame will guilt me tomorrow, when my mind isn't ‌clouded with longing. My legs are spread open in invitation. What he does next has me wanting more.

Chapter 31

The Stalker

I Was Made For Lovin’ You - YUNGBLUD, Dominic Lewis

I’m going to fucking combust. Boom! Splatter, come everywhere. Now that's a way to traumatize someone. I wish I were joking, but the way she is submitting right now has me wanting to fuck the life out of‌ both of us.

Her perky breasts heave up and down. Her nipples look like little perfect pink buds. Making me want to nibble on them until they turn red. The imprints of my fingers linger on the sensitive skin around them, and it makes me grin.

She’s fully fucking exposed, ready for me to do whatever the hell I want. This isn't how I thought this visit would go, but I’m not complaining. As much as I want to take from her right now, I know not to be absolutely feral, considering the way she is still jumpy. Even if she thinks she's ready, she's not.

She's not ready for me to devour her. I know I won’t hold back If I do. I can't do that to her right now. It's physically killing me. The ache in my jeans needs a release bad, and I know just how I want to go about it.

I lean in, hovering over her. My hand grabs her throat, applying pressure lightly. She sucks in a breath, loving the dominance. She loves to be choked. Got it. I come face to face, well, face to mask with her.

“Get on your fucking knees,” I demand. Her half-lidded eyes widen at the unexpected request. Except it's not a fucking request.

“W–What?” she asks. I give her two more seconds before forcing her up by the neck. Lucky for me, she complies. I stand before her, peering down. She looks up at me, doe-eyed.

I want to make her fucking cry.

She watches as I remove my belt single-handedly. I wrap the leather around her neck and loop the strap in the buckle, creating a makeshift collar. I tighten it, just enough to give her satisfaction, and I pull on the strap, making her look up at me more.

“Unbutton my jeans and take my cock out.” I say, needing relief as soon as possible. My bulge might actually rip a hole in these pants. She hesitates, then lifts her hands and starts to unbutton them. The anticipation is fucking killing me.

“Faster.” She's moving too slow, I need her now. She looks up at me once more, then quickly unzips me all the way. Her small, delicate, soft hand reaches in and her eyes go wide. She removes my length and it bounces out. The thickness weighing it down. I tug on the belt so she looks up at me once again.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out,” I command, like I’m a fucking king and she’s my little peasant toy. She opens her mouth, sticking her tongue far out. I lift the bottom of my mask just above my upper lip, knowing she is watching me intently. I lean in and spit. The liquid sits on her tongue as she curls it, keeping it from sliding off.

“Suck.” And she does. Boy, does she fucking suck. Her warm mouth wraps around my tip and I almost fucking collapse. She moves her head, trying to take more of me, but she is unable to. I’m nine inches. I would be fucking impressed if she could.

I tug on the belt, assisting her with the movements. She moans around me and the vibrations shoot up my shaft and up my body. I groan, and it only makes her moan even more. Her soft hands work my base while her mouth stays planted on my tip.

I push into her deeper, making her gag. Fuck. This is the end of me; I’m going to die here. With her mouth around me. I push into her again, keeping my length stretched inside, hitting the back of her throat. She struggles for air. Her hands let go of my base and push lightly against my hips.

A bead of clear liquid falls from her doe eyes and runs down her rosy cheek. Deciding to give her air, I pull out and she coughs, choking in a breath. I only give her a few seconds before I ram my cock back in, taking control of the pace. Her head moves uncontrollably, as I tug on the belt.

More tears rain down from her eyes, making her look like an angel accepting her fate. I rub my thumb across her cheek, smearing the wetness all over her face. She latches onto me; her nails dig into my skin, leaving little crescent indentations.

“Fuck, I’m close. Are you going to be a good girl and let me come in your mouth?” I say with a strained voice. She nods her head the best she can.

“Atta girl, keep sucking,” I demand, leaning my head back, feeling the warm slickness encompass me. Her hands wrap around my base again. I know she wants it. Who am I to deny her request? I pump a few more times before I feel my balls tighten.

“Eyes on me,” I grit out, seconds away from spilling. Her eyes shoot up, meeting mine, and I swear my soul leaves my fucking body. That's if I have one. I’m buried deep inside her mouth and my come sprays, coating the back of her throat. She gags, swallowing it as it's spilling into her mouth. I know it's a lot, too. I can fucking feel it.

She continues to suck as every drop is released. My knees attempt to buckle, but I stay upright. Tingles wash over me. I pull out and watch as she drinks the last bit. As if she couldn't be any more goddamn perfect.

I told you she'd be the one to get me off next time.

She doesn't say a word; she just sits, resting on her knees. Both of our breaths pace in rhythm at the same time. I tuck myself back into my jeans.

“Your turn,” I say. Wiping the remnants of my release from her lips. I pull on the belt, making her fall onto her back. She kicks her legs out from under her, lying face up. Her expression lights up for what's to come, except she's going to do it herself.

“I want you to touch yourself. Like the other night,” I say, watching as her mouth falls open at the demand. The first words since before she devoured me, fall out of her mouth.

“So, you are watching me?” she asks, already knowing the answer. I know she wants me to name what's going on.

“Always, Little Flower. Now touch yourself, so I can lick you clean,” I urge. It was hot as hell watching her get off to my mugshot, but to see it in real time…

She spreads her legs, leaving her glistening pussy in view. She is so fucking wet. I lick my lips. I can see the uncertainty in her expression. Which tells me that she’s never done something like this before. Good.

Her hand snakes down her torso until she reaches her pussy. She lightly teases her clit, biting her lip. I know I’m breathing like a fucking beast right now and I don’t fucking care. She is mesmerizing and I can’t look away.

“Don’t be shy, baby. Fuck yourself with your fingers, so I can taste how delicious you are,” I say, hoping my words encourage her. She starts to rub circles on her clit. Then she dips a finger into her wetness, spreading it, then starts circling again.

My dick is getting hard all over again, and I adjust myself. She gives a bashful smile, the rosiness of her cheeks stained with the color. Her other hand grabs her breast. The pink peak, squished between her middle and ring finger.

I want to taste that too.

She moves faster, taking advantage of the position she's currently in. Whether she likes it or not, she will make herself come. If you can’t beat them, join them. Her breathing quickens, and she lets out a faint moan.

“Faster, baby. Dip your pretty little fingers into your pussy,” I growl. I watch as she dips one in first, removes it, then adds another. She pumps her fingers in and out slowly. Her back arches, giving her more of a reach. Her eyes are closed, focused on the pleasure she’s giving herself.

I take my phone out and snap a picture, not wanting to forget how beautiful she looks, pleasuring herself for me. Her hair is sprawled out perfectly around her, like a halo, adding light to the dim room.

“That’s it, my Little Flower. Just like that. Make yourself come,” I continue. She pumps fast at a steady pace. Her body prickled in shades of pink, and I know she's close. She moans loudly.

“Oh, fuck,” she says, and it's the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard in my fucking life. I’m still standing over her, watching her squirm beneath me. She freezes, then starts to shake. Her orgasm overcomes her. I bend down, getting on my hands and knees.

Once she lets her pleasure wave through her, she looks at me, noticing I’m close to her warm entrance. She pulls her fingers out and I quickly grab her hand, making sure she doesn't drop any of her sweet honey.

I lift my mask up, just enough to put her fingers in my mouth. My lips close around them and suck them clean. Fuck. She does taste as delicious as I thought. A low moan leaves the depths of my chest.

After making sure no drop is left, I run my tongue along her slit. She moves against me, getting closer. My tongue laps over every crevice, feeling the silkiness of her cleanly shaven pussy.

“Mmmh, yes. More,” she begs, but I don't comply. Instead, I pull away, lowering my mask back onto my face. Her expression written with pout. How cute.

“You already got off, baby. I just wanted to lick you clean. Next time, I won’t hold back.” I tell her in promise. She peers at me and I can see something in her eyes, like she is looking forward to seeing me again.

Don’t worry, my Little Flower. I’m coming for you.

Chapter 32

The Flower

Nope, nope, nope. I toss the picture into the garbage can. My shame without fail is hitting me hard today. Tossing the picture from last night is just the tip of the iceberg in forgetting the pornographic scene that occurred. Though I’m sure my stalker won’t.

I will admit, it was thrilling. I’m not entirely sure why I trusted him. The way he looks at me as if he wants me to just submit to him. I no longer recognize myself. How could I just let him do that to me? I can’t fault him, though. We both knew I wanted it too. And we both knew I enjoyed it.

I run my toothbrush under ‌warm water and place a commercial-sized glob of toothpaste on it. I run it back under the warm stream before plopping it into my mouth. I scrub and scrub and scrub. The feeling of him being in my mouth left my throat sore.

I rinse and gargle, spitting into the sink. I brushed last night, but the soreness is even more jarring today. I’m sure this is not how you get rid of the sensation, but it’s all I can think of right now.

I have to finish hanging the painting my father gifted me, since I was interrupted. My brain just remembered that I have no nails or screws to hang it on. I guess I have to make a trip to the store. Z should be home. I make my way out into the hall and knock on her closed bedroom door.

“Zoe? Are you here?” I ask, pushing my ear to the door. I hear faint noises on the other side, so I decide to knock again. I'm startled when the door flies open.

“What’s up?” Z asks, breathless. I cock an eyebrow and try to peer into the room behind her. She creaks her door shut a little more, leaving her slightly squished face between it and the frame.

“Uhh, want to go to the store with me? I need some things to hang this new painting my dad gifted me.” I stand there with my eyebrows still raised and curious.

“Yeah, I can tag along! J–Just give me a sec,” she says, shutting the door in my face. I give her a thumbs-up. Great. I decide to wait for her in the kitchen. I’m sure it’ll take more than a couple of minutes, anyway. She always takes forever to get ready, even if it's as simple as going to the store.

My fingers caress the petals of the last living bouquet on the counter island, feeling like soft velvet. I’m not the best at keeping plants alive. A green thumb never blessed me. The bouquets lasted long enough for me to enjoy them, though. It’s not every day that I get them, let alone getting more than I know what to do with all at the same time.

Death is so anomalous. Being brought into this world without a choice, yet it's a gift like no other. Experiencing and feeling everything that surrounds you. Even as a flower. Feeling the warmth and joy of the sun, yet contrasted by the cold and dreariness of the night. So beautiful, yet tragic at the same time.

I’m sorry, little flowers, I couldn't keep you alive for longer.

“Ready?” Zoe says, snatching my attention. She’s wearing a full face of make-up and looks ready to take on the world. The internal chuckle is ready to escape, but I push it down. I need to make sure that we stay on track with getting what we need. We have a bad habit of buying random things we never use. Nails and Screws and that's it.

We arrive at the nearest store, and I grab a cart because if I know Zoe as well as I think I do, there’s no way we are getting out of here with only two items. An annoying squeak comes in and out of the shopping cart’s wheels as I push it. Creating an annoying tone as we walk. I should've grabbed a different one. Zoe is clinging to my side like a toddler not wanting to get lost. Or perhaps I’m the toddler she’s not wanting to lose.

“Remember, we need nails, drywall screws, and I think that's it,” I tell her. She gives me a salute.

“Ay, ay, Captain! I may grab a few extra things on the way. Let's split up so we can find them fast?” she asks me. I know deep inside she's hesitant to leave my side, and I love her for that, but I’m sure I’ll be fine in a store. Plus, we will be here for maybe ten minutes. I hope. I would have pushed this off, but with how busy I’ve been, I don’t want my dad’s painting to be making a home on the floor.

I give her a nod, and she takes off. People glare at me with the noise emanating from the cart. I just keep roaming the aisles, ignoring the judgy stares. Nothing in the first few aisles. I look up at the large signs with a list of what to expect in each aisle.

I see the home section and make my way there. I round the corner, noticing Zoe already rummaging through little boxes placed on the shelves. Of course she would beat me here. She's bent over at the end of the long section.

An unexpected tap on my shoulder from behind makes me jump. I whirl around, feeling all the blood drain from my face. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I just stand there with my jaw open.

“Just the girl I’ve been wanting to see,” he says, crossing his arms with something written behind his eyes that I can’t quite make out. I can feel his aura, though. It’s something different, like a possession has overcome him and is trying to escape.

“W-What are you doing here?” I ask hesitantly. I glance over at Zoe, hoping she will see what's happening and come save me. I don’t know why, but I don’t call out to her. I’m afraid to call out to her. I take a step back, meeting the handlebar of the cart with my back, feeling trapped.

“Are you going to tell me what happened the other day? Why the hell did your client interrupt our dinner? And why did you leave with him?” He demands for me to answer. The look in his eyes is feral, and I’m afraid to say the wrong thing. I’ve seen him angry before, but this is something… different. I try my best not to seem nervous.

“Parker, you… advanced on me. You can’t fault someone for stepping in. I don’t know why he was there, but a part of is glad he was. You had no right to do that. You also grabbed my arm roughly and left a bruise. That was not okay,” I whisper loudly, fearing my attempts to not make a scene are failing.

“I thought we were having a good time. You never said you didn’t want it. You’re sending me mixed signals. You're the one who agreed to go out to dinner with me,” he says, putting the blame on me. I stand there, dumbfounded. Not knowing how he came to this conclusion.

“You are my boss. You and I will never be a thing. I only agreed because you pressured me to. You were going to fire me if I didn't say yes.” If I have to spell it out for him, I will. I clutch the cart behind me, not knowing what else to do.

My words set him off, and he comes in close, grabbing my lower face. I wince at the pinch that radiates through my cheeks from his tight grasp. The movement is too fast for me to scream. His hot breath hits my face like a gust of foul provocation, and I hold my breath.

“You know you fucking wanted it, Dahlia. You and I both know you’re a fucking tease. Seeing as your kink is being taken advantage of, I thought I’d help myself,” he whispers. Threat coats the words with unwanted promise.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” The voice of my savior says from behind. I can hear Zoe's steps as she runs toward us. Tears prick in my eyes, and I try my best to not let one fall, but my body betrays me.

He looks her way but doesn't let go. I grab his arm and try to pry it open, but his grip only tightens. The pain makes my jaw feel like it could snap at any moment.

“Let me go!” I scream. My foot comes up and I kick him hard. He groans and falls to the floor, clutching his groin.

“Fucking bitch!” he grits.

“Parker, what the fuck? You just assaulted her. I’m calling the police,” she yells at him, pulling her phone out.

“You’re both fucking fired,” he threatens. He starts to get up slowly, and I back away more. Zoe grabs my hand, pulling me further away from him. I see her typing on her phone before she calls 911.

Her voice fades, my attention solely focused on the searing ache in my face. I rub it gently in an attempt to soothe it, but it does no good. More tears spill from my eyes. I’m angry at Parker for doing this to me. I’m angry that I have now lost what I worked so hard for. And I’m angry that I couldn’t do more to defend myself.

“They’re on their way. Are you okay?” Z says, rubbing my back.

“I didn't know what to do. I—” I’m cut off.

“Hey it’s okay. You're okay. Deep breaths.”

I take one in and out. Trying to calm the heart attack threatening me. I look forward as I hear footsteps quickly fading away. Parker bolts and I can’t help but feel defeated. I tug on Zoe's sleeve and point to the now vacant floor.

I can see the battle in her eyes, contemplating leaving my side. She decides to stay. Stay with her friend whose world is crumbling down on her at every fucking turn. This time it’s not only about me. She just lost her job now, too, and it’s all my doing.

A faint, deep voice comes from behind us. I feel Z’s hand leave my back. I peer up to see who it is, and I’m caught by surprise. I quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks, cleaning myself up as best I can.

“Oh, thank god,” she says, and in my periphery I can see her wrapping her arms around the tall, muscular guy. My attention is on someone else, though. He rushes to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. The warmth from it makes me feel somewhat relieved. This is the last person I expected to see.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asks urgently, with eyes squinting in question.

“I’m okay. My boss… the one you met ‌the other night, was here. And he grabbed me again. What are you doing here, Axel?” I’m slightly embarrassed, feeling like all the times he has met me outside of our sessions are me in distress. The fact that he is here has me deeply confused.

“Uhh, Zoe texted Zane.” The words come out hesitantly from his lips.

“Wait. You know each other?” I ask, trying to piece out this complicated puzzle in my head. Axel and Zane both look at each other silently, and I can feel the lies like a thick cloud in the air.

“Yeah. Zane and I are friends,” he admits.

“Wait. Is this the Axel that's your client?” Zoe asks, making the situation even more awkward. I give her a shameful nod. Just kill me now. It would make this less painful. Spare my dignity, please.

“Your face is red. Is this where he grabbed you?” Axel runs his thumb down my cheek, and as much as I want to enjoy the sentiment, the burn it leaves is all I can focus on. I pull my face back.

“Yeah. He took off. I don’t know where he went,” I blurt out, realizing that he might have gotten away. Axel and Zane look at each other one more time, and the look they give each other doesn’t need spoken words.

“Stay until the police show up. It would be good to give them a report,” Zane suggests to Z and me.

“Where are you going?” Z asks him as he lets go of his hold around her waist. Instead of responding, Axel does, with venom laced in his voice.

“To find this motherfucker.”

Chapter 33

The Stalker

Follow You - Bring Me The Horizon

Ipush the feelings I have of almost getting caught, out of the way. That's a conversation for another day, and I know she is going to fucking hate me when she knows the truth. Unfortunately for her, she’s already mine. If she tries to run, I will fucking chase her. If she tries to hide, I will fucking find her. If she tries to get away, I will fucking trap her. It’s too late for her to escape me.

Zane and I rush out of the store, looking for any sign of where Parker could have gone. A car zooming way too fast in a pedestrian zone catches our attention. As if my blood isn’t already boiling, I then realize what car the reckless driver is in, and I swear steam just shot out of my ears.

We quickly get to my car and hop in, not wasting a second that could be used to chase after him. I make my way to the main street onto which I just saw him swerve. Zane is in the passenger seat, pulling his laptop out. He brings it everywhere with him, and in this instance, I’m glad he does.

“Where the fuck am I going, Zane?” I ask eagerly. He types on his keyboard at a speed I’ve never seen his fingers go.

“Keep going straight. I know he’s traveling down the main street. We would know if he made a turn,” he responds. I press on the gas, flying through any red lights we come up on. Horns all around go off in my direction. I roll down my window, holding my middle finger up to everyone. Nothing and no one will stop me from getting to the fucker that decided to lay his hands on my girl, not even the law.

“I still see him heading down the main street. So, just keep going. I’m trying to hack into the cameras ahead to make sure we don’t miss it if he exits,” he explains, still typing and clicking. I swerve in and out between traffic, our bodies swaying uncontrollably with the inertia. A light ahead turns yellow, and I know I’m going to need another way around.

“Red light, tell me where to turn, Zane,” I demand.

“Turn right. Less traffic. Looks like he's curving west, anyway. You can shortcut it if you stay here until you hit Lincoln Street. Then turn left.” He signals right as I’m quickly approaching the turn. I shift gears, ready to do whatever I need to in order to turn. I see him holding on to the door handle as we veer right. The scent of burnt rubber surrounds us as the sound of screeching ‌tires fills the air.

I turn the wheel as hard as I can, and we lift off the ground ever so slightly. A car to my left brakes hard as I take up two lanes with my fast and furious stunt. His horn blares at us, but I keep going. Anyone can fucking hate me, it’s a feeling I’m used to.

“I think he stopped at his house?” Zane says, but it’s more of a question.

“What do you mean?” I snap. Needing him to just explain rather than speculate.

“He stopped. And it's in a suburban neighborhood.” He points to his screen, and I can see the car parked in front of a fancy estate. What a fucking idiot if he did. Now we know where he lives and where to find him. I’m sure this is where the cops are going to look first, too.

“Turn here, go up until you reach Morrison; he lives in the Meadow Hills Estates,” he directs. I turn onto Lincoln, glad there isn’t as much traffic on the back streets. My arms shake with my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. The anticipation of beating this motherfucker has me ready to jump out of this car already.

We approach the neighborhood, and Zane signals to a home at the end of a dead-end street. The homes are spaced ‌a few acres apart. Which is good news for us, the neighbors may not hear his fucking screams for mercy. I pull into his driveway, and we both jump out.

“In the trunk,” I tell him, slamming my door shut. I press the button on my key fob, and the trunk lid pops open. A large duffel bag sits alone in the spacious compartment. He reaches in, unzips it, then gives me a raised look.

“So, you just keep a bag full of murder equipment with you at all times?” he asks, judging me.

“Look, it’s coming in handy, isn’t it?” I question back, grabbing the bag and shutting the trunk. He shakes his head like I’m crazy. Maybe I am fucking crazy.

I nod to the large white camera pointing in our direction. Looks like Parker has a few surveillances of all angles to his house. Zane gives me a wave of his hand, dismissing their presence like he isn’t worried one bit about them. I’m sure he will wipe them clean afterwards.

We approach the door, careful not to let him hear us. I press on the doorhandle with ease, giving Zane a quick glance before creaking it open. We wait a moment, listening for Parker before entering. The sound of rummaging from the floor above catches our attention.

Looks like we’re headed upstairs.

We look around the wide-open space, taking in the obnoxious high-end decor. Seems pretty useless for a single man. A soon to be dead, single man.

We tread lightly through the long, stretched hall until we meet the stairs. Slowly and quietly, we head up them. I reach into the duffel, grabbing rope, and hand it to Zane. He grabs it, already knowing what it’s for.

“You stand on the other side of the door and wait,” I instruct him as we stop by the door with the loud sounds drifting through the barrier. I can hear Parker on the other side, murmuring to himself. I wait for the right moment to barge in. There’s a brief stretch of silence before I swing the door open.

He whips around and I’m fast on him. I tackle him to the floor, Zane coming in behind me. I pin him down, knowing I’m overpowering him by a lot. He's half mine and Zane's size. It’s an unfair fight, really, but who am I to be fair when he wasn't towards my Little Flower.

“What the fuck, who are you?!” he shouts, squirming beneath my weight. I punch him square in the jaw, reminding him of the no mercy I'm willing to show. His legs are quickly bound. Zane then helps me pin his arms behind him, tying them together too.

“Your worst fucking nightmare,” I grit from behind. The way I want to strangle him right here and now has my hands clenching with need. I grab him by the hair, straining his neck backward. Zane grabs duct tape from the duffle and slaps a hefty strip over Parker’s mouth. He puts another and another, making sure he can’t get free.

Parker struggles against the restraints. His skin flushed red with anger.

Fucking pathetic, piece of shit.

“Grab his legs. I’ll grab his upper half,” I command Zane. He lifts Parker by the ankles, fighting the force of his wiggling legs. My hands grab him under his arms, and Zane lifts his legs off the ground. Incoherent mumbling comes from under the tape, but falls on deaf ears.

We drag him down the stairs, making sure he feels the scrape of every step on his back on the way down. We plop him down on the floor before exiting his house. I poke my head out, making sure the coast is clear. No people are around, making this all too easy.

I grab him again, and we take him to my car. I push the button on my keys again, opening his entrapment. His eyes go wide, and he does everything he can to try to squirm his way free, but finds himself unlucky. Oh, I’ll make sure he doesn't escape. He can try all he wants.

We swing him into the dark trunk, and he groans at the impact of his weight hitting the hard surface. Zane hunches over, putting his hands on his knees, being overly dramatic by breathing hard. I roll my eyes.

“I have something special planned for you, fucker” I spit at Parker before slamming the chamber shut. He should have recognized me by now.

“What are we going to do?” Zane asks curiously. I didn’t have a plan before, actually. Capturing him was all that had lingered in my thoughts, but then a sinister idea skipped across my mind, wearing the sweet disguise of innocence. I look at him and grin.

“We’re going to take him back to my place, and that's all you’re going to do,” I say vaguely, poking him in the chest. He rubs the spot, giving me a pout.

“Ouch. Okay, Grumpy. You sure you don’t need my help with whatever else you're going to do?” He looks at me with uncertainty, but he knows I can handle this on my own.

“I’m sure,” I say, annoyed. We both get back into my car and head back to my place. Zane takes his computer out again, clicking on some buttons, and Parker's surveillance cameras come onto the screen. He clicks a few more times and shuts his laptop.

“It’s like we were never here,” he chirps proudly. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m glad I have him as a friend. With all the hacking he knows how to do, I'm sure he’d make my life a living hell in an instant. Not that I couldn't return the favor in my own way. I look over at him, angry at the thought that he could ever betray me.

Parking in my garage, I close the door and pop the trunk open once more. By the way his wrists and ankles are rubbed raw, I can tell he was trying to get free. A wicked ear-to-ear smile spreads across my face.

“Hello? Dr. Evil? Can we get this over with? You’re creeping me out,” Zane insists. I reach in and grab the fucker by the neck. We pull him out and carry him down to my basement. You fucked with the wrong girl, pervert. You’re going to scream and beg for mercy that will never fucking come. And the person who's going to help me with it, is going to watch the life drain from your pathetic, ugly, disgraceful eyes.

Iron and copper musk the air with odor. It’s only been a handful of days since the events of Zane’s surprise gift of Flynn. I’m just glad Zane picked up the mess. I mean, he didn’t have a choice, but still. He knows I always get what I want, so why make it difficult?

A chair scrapes across the concrete floor and is placed in the center of the room. A wave of déjà vu makes the blood pump through my veins with excitement. This time, he is mine for the kill. This one fucking matters.
I drag Dahlia’s perverted boss by his hair, and he screams in pain. I lift him over my shoulder, then sit him on the chair. His head whips back with the motion. He tries to stand, not ready to accept his fate. I push him back down.

“Nu uh. You're not going anywhere. You haven't paid for your sins yet,” I spit at him. Rope circles his abdomen as Zane binds him to the chair. He winces as his body crushes his arms against the hardwood behind him. Once he’s secured, we do the same to his feet. Binding them to the legs of the chair.

I stand back and stare with a sinister smile. Parker breathes harshly, out of breath from the constant fighting. Fucking dumbass. It’ll only tire him out, making things all too easy for me. I would've thought he would put up a better fight, but it looks like he’s able to only force himself upon innocent women. My innocent woman.

I chain the chair to a piece of metal I have anchored in the concrete below. He’s not going anywhere. I make sure that if he tries to tip the chair over, it wouldn't be to his advantage. I twist ‌my neck, cracking it left and right.

“You can leave,” I tell Zane.

“Call me if you need anything,” he says gladly. Not having to deal with the mess this time. I can feel Parker’s intense stare, boring into me. I turn to him and pull out my pocketknife. My expression has him going blank. I hold the metal under his chin forcing him to look up at me.

“Youre going to fucking beg. No. You're going to plea for your fucking life. Not to me. Not to him. Not to god. But to the one angel you fucking broke.”

Chapter 34

The Flower

I’m emotionally drained. I’m not sure how much more I can take. No matter where I turn, it’s like the world is against me. I’ve got a creepy, yet not so creepy stalker. I have a perverted boss who won’t leave me alone. I was attacked by someone in a mask in the alley behind the apartment. I think my client has a crush on me, and I fear I may have one back. Shit, I really need to think about terminating Axel as a client in general. This is so, so bad. I cannot have a crush on a client. It goes against everything I stand for.

My life is fucked.

I rub my cheek; the pain lingering. Once the police showed up, I gave my statement, and so did Zoe. They snapped a picture of my face for evidence and said they would keep an eye out for Parker. They also asked if I wanted to press charges. I asked if I had to let them know right then and there, and thankfully they said I had time to think about it.

Speaking to authorities sometimes makes me anxious. It’s all just so official. I know what Parker did to me was not okay, so why am I hesitating to face him with consequences? It should be a no-brainer. But it is never a no-brainer, and I am sure he would find a way to make me look bad for going to dinner with him. Saying I put myself in this situation. I look down at my fingers, watching them shake with fear.

Zoe drove us home and made sure I was okay. She wanted to sit with me, but I needed time to myself. I have this horrible habit of shutting people out. I’m working on it, but bad habits are hard to break. At least for me.

I press my back against the icy wall. I’ve already taken a shower and changed. Taking a little extra time for self-care, but all I can do is wonder where everything went wrong. I must have a curse on me. The Parker Raines Therapy curse. Ever since I started there, it seems to be one thing after another.

My damp hair presses against me as my weight sinks into my bed more. I cover myself with my blanket, bringing the fluffy comforter up to my chin. Sandwiching myself, trying to get some sort of comfort. Lying down completely makes my jaw hurt more. I think it's the pressure of my bones settling into place. I’m not sure, but sitting or standing seems to hurt less. I’ve already taken pain relievers, and I’m waiting impatiently for them to kick in.

I tried to preoccupy my mind with other things, but there is one thought in particular that keeps nipping at my heels. How the hell does Axel know Zane? It seems like Zoe had no idea either. This is either a coincidence or something fishy is going on. It’s bothering me that I can’t piece it together.

How funny would that be though? Two best friends dating two best friends. I shake my head. Wait, no. I can’t believe I just thought that. Axel is my client, and it's unethical. I am there to help him, and this won’t do it.

Oh my gosh. I don’t not even have a job anymore.

Yeah, there is absolutely no way I have a job. I mean, did you see the look on his face? Because I sure did. What am I going to do? There’s no way I have the mental capacity to look for another job right now.

What the hell is Zoe going to do? I feel awful dragging her into my mess. She kept reassuring me that it’s not a big deal, but in reality, it is. She's just too nice to admit it. That’s it, we can just move to Sweden or something. Leave all our problems behind and hope they won’t ever find us.

Who am I kidding? We can’t do that. Our families are here. My dad is here. I can’t leave him. I still haven't told him about everything that's been happening because I know he would try to convince me to move back in. And it might break his heart that I didn’t come to him in the first place.

I was honestly hoping this would all sort itself out and be done and over with. But it seems no matter how hard I try, it only gets worse. There comes a point where I have to tell him and face my battles straight on. I mean that doesn’t have to be tonight. Or tomorrow… or even the next day, but soon.

I’ll tell my masked stalker that he can’t do what he does to me and he has to leave me alone. I’ll press charges against Parker in hopes he gets sent to prison or something for a while, and then I’ll tell Axel that he is my client and that is strictly what our relationship is. I still don’t have clarity on what he is feeling. This is just me completely assuming that he agrees that the chemistry is there.

Well, this science project has come to an end. Chemistry is over, and so am I with all my bad luck. No tombstone for Dahlia any time soon. There will be a positive message written on there, not a sad, lonely, pathetic one.

I see my phone screen light up from the corner of my bed. I tossed it, not wanting to deal with anything, when I decided to curl up into a ball. The screen light goes out, leaving the room in darkness. Not a moment later it lights up again. I don’t have the energy to reach over and grab it right now.

Whoever is texting is persistent, though. Message after message appears, leaving the blue glow to illuminate my room. I let out a frustrated sigh. Can’t I just get one moment of peace? Apparently, that's too much to ask for.

I lean over, slipping an arm out from under the warmth of my cocoon, and grab my phone. The bright light blinds my pupils as they struggle to readjust. The messages keep popping up and I click on one.

Unknown

Can you let me in? This is Axel.

Unknown

Hey it’s Axel. I am here. Can we talk?

Unknown

Dahlia, I’m standing at your front door, itn's urgent.

Me

I don’t really feel like talking to anyone right now, sorry.

Unknown

...

unknown

I caught him.

My spine goes straight, feeling my heart skipping a beat. I’m unsure of what to do right now. I’m unsure of why Axel needs me right now.

Me

Can you drop him off at the police station? They are looking for him.

Unknown

That will be hard to do considering he’s in my basement right now.

What? Why would he be— another message from him chimes in.

Unknown

Please. Just at least come out and talk to me.

I sit there for what seems like an eternity before deciding to go to the front door. I mean he did go out of his way to catch him. I’m honestly a little terrified of what he needs to talk to me about. I’m sure it’s about Parker being in his basement but I don’t want to know what he has done to him. And I don’t know what the hell he wants me to do about it.

The hallway is dark as I creep down it. It seems like Z has already gone to bed. Should I get her? Am I stupid for opening the door alone? I guess we’ll find out. I still have the comforter wrapped around me. Leaving me to feel an ounce of safety, even though it's just a piece of cloth.

The doorknob turns and clicks open. I peek behind me, ensuring the minuscule sound didn’t wake Zoe up. I carefully open the door until I see Axel standing there. He gives me a devilish grin, and something inside me stirs. He has a hand on the frame, which makes him tower over me even more. I walk out into the hallway and gently shut the door behind me.

“I have a proposal for you,” he says.

“A proposal? For what? And why do you have Parker in your basement?” I whisper insistently. I know Axel has demons he is battling, and perhaps he has some psychopathic tendencies, but never would I have thought he would go as far as having someone in his basement against his will.

“Yes. A proposal. You can come with me back to my place where your perverted boss is tied up and you can take your revenge, or you can stay here and not have any control of what is going to happen next.” The words leave his lips effortlessly. Like a promise to both propositions that he has no issue following through with. I take a small step backward.

“Neither sound like good ideas,” I object. He steps forward, eliminating the space I just created. I tighten the large blanket around me. He shrugs his shoulders lazily and turns, giving me his back. I cock my head confused. He starts to step away.

“Have fun staying here,” he says. My jaw flies open in astonishment. He can't just—

“Hey! You can't just say that and walk away from me!” I charge toward him. His big strides make me need to take triple the amount. He continues walking, turning and glancing down at me. His award-winning smile hits me in the face, and I cower a little. I’m not sure why, but I keep up pace. We make it to the elevator and I pause.

“I-I can't go. I shouldn’t go. This is wrong,” I express with concern in my tone.

“Yeah, you're right. Wearing a blanket as a fashion statement may not go so well for you,” he jokes. The giggle that leaves my body is raw. I glance down at the oversized comforter that is being half dragged across the dirty hall floor. He is right. What am I doing?

The elevator door dings and opens. He holds out a hand, keeping it from closing. I look at the empty space and then back at him. I don’t know what forces me to move, but I do. I walk in, and he follows behind, sealing my fate.

Chapter 35

The Stalker

The silence she is giving me is deafening. She hasn't said a word to me since she sat in my car. I glance over at her. Seeing she is staring out the passenger window, cuddled up in her safety blanket. The sight burns a warmth in my chest.

Her perfect white locks spiral into wavy curls surrounding her. A light dusting of freckles kisses her nose and cheeks like the stars on a clear night. She looks better without makeup. Raw, bare, radiant. Fucking incomparable.

Her head turns in my direction, feeling my gaze. She raises a manicured brow. A blush flushing across before she turns back around. Would it be awful if I just kidnapped her? To keep her forever. I think she would learn to forgive me.

As we draw closer to my home; she perks up with curiosity. I don’t park in my garage this time, just on the driveway. I exit and round the car to her door. She opens it before I get there, and I shut it before it becomes fully open, slamming it in her face. She gives me a perplexed look through the window, and I re-open the door for her.

“You never open your door when you're with me,” I say, but it’s more of an order. She gives me a nod and drags her blanket with her out of the car.

“Do you live here alone?” she asks, examining the outside details. She stumbles, stepping on a piece of the fabric.

“You’re going to want to take that off. And yes, I do. I’m single if that's what you're asking.” I wink at her before putting the key in the lock and turning it.

“No, that's not what I’m asking, Axel.”

“Here, you can put your blanket on the couch.” I point to the long sectional sitting to the left of us. I hold the door open, letting her in first. She takes a weary step inside. Her eyes roam around the interior, taking it in.

I like to keep my house minimal. Just necessities. I don’t need any fancy paintings or decorations or anything. I like it that way. It’s all useless clutter to me. Once she takes a few steps in, I shut the door behind her. She starts to unwrap the blanket.

“Nice place. You're not going to murder me, right? You're not lying about Parker and tricking me into coming here just so you can murder me?” she questions. I stare at her, eyeing her up and down.

“Green bunnies and daisies?" I point to her pajama choice. She is wearing a two-piece set. White pants with a white tank top, covered in small, detailed patterns. It's adorable. And it makes me want to rip them off ‌her. She looks down at her clothes.

“What if I did lie? What if Parker isn’t here?” I continue to answer her questions.

“First–” She points a finger at me, taking a little power from the fate I have planned for her.

“You’re the one who was so insistent on seeing me, in whoever knows what time it is. When I was already in bed. Secondly—” She shoves her finger into my chest. The small digit, slightly sinking into my pec.

“I believe if you wanted to murder me, you would have done it already. Am I wrong?” She then crosses her arms in defiance. I step ‌toward her and she stands her ground. I get close enough that our bodies slightly touch and I can feel the warmth from her little body radiating. My head has to bend all the way down in order to meet her gaze.

I can feel the sexual tension between us, and I know she feels it too. The center of her throat bobs up and down as she swallows. My jaw muscles flex as I clench with need. Having her here in my home… where I can do anything I want, is so tempting. Too bad we have other matters to deal with first.

“Why don’t we head down to the basement and ‌test your theory?” I ask, adding more mystery. I gesture past the kitchen to the door on the side. She keeps her eyes on mine as her head turns cautiously. She then looks at the long stretch and begins to walk in the direction of my pointed hand.

I follow behind, keeping an unhealthy close distance, feeling her light hair brush against me. When we reach the door, she pauses, peering down at the door handle. I can see the internal battle in her expression. Not knowing what lies beyond the door. She’s in a lose-lose situation, anyway.

If she decides to go down, she at least has the opportunity to take control back. And I want that for her. I could easily kill the fucker myself, but it’s not about me this time. It’s about her. It's for her. She reaches a hand out and grabs the handle.

A click of the door opening releases something she can no longer take back. This is her choice, and there is no going back. I help her pull the door open. She takes a deep breath before stepping down. The creaks of the wooden steps wail beneath our feet.

She stops at the bottom, waiting for me in the darkness. Her innocence already illuminates the room before I turn the light on. Small noises come from the depths, and she looks at me, frightened. I flip the switch on, and the single bulb gives light to the center of the chamber. She cups her mouth, shielding back a scream.

“I told you I had him down here,” I tell her, putting a hand on her back and ushering her toward him. I feel the resistance in her steps, but she doesn't stop.

“You can't do this, Axel. This is wrong. Oh my god,” she blurts out, seeing his unhinged condition. He is still restrained to the chair. Tape is still covering his mouth, and his skin is raw and rashed. Parker blinks heavily until he sees my girl, then his eyes go wide. He thrashes around.

“Axel, please. You need to let him go. This is not right,” she insists. I’m leaning up against the wall, arms crossed, watching. She doesn’t make a move on her own to free him. If she really wanted him free, I know she would try to pry open the rope.

I push myself off the wall, walking past her and toward Parker, who is continuing to thrash. He yells as I pull off the multilayered tape. Dahlia puts her hands over ears in terror. His skin is red and bleeding. The tape takes off more than just dead skin.

“Fuck you, let me go!” he shouts. I ignore him. My head turns back to Dahlia and I speak. But the question is for the vile creature in the chair.

“So you love taking advantage of women?” I say, keeping my gaze on Dahlia.

“I did nothing wrong. I’m a good person!” As my temper rises, I turn back around and swing. He screams before blood spits from his mouth. Dahlia shifts backward, creating distance from something she may end up wanting control of. I face her again.

“Tell me, Parker,” my words spew like venom.

“When you grabbed her, it wasn't the first time. Was it?” I ask, knowing damn well the truth. My Little Flower’s face scrunches in confusion. When the pervert doesn't speak, I turn back around and swing again. Harder.

“I can’t fucking hear you,” I shout, spitting in his face. I shove my pocketknife against his cheek, a threat without words for what's to come. I turn his head toward me using the blade. His slumped body moves slowly, then he puts a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I didn’t do anything she wouldn't like. Considering she let someone else take advantage of her,” he states, confidently. My blood pressure increases, and I can feel my fury flow through my veins. I take the knife and stab it into his forearm until it pierces all the way through.

A bloodcurdling scream fills the room. I’m breathing heavily, wanting to end him right here, right now. Terror is written all over my girl's face. She looks at me and the now mutilated arm.

She's scared. And I don't know if it's of me, of him, or the both of us.

Her eyes glaze over, tears forming on her bottom lashes. I take a step toward her, softening my expression for her. She speaks and I don’t expect it.

“Th–That's how you knew it was concrete,” she whispers low. I can barely make out what she says, but it leaves me cocking my head.

“That’s how you knew when I told you I fell. You knew it was on concrete… I–It was you. It was fucking you!” she says, her voice slowly getting louder and more panicked. The look on her face makes me want to sweep her away and take her far from this. Far from the trauma she has to endure, but we both know there is no escaping it. Once you’re fucked up, those demons torment you forever.

A sick, sadistic laugh expels from him. I keep my attention on Dahlia. I grab her shoulders in a concerned grasp. I know this is cruel for me to do, but she fucking needs this. She needs to see who did this to her. And she needs to fucking do something about it. She begins to cry.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me.” I shake her slightly until she does through wet, thick lashes.

“I knew the moment Zane and I went after him. Zane helped me track the car that was in the area ‌the night he attacked you. When I zoomed out of the parking lot… It was the same car,” I say tenderly. Looking at her beautiful, yet broken face.

“W–What? How did you know—” she asks, but I interrupt.

“It’s not important right now. What's important is what you are going to do about it?” I ask, grabbing the pocketknife and slowly handing it to her. She looks down at it and shakes her head. Instead of letting her refuse it, I open her hand, forcing it in. My hand closes around hers and the handle.

“Why did you do it? You piece of shit.” I turn back to Parker, who looks deranged, trying to fuel more fire into my Little Flower.

“I mean, look at her. I know you want her too. Don’t act like you wouldn't do the same, just like that other masked guy,” he says, trying to justify his actions. He can push my buttons, just not my girls. I say something that I may or may not regret.

“That’s the difference between you and me.” I pace around the chair.

“When I finger-fucked her in the garage, she wanted it. She might not admit it, but she did.” I continue, and both Parker and Dahlia whip their heads toward me, surprised.

“I know how to make a woman want it. She could have easily gotten away, but she didn’t try. At least not hard enough to really want to. With you… you took. Took something that wasn't yours to begin with because she belongs to me. Do you understand? And she told you to stop.” I whisper, getting under his skin. I peer up at my girl, and she looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“No way. That wasn’t fucking you. It couldn't have been,” the pig in the chair says.

“Oh, but it was. It’s always been me and it always will be.” I walk toward my girl. There's a war going on internally, and I can see it. She was going to find out, eventually. I guess this is the best time to do it. She doesn't say anything.

“Fuck you. I’ll fucking kill you. And your whore too,” he yells as if he has a way to fucking escape. I walk closer to her. She is frozen in place. I place my hand on her cheek. Something in her eyes tells me she forgives me. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't back away. She doesn't seem sad anymore.

I notice the grip she has around the knife tightening until she is white-knuckled. There's the rage. There's the Dahlia I need right now. Give me that fucking merciless fury that drives you into violent fucking madness you can’t come back from. I need her to be like me.

She grabs my wrist, removing it from her face. Still staring into my blackened eyes. I give her a nod, and she circles around me, walking toward Parker. He chuckles, but is quickly silenced with her piercing stare.

“How could you? You had no right to do that to me! I did nothing to you. Nothing! You, you fucking ruined me. I can’t be touched without flinching. I can’t be alone without breaking down. I can’t relax because I am constantly afraid that the masked guy is going to come back. You had no right!” she cries out.

“I would have come back. To finish what I started,” he spews. I don’t know why he keeps talking. He's digging his grave deeper and deeper, but by all means. He is going to end up fucking dead, anyway.

My Little Flower takes the knife and looks at it hesitantly before stabbing it into his other forearm, copying me. My eyebrows shoot up. Parker thrashes and convulses against the restraints, screaming in agony. My girl takes a step back, realizing what she had done. Metal hits the floor as she loosens her grip around the handle.

I walk up behind her and turn her around to face me. I don’t want her to regret any of her choices, so I don’t give her another second to think, and I kiss her. I finally fucking kiss her.

Chapter 36

The Flower

Shameless - Camila cabello

Idon’t know what comes over me, but I stab him with such force I didn’t think I had. He screams and wiggles, and it makes me want to throw up. The acid in my stomach boils and burns. It’s taking everything in me not to.

I see the laceration I created, filling and overflowing with blood rapidly. I never thought I could do something like this to someone. I’m just so fucking angry. I’m angry, I’m scared, I’m resentful. I take a step back at the horror happening right in front of me, and I let go of the knife, hearing the metal clink on the floor.

I’m turned around and dark eyes penetrate mine. The next thing I know my breath is taken away. Axel kisses me. No, not kisses. He devours me. His tongue lapping at mine with need, forcing its way in, and I do the same to his. I melt into him, wanting more.

The screams of pain happening around us fade as he pulls me in closer. His hands grab my face with intent. I clutch ‌his shirt until our bodies collide. Heat pools between us, intensifying the urges. I’m lifted off the floor by my legs and I wrap them around his waist.

He tastes fucking amazing. I don’t think I've ever shared a kiss this passionate before, and I don’t want it to end. Axel squats with me still hugged around him. He picks the blade up from the floor and hands it to me. I try to pull away from the smothering kiss, but he doesn't let up.

“One more,” he says between breaths. One more what? Kiss? We are already kissing.

“What?” I ask before his tongue enters my mouth again. He taps ‌my hand that's wrapped around the pocket knife.

“I can’t,” I protest.

“Yes, you can. And you will.” He pushes, backing us close to the chair.

“W–Where?” I’m not sure what he wants me to do. I know he wants me to take revenge, but I’m distracted by him right now. Axel guides my hand, placing the blade near Parker's shoulder. I feel it bouncing up and down. The cries that were drowned out come back to the present. He pulls away from me, our lips parting.

“I want him to watch. I want him to watch me fuck you. I want him to watch as I take from you and you fucking enjoy it. To show him what he can't have as you scream my name, as it will be the last thing he ever fucking hears,” he demands softly against my lips. The wetness between my thighs now feeling like it’ll drip down and splash onto the floor. How am I so turned on right now? I’ll analyze myself at a later time, but for now, I take the knife and ram it into the hard flesh.

The tension of the skin and muscle against the metal shoots up my arm. I know it’s a feeling I won’t ever forget. Fuck, this whole night is something I won’t ever forget.

“Please stop! You’re fucking sick,” he says, but somehow I don’t feel any remorse. Axel is showing me that it’s okay to take my control back, and deal with my demons head-on. Would I ever tell my clients to do this? Absolutely fucking not, but Axel is making it okay for me in some sick, twisted way.

I leave the blade inside ‌him. Axel kisses me once more, backing us onto a chest freezer. I sit on top of the cold, hard surface. I am hungry with need, inching as close as I possibly can get. Lost in lust and lost in him. My breaths are quickly stolen as soon as I’m gifted them. My lips raw from harsh nibbles.

He pulls away, kissing and licking my neck. I bend, giving him more access. My hands roughly grab onto his thick black hair. He moves lower and lower, nipping the skin above my breasts. I push his head lower, needing more, and he chuckles. The sound instantly sends a throb to my clit.

He grabs the straps of my top, lowering them until my breasts are freed. The cold air brushes against my skin, making goosebumps prickle. My nipples already hard peaks as his wet tongue traces around them, making me moan. He grabs them with dire need and sucks, biting on them lightly.

Fuck, I need more.

“More,” I moan, pushing his head lower. The tearing of fabric startles me. My top sags onto the freezer, leaving my upper half bare. I lean backward as he hooks my bottoms and pulls. He removes my pants and underwear in one quick tug, tossing them to the side. I spread my legs, giving him easy access to the inevitable.

He stares at me with this greediness. Like he’s been waiting centuries for this moment with me. He kisses the skin around my center roughly, leaving little stings to linger. I bite my lip, loving the feel of the pleasurable pain.

Before I know it, he leans in, licking and sucking and devouring me like I’m his last meal. My mouth falls open and I gasp breathlessly. My hands are still tangled in his dark hair, pulling him as close as he can possibly get without suffocating him. Which I’m sure he wouldn't mind, anyway.

A large finger enters me, sending additional pleasure. He removes it, then adds a second, stretching me. I suck in a hiss, moving into them, needing them deeper. I grind against him as he pumps them in and out, hitting my sweet spot.

The pleasure from his tongue, fingers, and deadly need for him are all too much. I feel my orgasm quickly approaching and I grind harder, not wanting to lose it. Axel keeps his pace while he looks into my eyes. No, more like into my soul.

“I’m going to come,” I pant in warning. He sucks and bites on my clit, and it sends me over the edge. I hold in my breath as my body tenses, clenching down on his fingers. He doesn’t stop, keeps going, and I think I’m going to fucking faint.

My legs close around his head, not being able to stop the involuntary movement. He licks up every drop. Groaning and moaning at the taste. I know I just orgasmed, but fuck, I still want him. I need him inside me.

Noises come from a distance, making me look in the direction. Parker is staring at us, mumbling under his breath. Even with the blood and swelling of his face, I don’t feel an ounce of pity for him. Somewhere in my mind, it makes sense for this to happen to him.

“Fuck me,” I beg Axel. His eyes darken more. Almost pure black irises, sending a chill down my spine with the contrast of his sclera. He removes his shirt and unbuttons his pants fast. Before becoming completely exposed, he walks over to Parker, making me sigh at the distance.

He grabs a roll of duct tape that was lying on the floor and slaps a large strip over his mouth. He hasn't stopped trying to get free. I can tell he is losing a lot of blood by the way his movements are slowed. He is covered in ‌crimson. Like if someone spilled a can of paint on him.

“I want you watching every second of this,” Axel commands, slapping his face awake. He says something under the tape, but it's just muffled noises. The dominance Axel has turns me on in a way I've never felt before. Being able to just let him take control, and letting me be able to trust him to do so, lets my brain be free of chaos. For once, I don’t have to be the one thinking.

He walks back toward me, smirking at the fact that I still have my legs opened wide for him. When he reaches me, he grabs the back of my head, forcing my lips to meet his once more. We both groan into one another at the consumption. He places the head of his cock at my entrance.

“Oh, fuck!” I cry in pleasure as his thick length shoves into me without warning. He pushes in deep and my legs tingle throughout. My wetness invites him in, even if it's slightly painful. He thrusts in and out, breathing open mouth kisses onto my lips.

“You feel so fucking good. So fucking needy and ready for me,” he says, with words coated in lust.

“Y–you’re so big,” I whine, feeling every inch enter, stretching me out.

“You’re taking me so fucking well. I want to hear you cry and beg while he watches. While he wishes he could do to you what I’m doing to you,” he says. His words have me yearning for more. Even though he’s already nine inches deep into me; there's not any more he can give me.

Our bodies collide with one another. The quiet basement is filled with our bodies slapping against one another. I feel him pull out, leaving me empty. He grabs me by the waist, and flips me over with ease. My ass is lifted before I feel him entering me again. I don’t know how, but I feel him even deeper inside with this position. Little speckles invade my vision, making me see blue and yellow.

“Scream my name, baby,” he demands as he takes a fistful of my hair and pulls.

“Mmm, yes. Just like that, Axel. Please. Don’t stop!” I whimper. Each thrust of his cock sends bolts of electricity through me. He smacks my ass, leaving a burning imprint. A slight ache forms down my spine with the way he has me bending backwards forcefully. I grip the edge of the white freezer in front of me.

“Fuck baby. I could be buried in your pussy for the rest of my life.” He thrusts into me at every word. My vision continues to prickle. Parker comes in and out of focus. I should care that I’m being fucked senseless in front of of him, but it feels too damn good for me to be bothered by it.

Axel reaches an arm around, rubbing my clit, while he simultaneously pounds into me. The extra sensitivity pushes me to the edge. I moan loudly, feeling my climax just a thrust away.

“Come for me, Little Flower. Come on your client’s cock. Come for your late-night masked stalker,” he grits, keeping pace. My body freezes. The feeling of pure euphoria washing over me. He groans at the strangle of his thickness inside me, my legs trembling beneath me.

“Oh, god,” I scream as I feel every sensation I never knew I could feel.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he praises and I swear I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. He rams into me a few more times before spilling into me. The moans that escape him leave a low husky growl that bounces off the walls in an echo.

He releases the death grip on my hair, and I slouch over. Oxygen attacks my lungs, hard for me to keep a steady breath. I feel him pull out. I look over my shoulder at him. A mix of sweat, tattoos, and disheveled hair makes him look dangerously delicious. I never want to forget the sight of him like this.

He meets my exhausted gaze. I lift a hand to my eye, closing the other, and make a little camera motion, clicking the imaginary button. He laughs. His perfect toothy smile shines bright in the low light, forcing it makes me smile.

I watch as he disappears, squatting behind me. My brows furrow as I’m still bent over. All the sudden I feel his finger entering me once more, pushing his release back into me. I don’t know why, but the gesture makes me blush. I see him pop back up, giving me a devilish smile, and he says,

“Mine.”

Chapter 37

The Stalker

It’s Always Been You - Christian Grey

The moment I pushed my length inside, I knew this girl was made for me. So fucking perfect, and so fucking mine. Her angelic moans will be on replay forever in my mind. I’ll make a special compartment just for them.

I push my come back inside her, refusing to let any remnants hit the floor. When my white liquid disappears, I’m satisfied. I pop back up, taking in the fair beauty in front of me. A fair, tainted, beauty. A small, shy smile paints her face.

“Mine,” I state. She continues to stay slumped on the freezer chest while I grab our clothes off the floor. She shifts on her feet, and her knees buckle. I grab her before she falls and sit her back on the white chest.

She lets me slip her underwear and pants back on. Her arms cross over her torso, hugging her chest, and giving her breasts some coverage. I look at the torn shirt lying behind her and grab mine intact one instead.

“Lift your arms,” I say, bringing it over her, watching as the fabric slowly falls over. I reach for my shoes and pants, now putting them on. I run a hand through my damp hair, moving any fallen strands off my face.

She looks amazing in my clothes. The shirt is definitely three sizes too big, making her look like she's in a dress. I return the camera gesture, making a fake click in front of the right eye. And she chuckles.

“Ready to finish this?” I ask her, reminding us both of the reality we had put ourselves in. I hold my hand out and she takes it, assisting her off the cold box. She walks slowly by my side over to the chair. Parker is barely coherent, but coherent enough to have heard Dahlia screaming my name. If he hadn't, I’d have to make sure we did it again.

I remove the tape from his face. Loud breaths emit from his raw orifice, but he doesn't say a word. I tug on his hair and his neck cranks back. He blinks, barely noticing our presence. I point to the knife that's still lodged in his shoulder.

“Remove it and get ready to stab here,” I tell my Little Flower as I move my finger over his heart. I watch as her delicate hand wraps around the handle, while the other lays flat against his chest. She pushes against him and yanks the blade out.

Red crimson spurts, barely missing her. Screams of agony come from the soon to be dead man. The adrenaline now making him more awake. Good. Fucker has to be coherent for this. I want Dahlia's face to be the last one he sees.

“Beg,” I demand as I slap his face.

“P–Please. I’m sorry,” He says with eyes locked on mine. I clench my jaw and turn his head toward my girl.

“I said, not to me. You beg her,” I grit, forcing his head all the way to the left. My Little Flower stands there, not saying a word, just staring.

“P–Please, Dahlia. I was just messing around. You know this is wrong,” He pleads. She looks at me for reassurance.

“You got this, baby,” I encourage. Parker tries fighting one more time. Lunging around his seat, screaming, and trying to get free from my grasp. Dahlia hovers the blade over him. The metal shakes in her small hands.

“No! No, you can't do–” His words silenced as the blade enters his chest.

“Fuck you. You did this, not me,” My Little Flower says before shoving the full length in. I watch her, watch him. As the pathetic excuse of a life drains from his eyes. She is angry, she is scared, she is vengeful, and I fucking love it.

The room goes eerily quiet. No sounds of struggling left. I let go of the lifeless body and hold on to her trembling one instead. She inhales and exhales deeply. A sliver of fear lingers within me. Clinging on like an unwanted tumor in hopes she doesn’t regret this.

“Wow, that was… thrilling? Oh my god, I just took a life, and I just said it was… thrilling? I know it hasn't hit me yet, but what am I going to do when it does. Will it?” her anxiety speaks for her. I bring a hand up and move a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I won't let you–” I fall to the ground. Pain sears through my skull as my head hits the unforgiving floor, leaving me dazed. I can hear Dahlia screaming in the background, but I’m paralyzed. I can’t move. I can't speak.

Terror consumes me as I look down at my blood-covered hands. They shake with worry. What am I going to do? What if I get caught? I back away from the horrors I committed in front of me. I have my whole life ahead of me, and I just threw it away. I was imprisoned my whole life, and I finally saw the end and I… 

I fucked it all up. 
I fall backward onto the floor. Frozen. I sit and stare at the lifeless bodies in front of me. Everything around me feels like time hit the pause button. It's just me, them, and silence. 
“But they deserved it. But they deserved it. But they deserved it,” I say over and over and over and over.

“Axel, please. Wake up!” she says as her shouts get closer and closer.

What did I do to deserve her? I don’t deserve anything good in this life. Especially as good as she is. I lived in hell, and the demons made damn sure they followed me. I told myself I was content being alone. With the life that I had made. That I could deal with my demons, as I have my entire life.

That is until I met my angel. I’ve never had this feeling before. Of want. Of need. She infiltrated my mind unknowingly like a cure to whatever virus had taken over my brain, and she is all I could think about that keep the demons away. Whenever I thought of her, they would all cower. They would all shudder and quake because something as pure as her overcame my destructive thoughts.

I know I’m fucked up. I’ve always been, and I always will be. I know it’s fucked up that I dragged her into the pits of hell with me, but I couldn’t care less. I knew that I wanted her here with me. That I needed her here, with me…

No matter what I had to do.

Misery loves company. I never knew mine needed some until it started grasping at her like it had been starved for human interaction. Now she's stuck. She is stuck in this abysmal hell with me that I won’t ever let her escape.

“Axel, come on. Get up!” she continues to shout. Her figure comes into focus, and I can see the tears streaming down her face as she bares down on me.

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?” I joke, but internally my body is screaming in despair.

“Are you okay? Seriously, tell me if you're not. I can try to help.” She ignores my comment, grabbing the back of my head and cushioning it with her hands.

“I’m fine. I just—these flashbacks have been getting worse.” I sit myself up and rub the back of my head. A dull throbbing pain radiates all around my skull, making me feel nauseous.

“Does this happen every time you have them? Do you fall like this?” she asks.

“Can we, uh, talk about this later.” I point to the dead body slumped over in the chair.

“Oh, yeah. I won't forget to ask you later. We are going to talk about it.” she insists, giving me a stern look. She tries to help me stand. Someone as small as she is compared to me wouldn't be able to handle helping me up. It would be more of a crushing, instead.

“I can take you home. I’ll deal with this mess,” I voice. She is going to freak out about tonight. I’m sure of it. Questioning her morals and all. I don’t want to dump more trauma onto her. I don’t think she could handle it.

Who am I turning into? Old Axel wouldn’t give a flying fuck at all.

“You don't have to deal with this alone. Actually… It’s me, who doesn’t want to deal with this alone. If you drop me off, all I’m going to do is think. And then if I think too long, I’ll drive myself insane,” she says.

“Okay, okay. How about I finish here while you clean yourself up? I can draw you a bath,” I suggest, hoping she takes the bait. I don’t work well with others. I need to do this myself. Plus, the chopping of parts wouldn’t be the best thing for her to witness.
She stands there, contemplating the ladder. Damn it, it’s already starting to stink and my patience is running out. I bend and throw her over my shoulder. She gasps, grabbing onto me.

“Now you don’t have a choice,” I say as I carry her up the stairs. She doesn't fight me; she just dangles, accepting her fate. I live in a ranch home, so I walk to the bathroom that's attached to my bedroom. It’s not a far walk. Once we enter, I set her down on the chilled tile, and turn the water on.

“Do you like it hot or cold?”

“Hot please. Like piping hot,” she responds, looking around.

“Take your clothes off,” I say and she obeys. She grabs my large T-shirt and lifts it above her head, exposing her supple breasts. Then she slides down her pajama pants and her underwear. She kicks them to the side. Little speckles of blood stain the fabric. I stare at her.

I could fuck her all over again.

But I can’t. Not right now. The sooner I get rid of this body, the sooner I can come back to her. I reach my hand in the bath, checking the temperature as the water is almost done rising. I hiss at the heat and quickly jerk it back.

“I’ll be down there for quite some time, so, uh, relax if you can,” I say with unsureness. This is the first time I’ve done something like this. Drawing a bath for someone else? Do I feel sorry for her? I’ll be sure to check in on her later.

“Okay,” she responds quietly. She gets into the steam-filled tub. Water waves around, and little splashes leave the edge. She gives me an apologetic smile before hunching in further. I find myself still staring, admiring her beauty.

Her white hair turns a shade darker, creating more contrast against her pale complexion. Little beads of water coat her skin as if they have been placed intricately. Her eyes close shut as she rests her head back.

Am I in love with my therapist? I’m unsure of what love even is. I know I am infatuated with her. That she consumes my every thought. That even though I want to leave bite marks all over her skin, claiming her, I wouldn't want her to ever leave me. She is my sanity. I can’t exist without her.

I turn and exit the bathroom before I send my thoughts into battle. I need to hurry. I’m sure someone will come looking for him sooner or later. I have a whole to-do list that I gotta mark off before I can put this all behind us. At least behind me.

Chapter 38

The Flower

Pretty Poison - Nessa Barrett

The biggest exhale leaves the depths of my lungs, my chest sinking inwards. A part of me is disappointed that he left me alone. Another is thankful because I am forced to face what I’ve just done. There is no pushing it away for me. I always tell my clients how important it is to process your feelings. I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t do the same thing.

I don’t know what came over me. I can’t believe I just killed a man. Just like that. Like ‌his life wasn’t worth seeing another day. Who am I to do that? I’m not supposed to have that choice. The way the blade slipped into his chest with ease. I thought it would've been harder. More brutal to stab someone.

Regardless, the decision has been made. There is no going back. Do I turn myself in? I don’t recognize the person I am becoming. Ever since I met Axel, there has been this gravitational pull between us. It’s almost like I couldn't fight it. Not that I tried so hard to.

Having conflicting feelings about a client, now committing felonies and murder with him, what do I even do now? I know that I have to terminate him as a client. Well, I don’t even think that matters anymore because we just killed the owner.

Fuck.

I slump into the hot water until it reaches my chin. This bath is big enough for two people, and it makes me wish Axel was in here with me. I lather myself with body wash and a loofah that were left in the corner ledge.

I watch as the white suds cover the little red bloodied spots on my arms. I rinse them off and scrub again. My breath quickens and I keep repeating until my arms are rubbed red and raw. I move to my legs and my neck, washing every inch of my body with fear.

Tears escape me, and I begin to sob. It’s just me and the loudness of my guilt. I–I can’t do this. I can’t be taking a relaxing bath while there is a dead body just below me. And the man who accompanied me is doing god knows what to him right now.

I quickly stand. Water spills from around me as I vacate the tub. My legs move without permission. Everything around me is a blur besides one thing I’m gravitating towards. I slip on the wet tile, a loud thump of my knees hitting the hard floor. Pain doesn’t register; I just keep moving.

My breaths are unsteady, and so are my steps. I cling to the walls as I get closer to the basement door. A slight ringing in my ears keeps steady pace as I fling the door open.

“Axel?” I shout. My body stumbles down the stairs. I can hear what sounds like buzzing all around. When I reach the bottom, all I can do is run toward him. I latch onto him, grasping at his shirt from the back. He whips his head around with a disturbed yet concerned expression.

“What are you doing down here? You shouldn’t be down here,” he says, turning and shielding his body in front of me. He doesn’t remove my hands from him. He lets me hold on. I tug at him with short breaths.

“I–I don't want to be alone right now–” My eyes widen in terror as I comprehend the horrors in front of me. There are bags and body parts everywhere. I step backward, feeling warm liquid at the base of my foot. I look down and see blood. There's blood everywhere.

“Hey, hey, you’ll be okay. I didn’t want you to see any of this,” he says, putting his hands on my shoulders and grasping them.

“Oh, I think I’m going to be sick,” I say. Vomit escapes me before I’m able to hold it in. I hunch over and grab my stomach. My hair is being pulled away from my face as I continue to puke. I’m not sure why I even came down here. What was I going to expect? That he would bury him in a field of daisies?

I vomit until everything has left my system. Reality sets in and hits me like a truck. I’m going to prison. That's it, my life is over. Everything I worked so hard for has all been for nothing. I’m the worst person in the world.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean that up too,” Axel says, nonchalantly. I give him an “are you serious?” look. How can he be joking at a time like this? Oh, that's right. He probably has no awareness of the seriousness of this. He is probably dissociating. So that means I have to face this whole thing on my own.

“Sorry. I don’t really know what to do right now. Do you want to stay down here with me, or do you want me to take you back upstairs?” he asks, taking off the fresh T-shirt he just put on and places it over me. Talk about déjà vu, I hadn't realized I ran down here naked.

I guess I hadn't thought about how I’m making him feel right now. Wait, no. I’m the one who is having a panic attack right now.

“I don’t know what I need. I’ve never been in this position before,” I respond.

“I’m almost done. How about you sit back on top of the freezer and close your eyes until I’m finished? I just gotta bag–”

“Nope. I don’t want to hear anything,” I cut him off and plug my ears with my fingers. I walk over to the chest freezer and hop onto it. I close my eyes, still keeping my fingers in place, shielding any noise that might traumatize me for the rest of my life.

I’m not sure how much time passed, but I feel a tap on my shoulder. One eye hesitantly peeks open. A tall, handsome, rugged, black-haired man stands before me. He grabs my cheeks and runs his thumbs across them.

“All done. Let’s finish that bath,” he says, lifting me bridal style. I latch onto him. My eyes gaze around the basement, and it looks brand new. Like a man wasn’t tied up, murdered, and dismembered in here. If only my thoughts could disappear that easily.

Once we make it back into the bathroom, Axel lowers me into the tub. The water now slightly cooled and warmed. He starts to remove his clothes. They're all crimsoned-colored and muddied, but his skin underneath is clean and smooth.

He was wearing an apron, gloves, and a mask in the basement. He must have taken them all off before coming up here, I can’t even remember. I don’t blame him; he probably didn’t want the rest of his house to get dirty. I look down at myself, remembering he gave me his shirt.

I lift the fabric off ‌me, leaving me fully exposed once more. Goosebumps prickle my skin under the gaze of his hungry eyes staring at me. I shouldn’t be doing this. Any of this. But something about him makes excuses in my mind. Like as long as he is with me, I’ll be okay.

He steps closer to me, his length swinging semi-hard. I bite my lip. The water swooshes as he steps into the tub. I’m caught by surprise as he grabs me and kisses me forcefully. Slight pain prickling on my lip, but I continue.

“You make me want to bite that lip of yours every time you do that” he murmurs between heated kisses. I moan into him, wanting and needing more. My body presses into his, getting as close as I possibly can.

His hard length pushes against my lower stomach. I wrap a hand around it, stroking it slowly. He moans in approval. My lips are raw and bruised, but I don’t want him to stop. The aggressiveness makes me yearn for him badly.

“Hold on to the tub, baby,” he demands.

And before I have time to think, he spins me around by my waist. My hands whip out, ready to catch myself before I slip. He pushes my back forward, bending me over. I hold myself up, latching onto the brim of the tub. He doesn't let go, assuring me that he wouldn't let me slip either.

I look over my shoulder at him. The look on his face is devious, starving, devoted. He’s looking at my ass, grabbing the skin roughly and smacking it. The sound breaks the silence in the room. I jolt, loving the sting that sends shivers throughout my body.

My heart races in anticipation. I want him badly. I wiggle my ass, letting him know to speed things up. He meets my eyes, a little upturn hugs the edges of them, and it makes me want to live in this moment forever.

He lines my entrance with the tip of his cock. No warning is given before he pushes into me, stretching me around him. I moan at the pleasure tearing me open. My grip tightens, and I push myself backward, meeting him halfway.

He holds onto me with a force that will leave indentations in my skin. His length life-threatening, pushing in and out of me roughly. I’m wet, but even with the slip, his dick rubs against my walls like two tectonic plates about to spark.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans behind me.

I think I have a voice kink because every time he speaks, I feel like I’m going to combust at any moment. I moan with him. The sound of our two bodies meeting is suffocating the room. His cock is so deep inside, I can’t seem to take a full breath in.

“M–more,” I plea. I’m not sure what I’m asking for; all I know is that I don’t want him to stop. I need him to keep going. I can feel my orgasm creeping up, not wanting to lose the friction. Axel doesn't let up. He keeps the same pace, yet pounds into me harder.

The warmth of his hands on my hips leaves. As soon as I start to turn to look at him, he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls. My neck cranks backward, making me look up at the ceiling. Stings of pain radiate through my scalp, making it all more pleasurable.

“Rub yourself for me, baby. Give yourself to me. I want to feel you strangle me,” he commands. I reach a hand between my legs, adjusting myself for balance. Little droplets of water splash around at the constant wave of our bodies in the tub.

“Mmm,” I moan at the contact of my clit. I rub myself in a circle motion, slowly, steadily. All the sensations overwhelming me and sending me over the edge without warning. My legs shake, wanting to give out, but Axel holds me up.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” he says breathlessly before pausing. Both our climaxes meet each other, like lost souls being tethered to one another. I can feel his hot release spill into me, and I can’t help but clench tighter.

Our breaths weighing down the movements of our bodies. We both pause, but I wait for him to move first. He pulls out of me, his come leaks down my leg. I stand upright, my back stretching its tightened muscles. I turn to him and say,

“Bath number three?”

Chapter 39

The Flower

She’s There - Jenna Raine

No, no, no, no, no. My mind has been in non-stop panic mode. It’s been days since that night with Axel. The memory of taking Parker's life has been replaying every chance it gets. Like psychological torture.

As much as I would like to put the blame on Axel, I can’t. I had everything to do with it. He didn’t force me to push that knife into Parker's chest. I did that all on my own, and what's awful about it is that I loved doing it. Like in that moment, instant gratification hit me like a truck. Now? Not so much. It’s the aftermath.

Now I’m left with memories and regret. Begging on my knees for forgiveness is past me. The fact that detectives had already paid me a visit forty-eight hours after Parker went missing and lying about not seeing him, was just the cherry on the cake.

Axel insisted that I not say anything. It was me and him, or being locked up forever. How selfish is that? I might be better off rotting away in prison. The way my mind is eating at me with guilt makes me feel like I’m already in a prison of my own making.

I counted all the ways I could to make it make sense. To make excuses for my actions, but there aren’t any. I had no right to do that to another human, no matter how awful he was. I even resorted to thinking he would've killed me first and if I didn't do what I did… Then maybe I’d be in his position right now.

I look over at the wilted bouquet on my nightstand. It was the last one Axel sent me, taunting me with its death. The timing couldn't be more ironic. Finding beauty in death with nature is easy. Finding beauty in death with humans, is not.

“Just checking in on you. Dahlia, please talk to me,” Zoe says, knocking on my door, startling me. I don’t answer. I’ve kept myself locked in my room, shutting the world out once again. The world and Zoe. Zoe had always been an exception, but I can’t bring myself to face her after what I’ve done.

She thinks I’m sheltering away because, as much as she knows I dislike Parker, she thinks I’m mourning his death. She has no idea what kind of ‌person I turned into, and that I’m the one who basically made him disappear.

She has not the slightest clue. Only that he went missing, and I’ve been caged away in my sorrow since. She wouldn't know the difference. I don’t think she would know what to do if I ever told her. I hate that I can’t share this with her. This is a secret I’m taking to my grave.

The investigation into Parker's disappearance has been all over the news, haunting me like recurrent nightmares. I was interrogated for hours. They had street footage of me being one of the last people seen with him. I almost broke.

Almost.

Axel's voice kept overriding my thoughts. I couldn't turn myself in. That means I would turn him in, and ‌I–I just can’t bring myself to do that. Like I have some responsibility to protect him. Like he did with me.

I've hardly heard anything since. They have been talking to everyone that's been in contact with him, including everyone from work. I’m sure they quickly found out he wasn't very liked. For my sake, I hope it makes it harder of an investigation for them.

How can I move on from something like this? I can’t. I know Karma will pay a visit to me soon. For my sake, I hope she doesn’t go easy on me. Not that she hasn’t lately. If me rationalizing a harsh punishment to keep my mind at ease a little, then that’s what I’ll do. It's the only truth, though. I do deserve it.

Axel's been blowing up my phone, making it aware that he urgently wants to see me. I’ve been ignoring him. It’s all I can think to do right now. My brain isn’t processing like it normally does. If only I can just open my skull and take it out for a moment of peace.

As much as my mind has been deciding what to bombard me with, I keep getting pulled back to Axel. I see the way he looks at me. Everything I do is like perfection in his eyes. Like I can do no wrong. No matter how I look, or what I do, he is so enamoured by me.

I find myself feeling the same way. I know the things he does are wrong. I know he has made many mistakes in his life, but what I also know is that a lonely, troubled child is screaming for love inside of him.

I don’t think he is a psychopath. I think those who have seen him are wrong. I don’t think he's incapable of having feelings. I think he just doesn’t know how to process them. He was never loved. He was never safe. He was never valued.

I think he is just misunderstood.

He might be the only one now to help me, whether he knows it or not. A goody two-shoes girl who had nearly a perfect life, is now damaged. Damaged beyond repair, and the only person who could understand her is someone who only knows a life of being broken.

Chapter 40

The Stalker

My vision is doubling, and I can’t make out what's in front of me anymore. The room spins at an uncontrollable rate; I stumble and fall to the ground. My lungs are screaming for air that should be so easy to reach, but I can't muster the strength to breathe it in.
Reporter:

Breaking News

A family was found stabbed to death in the Brighton area. A woman by the name of Staphanie Gray and a man by the name of Martin Gray, were brutally mutilated. Their son, Axel Gray, was found in the home, unharmed. An active investigation is issued. Detectives are ruling out foul play, with a potential suspect at large. We do not have a description at this time. Thirteen-year-old, Axel Gray is being questioned. If anyone knows any information, please contact your local authorities.

“I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you!” I scream. My hands and knees are planted on the ground. I blink, but my vision doesn’t clear. It only gets worse. My lungs sting. My head pounds in an ache behind my eyes.

“Oh my god, Axel? Axel, are you okay?” A voice in the distance shouts. The thought of not knowing the person in my home should have unsettled me, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

The person rushes over. I see their figure kneeling in front of me. Soft hands grab my face, my body takes action on its own, and melts into them. They place my head on their lap as I fully collapse onto the floor.

My vision is still impaired, but I don’t have to see to know who this is. I clutch onto the denim that's hugging her, waiting for this wave of hell to wash over. Her small hand brush through my long black hair.

“You’re okay, you're okay. Tell me what's causing these episodes for you, Axel. Please talk me through it,” she says. The last thing I want is to keep reliving the memories, but I know if I don’t talk about it now, I may not get another chance.

“I–I see them. They are lying there,” I say breathlessly. My grip tightens, causing her jeans to crinkle. I feel her hand pause momentarily before she continues her soothing touch.

“Who are you seeing, Axel? What's happening in your mind right now?”

“My parents. They’re dead. Blood everywhere. Blood all over the floor. Blood all over my hands.”

Panic sinks in once again. My chest constricts, causing pain to circulate all over. I try to push myself up. My body needs to be anywhere but on the floor right now. My body wants to be anything but still.

Instead, Dahlia holds me in place. She wraps her arms around me in a tight hold, keeping me from wreaking havoc on myself, knowing probably for the best.

“Do you know what happened? Can you remember for me?” she asks.

“They deserved it. They deserved it. They deserved it,” I repeat, unable to say the words that are clawing at their escape. Fuck. I tried so hard to leave all this in the past. It's been twenty years. Twenty fucking years since I unchained myself from that prison.

The shackles still remain in my mind, playing a sick reminder in the back of my compartmentalized brain. Taunting me, never letting me forget what I endured, and never letting me forget what I’ve done.

Being unable to control myself puts me in a constant pissed-off mood. It makes me feel fucking weak, fucking useless. The exact same way when I wasn’t in control back then.

That day felt liberating at first. I felt free. At thirteen years old, freedom was the only feeling I was chasing. I was tired. Tired of the abuse, tired of the damage my parents had inflicted on me. I finally had enough.

Freedom can be interpreted in many ways, but for me, it didn’t matter the consequences. It didn't matter what came after. As long as they were gone. At thirteen, I took back my life.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through what you did, Axel. You are strong. You protected yourself the best way you knew how. You did nothing wrong. You hear me? You did nothing wrong. And I need you to know that,” My Little Flower insists. The words strike me deep within. Straight through a crack etched on my black heart.

And for the first time in a long time, I break.

Chapter 41

The Flower

The amount of pain Axel experienced is shattering. Broken as a child, never once glued back together. Never had the chance. Is this some game that fate had? For him to cross my path? For me to be the one to help him?

Regardless of destiny, this is real. It’s just him and I against the world now. And what’s more, against our own minds. There is an exercise that I have some patients take part in that always ends up relieving some heavy weight off.

The thing is, I need Axel to pour his heart into it. As much as I love his sarcastic personality, this is something I feel may help him. Especially since his parents are no longer here.

After an hour-long panic attack, he has calmed down. I’m glad I was able to be here when it started. I’ll admit, I came here for my own reasons. Not expecting him to be on the brink of a possible melt down.

“I want to try something with you,” I whisper in his ear. We are now resting on his long sofa. The floor was safe, but not nearly as comfortable as the couch. I also want to make sure I’m close to the door in case ‌anything happens to him. Like what? Not sure, but you can never be too safe.

“Little Flower, I think I’m beyond help at this point. I appreciate your efforts, though,” he says. He’s convinced himself that he's incapable of being healed. Well, luckily, he has me.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” I declare, getting up from the couch. I reach into my bag and take out a pen and paper. Axel looks at me confused and sits straight. I give him a determined smile, hoping for my plan to work.

“I need you to promise me something,” I make my way toward him, holding out the possible moment for a breakthrough.

“I need you to promise me that you’re going to give me your whole heart. Not a sliver, not a half, the whole thing. For this to work, I need all of you. Can you promise me that?” I continue. My face pleading with him to listen. His eyes are hollow and swollen. Eyes that have seen and experienced way too much, but I see right through to the softness.

No matter how much he barricades the person he really is, I see him. A flash of compliance shines through, and he gives me a gentle nod. He and I both know that everything I try is only to help, not to make things worse.

“I want you to write a letter,” I say, handing him the stationary.

“A letter? Baby, I’ve written you so many. If you want another, I’d glad–”

“Not to me. To your parents. Or to one parent,” I cut him off. He stares at me like I’m batshit crazy. Like I just asked him to do the most absurd thing ever. I can faintly see his tan skin paling.

“I can’t do that,” he protests.

“You promised me. Are you a promise-breaker? The Axel Gray is a promise-break–”

“Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t ever call me a ‘promise breaker’ ever again. My word is my bond,” he announces. I give him a warm smile. He and I both know his word is all he has. If I have to use that against him, then I will.

“I’m going to leave you alone to write. Will you be okay on your own? You’ll let me know if you have another episode, right?” I ask, insisting that he better call out to me if he does. I’m here for him in any capacity.

“I’ll be fine, Little Flower. Although I’ll miss you already,” he says, giving me a wink. My cheeks redden and I turn before something else happens.

Ten minutes later, I return to his living area, catching him deep in thought. I pause, taking him in. There's a little crinkle etched between his bushy eyebrows. The pen taps against his perfect, full lips.

He looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine. Words can’t describe the way I feel when he looks at me. It’s like he sees the inner Dahlia too. It takes my breath away every time.

“I’m done.” He says softly. Giving me a sheepish smile that caves a dimple that I want to burrow in. I sit next to him on the couch and take the letter. He folded it in half, shielding it from everyone but him.

“Is it okay if I read it? I won’t if you're not comfortable. Regardless, we will burn the letter. Leaving behind who you once were, and how you felt, to pave way for a new beginning,” I explain. I want him to know my intentions regarding this exercise. The purpose behind it.

“Fuck. What are you doing to me angel? You can read it. I promised I would give you my all, didn't I?”

The words leave his lips as if they were hoping to never see the light of day. I know letters like these come from a place of protection. Words that never came out, now revealing oneself wholly. My heart pounds as I unfold the paper.

To: Dear Mom,

You wrecked me and walked away like it was normal. As if love is supposed to leave bruises. You made glimmers of normalcy feel like Christmas morning, though I only knew what that felt like through others. I don’t need to hold hope anymore. Hope that you would've been the mother you were supposed to be. The mother that is supposed to love me unconditionally and unapologetically. Sometimes I feel like I burdened you when I was born. I survived every night I swore that would be the end. And no, I’m not going to apologize for existing. I want you to feel that I survived you. Survived things you shouldn’t have done in the first place. You don’t deserve my forgiveness. And if this makes me a monster then I’ll bare those claws. I would rather be a monster in this world full of beasts. No child deserves to sit in their bedroom wondering what it’s like to die. Like if I just ended it all, then I wouldn't have to feel anymore. I wouldn't have to remember anymore. Every birthday I would wish for something that I couldn’t tell anyone. All I can say is, I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wished for. You and I both never asked for me to be brought into this world. I just wish you never acted like you didn’t. I hope you're turning in your grave. I hope that your purgatory is watching my life as I live it. Knowing that I took yours away. The life I have may not be what I planned. Battling with demons every single day in my mind, and me being the only one who gets exhausted, while they can torment for eternity, is consuming. I will beat this, and I want you to know that. I will beat you.

And just like that, my heart shatters into a million pieces. My words stumbling with heartbreak at each word as I read the letter out loud. I look over at him, tears spilling from both of our souls. They never expect me to read the letters out loud, but it makes it all the more real. He needs to hear his own words. Did I get through to him? I really hope that I did.

Epilogue

RUNRUNRUN - Dutchmelrose

You run, and I’ll come find you, Little Flower. I sign my name at the bottom of the letter. I place a picture of her sleeping next to it, tucking it on my nightstand for her to see.

I promised I would take her out to a late dinner, but I have something else on mind that I know my depraved girl would enjoy. She’s been sleeping over every night; I asked her to just move in and she jumped at the chance.

The Z’s, Zoe and Zane are so far up each other’s asses, Dahlia was basically at the apartment alone. Seeing as my Little Flower and Zoe don’t have a place of employment now, it worked out for the best that Zane and I took them in.

I had to keep reassuring my girl that she didn’t need to work if she lived with me, but she is as stubborn as a doornail. So we’ve been looking, but no luck yet.

The mysterious disappearance of Parker Raines has been the talk of the city still. No leads on what happened, which makes me happy knowing Zane and I covered our tracks well. I guess we will never know what actually happened. Well, everyone else won’t ever know that is.

Dahlia has been having nightmares almost every night. The constant war she’s having with herself from that night is taking a toll on her psyche. She clings to me like I’m the only one who can help her.

Kind of ironic, isn't it?

She's fucked up like I am now. Am I sorry I did this to her? No. She is everything I’ve wanted. She’s everything I’ve needed. Like air. Without her, I don’t think I can live. Without her, there is no life worth living. Before her, I was lost. She is my life now. I didn’t know what my purpose was until I saw her. I knew she would be the missing puzzle piece to my fucked up life.

The last patch to fix this hollow hole. She can’t take the piece back. I won’t allow it. I wanted her to need me like I needed her. Even if that meant breaking her mind apart.

Ever since the letter, my flashbacks have been manageable. Who would’ve known something as simple as a letter to a piece of shit ghost from my past would work?

Dahlia wasn't fazed by my confession to killing my parents. She didn't care as much about it. Only about how I felt and what came next, being only thirteen years old.

Good old foster homes were next. No one wanted me though. They said, “You could see the crazy in his eyes.” When in reality, it was the brokenness. Families only wanted the shiny kids. They didn’t have to say it, I felt it. Nothing I wasn’t fucking used to, anyway.

I slip my mask over my face and head toward the backwoods. Living away from the city, I have Mother Nature in my backyard. The plan I'm conjuring in my mind has me getting stiff.

I tug downward on my zipper, giving my half-stiffened cock a little breathing room. Branches break under my footsteps as I make my way deeper into the woods with purpose.

Chapter 42

The back door flies open. The moonlight of the dusk night hitting her pale skin. She stands there, angelic. Like ‌the night saved its highlight just for her.

She walks slowly down the steps, hesitancy written all over her features. When she reaches the last step, I pull my phone out and write her a message.

Your Stalker

You haunt me. It’s only fair that I return the sentiment. So run, Little Flower. Run so I can catch you and show you how much you belong to me.

Her trembling face illuminates through the phone screen. She closes it and sets it on the top step. Slowly, she takes a step forward. Then another, then another.

I wait until she is deep in the woods. She glances around, losing the way she came from. Her eyes widen and I can see her breaths quicken.

“Fuck,” she whispers. I round a tree, making sure she notices me. A crack of a branch being split in two beneath my heavy boots. She whips around, hair clinging to her lip.

“You’re so pretty when you're scared,” I growl. She stumbles backward and falls to the dirt floor. Dirty girl. I take a step forward, and another. The green light from my mask bouncing off the trees as I make my way closer.

She picks herself up and runs. Atta girl. Run like your life depended on it. I give her a few seconds head start before I hunt after her. Only the sounds of leaves and broken branches pave way under our path.

She swerves behind a tree, then another. Trying to put distance between us. It makes me harder knowing how fucking frightened she is. How she thinks she can outsmart me.

I grab her blond hair, yanking it with force. She grabs ‌my hand and screams. She screams so loudly I’m sure if there are any bystanders in the woods, they would make a run for it too.

I pull her into me, while my other arm wraps around her waist. She kicks, struggling to get out of my grasp. I walk us backward until my back hits a large tree.

Spinning her around, I pin her against the rough bark. I press my rock-hard length against her back, letting her know her fate. I breathe deeply into my mask, inching as close as I possibly can.

“Caught you,” I tease.

“How the hell did you catch up to me so fast?” she asks, with pacing breaths.

“I always get what's mine. And baby, you’re mine forever.”

I lift her silk nightgown, the one she knows drives me insane every fucking time she wears it. Her breath hitches and she pushes her ass into me.

“I knew you were deranged like me. An innocent, rule-player girl with dirty needs. You love it when I scare you, don’t you?” I say. She moans, letting me know I’m right.

My fingers dip inside her, feeling her wetness encompass me, ready for me to take. I remove my belt with one swift motion and unbutton my jeans. My cock springs out, eager to be inside ‌her.

“Mine.” I declare as I shove my length inside her. She screams and it’s fucking bliss to my ears. She leans forward, both hands grasping ‌the tree in front of her for stability.

Sounds of my thrusts fill the night sky. She is so fucking tight, like she was molded for me. The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I was going to do whatever I needed to make her mine.

“You’re taking me so fucking well. You’re being such a good little slut for me,” I praise her, not letting up on my ravenous thrusts. I’m not sure if it’s just the thrill of the chase, or me fucking her with my mask on, but I’m already close to the fucking edge.

“P–please,” she says.

“P–p–please,” I taunt as I push my entire cock inside. All nine inches, before I explode. My come claims her insides. I pause, making sure every drop of my release stays.

“Now you’re mine forever, Little Flower.”

Reminder

Remember, don’t let anyone else dim your light. Your shine does not reflect on the perspective of others.

You are amazing.

You are worthy.

Acknowledgements

Thank you all for taking the time to read Framed Obsession. This story has been on my mind for a year and a half before it became what it is. I knew I wanted to write something that was dark, yet meaningful. By all means, Framed Obsession is an intro to dark romance. This is not a super dark read, but that doesn’t mean more unhinged stories won’t come later.

I want to say a huge thank you to the community. I have been surrounded and supported by the most amazing people who have cheered me on since day one, not knowing what's to come. It’s a great reminder that strangers can be your biggest cheerleaders.

With that being said, thank you to my Alpha readers. Emma, Lys and Taylor for seeing the raw version of my story when some things didn’t make any sense. You all have been a big help in making the story flow, and not just a bunch of nonsense!

I also want to shout out an author who I hold near and dear to my heart who also took the chance in helping me with my manuscript, LO GOLD. One of the best people I have ever met in the book community. You have always been a light to me and supported me along the way. Thank you for sharing your insights, tips and tricks with me.

Thank you to my beta readers

Jen, Michelle, and Sammy. You are all so sweet and kind, and hyped my book up so much! Initially I was nervous to send my book out into the world, scared that it wasn’t going to get good feedback, but you all made me feel so special.

Thank you to my sensitivity reader, Ellie. Who is a social worker herself and gave me such amazing feedback, and helped develop Dahlia to the strong, intelligent woman she is. I appreciate you so much.

Last but not least thank you to my editor and PA’s, Chelsea, Lisa and Bre. Chelsea you are such an amazing kind soul and I am so fortunate to have had your expertise with my debut. You saw how my ADHD brain worked and yet still made sense of everything I was trying to say. You're a soldier! Lisa, you have always stuck by me. A true friend anyone could ever ask for and I couldn't do it without you. Thank you for keeping me organized and planted. Bre thank you for making my graphics and helping bring Dahlia and Axel to life. You have talent and I am so glad I snagged you up!

Thank you all again for taking the time to read my first book. I really hope you enjoyed it. If you didn’t, for the sake of my mental health too, do not tag me in negative reviews. As this is my first book, I do have a lot to learn, and I fully acknowledge that. I had so much fun writing this story and that is what matters most.

About the Author

Lexi is an overstimulated millennial who loves all things dark and spooky. She loves to hang out at home where her social battery has no worry of running out, but still enjoys the occasional venture. She has 3 puppies and a husband who all put up with chaoticness. She loves halloween and thinks about it 24/7. Joining the booktok community in late 2022, and re-found a passion for reading, she now is on her author journey. She owns a small bookish and spooky business called The Pumpkin Pot co, that takes up all her spare time. So if anyone is looking for any accessories or merch, please feel free to check it out!

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If you have any questions regarding my debut or want to get in contact with me, email and Instagram DM is the best way.

Also by Lexi Lane

Framed Obsession