Page 36 of SnapShot

Surely not. There are thousands of beautiful women on here that he could jack off to. Normally, I wouldn’t fault a man for that. Everyone deserves pleasure, just not at the expense of others, and damn sure not without proper consent.

I think that’s partly why I joined the app to begin with. Not that I wanted a bunch of dudes paying to ogle my body, but the feeling of unrestricted confidence in the way that I affect other people is exhilarating. The money is just a bonus. Two birds, one stone kind of deal.

There are a few requests pending in my notifications as I have been MIA since the incident. Logging back on seems like a step in the right direction of taking my life back. Plus I can’t afford to fall behind on my finances. Kate has been a saint in picking up this last month’s bills while I was incapacitated, but I know she doesn’t have much savings. I also refuse to be the sole reason she depletes what she does have.

Clicking on the top request from bigjohn016, a feeling of uneasiness washes over me, taking away all the moisture in my mouth and leaving a boulder in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know if I can do this, but I need to. Part of healing is confronting the problem. While I know that this guy did nothing wrong, it’s the concept that he could that is throwing me off. Any one of my clients could have ended up just like Brad.

It wouldn’t be hard for a semi-tech nerd to track me down if they really wanted to. The thought was never at the forefront of my mind until now. I try to steady my breathing as the pressure in my chest grows to an ache. Brad and I had history; that’s the only reason he wanted to track me down. I need to remember that. Not everyone is a psycho wannabe rapist.

The pain in my chest subsides only to make way for the anger I feel toward this asshole for taking away my confidence, my ability to feel safe. What’s that saying?

Beware a woman scorned or something like that?

Well, I’m about to make Brad wish he’d never been born, and I’m not letting anything get in my way.

Instead of choosing one of my clients, I decide to post a public picture. I know he’ll see it because I haven’t had the mental capacity to log on and block him. The picture is one that I took a couple years ago. It’s from a western themed boudoir shoot, arguably some of my favorite pictures of myself. There’s something to be said about mixing tidbits of your personality with sexy photos. Sure, anybody can take pictures dressed in classic lingerie, but there’s not a lot of people who can say that they have some with a glimpse into your soul.

In this particular one, a plaid flannel shirt remains unbuttoned, barely covering my bare breasts. I’m leaned up against the barn door with one foot resting on it, the spur on my boot looking like it’s digging into my ass cheek which is visible from the side thanks to the red thong.

It’s a picture that Brad should be familiar with considering we used to sext often, and I’d sent it to him. I know that if he sees it, he’ll come to me. I’m banking on it.

Maybe I shouldn’t provoke my would be rapist, but I’m tired of the bullshit legal system letting these men walk away scot free. My order of protection was denied, but in the grand scheme of things, what is a piece of paper going to do for me when he decides to finish what he started? Not jack shit. It would great to have one on file in case he does try something else, but it’s like having a lock on your door.

It makes you feel safe, but is it really keeping the bad guys out? Hell no. It’s keeping honest people from doing bad things. We all have intrusive thoughts and urges to do bad things, but when met with obstacles put in place to dissuade us, we usually leave it alone— do the right thing. Bad guys, though? They don’t give a shit about the obstacles. They’re going to get what they want, regardless of what’s in the way.

I’m hoping that by posting this, it will lure him into giving in to his dark desires. I’ll be prepared this time, though.

There are about six guns in the house. Two shotguns. One rifle. Three pistols. Most of my ammunition is stored in metal tactical boxes out in the barn, but I shouldn’t need much. One good shot. Unless I decide to drag it out. The options are plentiful, and I’m feeling vindictive.

The emptiness of my coffee cup calls me back into the house for a refill and a plotting session. Charlie always leaves early in the morning to make it to his loft for fresh clothes and a shower before his employees trickle in downstairs. I feel slightly guilty that he has to go back and forth so much, but I’m not ready to completely let him into my space. Plus, I can’t just move an extra person in here without Kate’s consent. It’s been just us for too long. Yes, it’s my house, but she might as well be my sister. She helped make this house a home. I’m sure that she wouldn’t mind, but I still don’t want to put her out in any way.

If— and that’s a big if— things move into more serious territory between Charlie and I, then we will build a new house together. I’ll give Kate this house. It’s not big enough for the three of us, anyway, and one bathroom is a major deal breaker.

No sense in planning for a future that may not happen after I’m finished with Brad, though. Charlie might decide that he really doesn’t want to tie himself to a murderer. He’s such a good guy that I doubt I’ll come out on top in this situation. He deserves someone who isn’t broken. Someone who wants the American dream life. White picket fence. Great career. A million kids running around. I just don’t think I can give him that. I’ve always been a bit of a wild card, but I feel like it’s about to get so much worse.

Who’s to say that I won’t get caught and spend the rest of my life in prison? It’d be worth it to gut the prick. Make sure he never gets to hurt another woman again. If that makes me the villain, that’s fine. I’ll be able to say that I not only stood up for myself but for every single person out there who feels like there’s no one in their corner. Men fall victim to sex crimes, too. It’s just not talked about as much. It’s sad that people shove such heinous behavior under the rug.

Not in my case. I refuse to let that happen. Not when I can make sure he never touches another woman again. I’ll be the last one he ever sees, let alone touches, and I’ll make sure it hurts.

We live far enough out of town that no one will hear his screams. The woods behind the house would be too obvious a place to bury him, so I’ll have to find somewhere else to chuck him. Of course, there’s also the option to just shoot him as soon as he shows up and plead self defense which would likely save me the headache of dealing with the body and hiding from the law, but where’s the fun in that?

Picnics Are Hot

nineteen

Picnics Are Hot

Haedyn

The picture from yesterday got a lot of attention, but I’m guessing dipshit hasn’t seen it yet because I haven’t heard from him. That’s fine, I can wait. This is the long game, and baby, I’m playing to fucking win.

In the meantime, Charlie has successfully gotten me to agree to a date. He was a little sneaky about it, though, because we’re supposed to be riding horses and having a picnic. This man knows nothing about horses that I know of, so why would he want to ride?

By the time he pulls into the driveway, I’ve got Sasha and Bully saddled and waiting outside the barn. I just assumed he wouldn’t know how, so I spared him the embarrassment.

To my surprise, though, he steps out of his truck wearing a proper pair of boots, the kind that are broken in and covered in dirt, not the ones that look fresh out of the box that wannabe cowboys wear. Also missing from his getup is a too large and sparkly belt buckle. I’m impressed. Instead, he’s making the drool leak from my cracked jaw with his white v neck tee, unbuttoned worn out flannel, faded jeans, and a backwards ball cap. Before he can catch me stroking out over his appearance, I busy myself with packing the saddle bags with water bottles and a blanket.

“Ready to cowgirl up?” He calls. When he gets closer, I notice him holding an insulated backpack.

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