Page 4 of Backwater Boogeyman

She nods, her smile fading slightly as she studies me. "I'll keep that in mind.”

I can tell she's not fully convinced about me, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—a hint of wanting to come closer. It's a start. I step back, giving her space because I don’t want to overwhelm her.

But every instinct in me screams to push harder, to break down those barriers and make her mine. ”Well, I won't keep you," I force myself to say, stepping away from her. ”You know where to find me."

She nods again, running her fingers through her hair once more. ”Bye Lash."

"Remember to close all windows and lock all doors,” I say, my voice dropping to a low, almost intimate tone. Walking away, I clench my fists when I sense her eyes watching me. I can still feel the tension between us even at this distance, a taut wire ready to snap. I know she's intrigued, but the walls she has built around herself are high and fortified.

Mega might be wary now, but I'll find a way to get her to trust me. To let me in. She'll come to me. And when she does, I'll be ready. Feeling a surge of adrenaline, I clench my jaw.

That girl is special. There’s a darkness in her that I crave to enmesh with mine. She's strong, but I can sense the vulnerability underneath. And that's what I need to tap into. Her vulnerability is what will make her soften up. Her fear is what will make her open up to me. Mega is mine. She just doesn't know it yet. But she will. Soon.

3.

Mega

I walk back into the house, the screen door creaking shut behind me. My mind is spinning with thoughts of Lash. His intense eyes, the way his tattoos ripple across his callus skin, the strength in his grip. I've never been so quickly and inexplicably drawn to someone before, but suspicion lingers. There’s just something I can’t put my finger on about him…

I'm about to pass the living room when my phone rings again, the sound slicing through the quiet like a knife. I freeze, staring at the couch where I left it. Anxiety coils in my stomach, making it hard to breathe. I don’t want to answer. I don't want to hear that voice again. But something compels me to, some twisted sense of obligation or curiosity.

With trembling hands, I pick up the phone. "Hello?" My voice is barely a whisper.

The silence on the other end is deafening, but it only lasts a second before the voice speaks. "I told you not to hang up on me.”

My knees buckle. ”Stop this…”

”Why?" he says, low and intimate, like he's whispering in my ear. My heart skips a beat, a cold dread settling in my chest. ”I'm just watching," he continues. ”You look beautiful this evening. I love the way your hair falls over your shoulders, how it shines in the sunlight.."

I glance around the room, feeling exposed and vulnerable. ”Where are you?" I demand, my voice trembling.

"Everywhere," he replies, his tone calm and almost soothing, which makes it even more terrifying. "You have such a lovely smile. It lights up your whole face. And when you laugh, it gets me so hard I almost want to strangle you for doing this to me.”

I swallow, my hand gripping the edge of the table. ”Are you going to hurt me?"

He chuckles softly, a sound that sends chills down my spine. ”Hurt you? No. I’m dying to touch you. To feel your skin against mine."

A wave of nausea hits me. "Leave me alone," I manage to say.

"You can't hide from me," he says, his voice turning dark and possessive. "I know where you live. I see you every day. I see the way you move, the way you dress.”

Terror grips me. My mind races, trying to remember if I've seen anyone suspicious, anyone who might be following me.

His voice drops in octave. ”The way you try to reject the world, reject men… it makes you even more beautiful. Unique."

”You’re scaring me,” I whisper, my voice shaking.

”Then let me kiss it better,” he says softly. ”I could hold you, save you, make you feel things you've never felt before."

"You're sick," I spit out, anger and fear battling for dominance. "Stay away from me, you psychopath!”

”Psychopath is such a derogatory term," he replies, his voice softening again. ”And psychopaths don’t feel what I feel. You’re inside of me and I can’t get you out. You’ve violated me.”

My heart is pounding, my mind reeling. I violated him? How can he say that when he’s the one who has invaded my most private spaces. He’s not in bed with me, but he might as well be.

Shuddering, I wince when my knees threaten to cave. "What do you want?" I manage to say, my voice cracking.

”Isn’t it obvious?” The voice sighs, almost sorrowful now. "I just want to be loved, Meggie.”

---