Page 162 of Texting Dr. Stalker
I needed to find Pop’s car.
I couldn’t drive in this state, but at least I’d be somewhere familiar. I could curl up on the back seat and let this idiotic episode pass.
My phone rang again.
I ignored it.
“Hey, if you’re not using your phone, can I borrow it?” The guy fell into pace with me, grinning with stained teeth. “I need to call a friend to pick me up.”
My already overloaded system fritzed.
My palpitating heart made me lightheaded.
A scream lived permanently on my tongue.
I shook my head, unable to speak. Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks as I headed down the first row of parked cars. I alternated between power walking and pathetically weaving, my knees like water and lungs like ash.
“Oi, where’re you going in such a hurry?” He jogged to my side, grinning in a way that sent my instincts screeching.
Go back to the theatre.
Now!
Spinning on my heel, the cute slip-ons I’d worn to match my cutoff jeans and flower-print blouse didn’t have enough grip to run fast.
I skidded a little.
He reached out and grabbed my elbow.
White-hot,blazingterror.
I yanked away from him, baring my teeth like a cornered animal. “D-Don’t touch me!”
Holding up his hands, he scowled. “Jeez, calm down.”
“Leave me alone.”
“That’s not very nice.” He pouted and kept pace with me as I made my way, breathless and almost blind with terror, back toward the bright lights of the theatre. “You should say thank you. I just stopped you from falling.”
“Go away.”
He huffed and crossed his arms. “See, now that was just rude. I think you owe me an apology.”
Keep going.
Stop talking.
Just run.
Sucking in a deep lungful of air, I broke into a sprint.
His hand lashed out and grabbed my wrist, stopping me dead.
Two things happened.
One, my panic switched from debilitating to hyper focused—the urge to protect myself brought a wave of power and ruthlessness.
Two, that awful fight-or-flight that’d crippled my system finally had an outlet. He’d stopped my flight so that left fight.
