Page 67 of Texting Dr. Stalker

You barely coped this time.

Slowly dropping my arm, I whispered, “Go to bed. I’ll message you in the morning.”

Hugging herself, she held my stare for a long moment before smiling slightly. “Thank you, X. Thank you for not judging or pitying me.”

“Always.”

I slipped out the door, locked it, put the key back, then walked in the opposite direction to home, just in case she was watching out the window.

* 19 *

Sailor

Market and Mistakes

X:IF I DIDN’T KNOW YOU, I’d say you were having a wonderful day. But because I’m the keeper of your secrets, tell me, little Lori. How are you really doing?

I grinned as I checked my messages during the only spare second I’d had all morning.

The market was extra hectic, the questions about my products constant, the testers very well used, and the smiles from familiar faces all the more friendly after being away for so long.

Despite the heat, I’d deliberately worn a long sleeve dark grey blouse and longed to trade my jeans for shorts, but at least most of my bruises had started to fade. A bit of concealer on my black eye and the green-brown tinge was covered.

Only a few personal friends of Jim’s or those who lived on my street knew about what Milton had done, so I didn’t have to field too many invasive questions about how I was doing.

Funny that I didn’t mind X had asked.

Knowing he was out there, watching me…protecting me from afar made me feel bubbly and brave all at the same time.

It didn’t matter that I’d had to fight a panic attack to be here.

The fact that I was here was all that mattered.

Four days ago, when I’d had my nightmare, X had freed something small and terrified inside me. Trapped in a dream where Milton murdered me again and again, I’d had no way out and no one to help. But then that dream had been smashed apart by a flash of blinding light. As my eyesight returned, I’d stared at a man dressed all in black with a mask and baseball cap.

The terror I’d felt had been an instinctual reaction. Every feminine part of me screamed to run, but then…he’d spoken.

His voice had reached deep, deep inside me where I was thrashing and gasping on the carpet in my nightmare, and in one sentence, he yanked me back into living. Raspy and gravelly, he sounded absolutely delicious—almost as if he’d watched too many comic book heroes, layering his timbre with aggressive possession.

I wished I’d recorded him.

I wished I’d asked him to stay.

I couldn’t describe the unfathomable feeling of safety I felt around him.

It didn’t make sense. We didn’t know anything about each other, but I couldn’t ignore the blanket of relief he gave me.

After he’d gone, I’d retreated upstairs to bed, and in the morning, I’d woken to a message that tugged me further from depressive black clouds and straight into the first inklings of the true me.

Thehappyme.

X:Today, the weather forecast is meant to be hot with a side of scorching. I recommend you don’t fall asleep in the garden between the hours of nine and six lest you burn yourself to ashes. Never fear, though, if you ignore my advice, I will ensure I’m nearby with a hose to prevent you from bursting into flames.

I’d snickered.

What sort of text was that?

Wonderful?

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