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.

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