Page 180 of Texting Dr. Stalker

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Sailor

All Boys Suck, Especially the Masked Ones

SHOVING THE LADDER AGAINST THE side of the house, I tried to remember what Jim had instructed. I’d gone round this morning with another peach cobbler, exchanging sugar for tools.

What had he said?

Lock the legs, hoist the middle, brace the joints?

The clunky wooden thing weighed a freaking tonne. My arms already shook before I’d climbed one rung.

That could partly be thanks to the struggle of carrying it over here but also mostly thanks to X.

Howdarehe message me last night?

How dare he spy on me, contact me, and then ghost me when I’d replied?

He’d cut contact for almost two weeks and then out of the blue, I get a message that he’s watching me and we canchat.What sort of game was he playing? In what world did he think that was acceptable?

My phone pinged in my back pocket of my jean shorts.

I’d heard it ringing while carrying the ladder over the lawn, but had no intention of answering it. I didn’t want to run the risk. I’d already answered one call that rattled me this morning; I wasn’t ready for another one. I flinched despite myself, recalling the case officer handling Milton’s incarceration telling me a court date had been set a few months from now.

I would have to testify.

That chat had almost,almostsent me spiralling backward.

I’d hovered my fingers over my phone, desperate to message X even though I was furious with him. He’d opened communication between us again, and the temptation to share the scratchy, scared feeling inside at seeing Milton again almost overwhelmed me.

But he hadn’t messaged me back even after I’d threatened him.

He’d sent me nothing, and I refused to put my hurt out there only for it to hang in neverland.

Curling up the sleeves of my paint-splattered shirt, I sagged in the blistering hot morning. Ever since the call about Milton, I’d stayed busy. I’d baked cakes for Jim and Zander. I’d played with Peng, added a final coat of paint to my skirting boards in the living room, and now decided to attack the gutters where arrogant dandelions grew.

Autumn was coming, which meant bad weather and rain, and no way did I want my newly decorated house to leak.

I marched back inside and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and a few trash bags. Peng came trotting from where he’d been cooling himself on an ice mat I’d bought him. I’d learned he didn’t like the heat, and after freezing the mat overnight, it stayed nice and cool for most of the day, giving him a reprieve.

He meowed and wound himself around my ankles.

Ducking, I scratched his chin. “You don’t want to be out there today. It’s roasting.” Standing upright, my cell phone fell out of my shallow back pocket, clattering to the floor.

The SIM inbox from the phone X had given me—the one I shouldn’t still care about—flashed with a new message.

I moved embarrassingly fast.

X:Please don’t go to the police. I’m within your twelve-hour deadline. And I’m sorry for messaging you last night. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.

Frustrated anger roared through me. I almost punched my screen.

Me:A mistake? What was the mistake? The fact that you got caught spying on me or that you can’t seem to stop?

Glowering at my phone, I wished I had the willpower to block him and throw away the device. I wouldn’t go to the police. I wasn’t the type to hurt someone who’d helped me. But I also couldn’t stay in touch with someone who’d broken up with me.

He didn’t break up with you! You weren’t going out, for goodness’ sake!

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