Page 77 of Texting Dr. Stalker

Me:I know I probably did too much today with the market and dinner, but if I don’t do those things, how can I expect to get better? The only problem is…I’m not okay now. I’m hearing things and seeing things, and I can’t move or breathe or think. I hate that I can’t just snap my fingers and be done with this. I hate that I know this is ridiculous, but the flight-or-fight inside me is still living in the past. I know you’re asleep, and I’m so sorry for dumping this on you. It isn’t your responsibility. And I don’t want you to feel like I am. But I can’t say this to anyone else, so…I’m saying it to you. I’m not okay. I hate those words. But they’re true. Please delete this when you wake up. I’m sure I’ll be fine come morning, but right now, I’m just going to use you as a lifeline, okay? I’m just going to keep typing nonsense so I can focus on other things.

I pressed send and immediately started a new text bubble.

Me: I don’t like mango. I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone that. I’m not keen on apricots, either. The smell gets me, and they’re too sweet. When Nana used them in her creams, I’d feel sick from the smell. What else? I love this house. I always wished I could live here full-time when I was a kid instead of the cold, loveless home with my parents. I was wanted here. At my parents, I was an inconvenience. I might love this house, but it’s treating me likeI’mthe inconvenience, just like my parents did. It keeps creaking and groaning. I really need to check that all the doors and windows are locked, but I can’t move. I literally can’t get out of bed, and oh my God, this is so stupid. I’m so sorry. I’ll stop. I didn’t mean to type such ridiculous things.

Sending one of the most idiotic messages of my life, I dropped my phone into the blankets and crossed my arms as tightly as I could. Squishing the life out of myself, I resumed my pinching, trembling with the need to snap out of this horrendous funk.

My phone chirped quietly.

I launched for it.

X:The next time you hear footsteps on the stairs, it’s me, alright? Don’t scream. Don’t wake the neighbours. I’m coming over.

“What?”

I gasped and rushed to type back.

Me:No! I mean. I don’t expect you to do that. Stay in bed. Sleep! Ignore me. I’m fine.

X:We agreed no lies, Lori. Give me twenty minutes.

I blinked at my phone.

He couldn’t be serious, could he? Did he live that close? Was that walking distance or twenty minutes by car?

Guilt crushed me at the thought of him driving across town just because I was having a mental breakdown.

Me:Please don’t. I feel so bad. Just talking to you has broken the panic. I’m okay now. Truly.

He didn’t reply.

He didn’t respond for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes.

And then the house inhaled and exhaled as if the back door had opened, letting in fresh air.

I froze under my blankets.

My ears rang from listening so intently. I quaked and rattled so hard my teeth chattered. The first heavy clomp of a boot on the stairs had me swallowing a scream and also wanting to burst into tears of relief.

One after another.

Step after step.

He walked slowly, methodically.

He reached the landing. The sound of his boots switched from heavy to soft.

I squeaked as his knuckles rapped on the door. “You have a choice, Lori. Either I can stay out here, and you can sleep knowing that I’m close by…or you can let me in, and we can talk face to face.”

Swallowing so hard I almost choked on my tongue, I coughed, “Eh…you can come in.”

The door handle pressed down. The only difference was, this time it was real and not my imagination. The door swung open just enough for him to slip inside before closing it again.

Glancing at the bare windows, he asked quietly, “Where are your curtains?”

“I…I took them down to paint. I haven’t bought new ones yet.”

Grunting an affirmative noise, he pointed at my bedside lamp on the floor. “I’m happy to stay for however long you want, but you have to turn that off.”

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