Page 50 of For Fillies and Monsters

She’s not wrong.

The last message I sent still sits there, unanswered. I could leave that door closed, but then would I really need therapy?

ME: You are a fucking psycho. If you ever come into my house again, I will shoot you. Do you understand me? I don’t know what kind of freak gets a kick out of scaring women, but I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want you.

The message speeds through space, and a mix of anxiety and relief spirals in my stomach. That is the logical, appropriate thing to say—There, if I do get murdered, it will look like I at leasttriedto fighthim off. Sorta.

Several minutes pass, and then my phone buzzes, making me yelp.

UNKNOWN: Baby, I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t get you so hot. You like being scared. You like being stalked. You like being degraded. I am just giving my future wife what she wants. That is what a good partner does. And seeing as I am the only man you will ever be with again, it is my job to fulfill every filthy desire.

What the actual fuck?

I reread the text message—once, twice—and then slam my phone onto the mattress, the springs squeaking beneath me. I hold my breath.Fuck. What if Gus heard me? What the fuck does that matter. You roll around when you sleep, don’t you?

Don’t you?

This feels so twisted, so filthy—talking to my stalker, egging him on because, let’s be honest, there’s no other way to describe our conversation—while the man I really want, am actually terrified of, lies beneath me. I’m a mess, both in my mind and in my panties, and I fucking hate myself for it.

I huff a quiet laugh at myself. The police will find my text chain and not even bother looking for my body. One less freak spurring on her murderer out there in the world.Good riddance!I can just see the police report now, the local news headline.

UNKNOWN: You aren’t touching yourself, are you? I will break those fingers if they go near my pussy again.

No concern for Gus downstairs? Interesting—Maybe he doesn’t know yet. The thought makes me brave, which is really fucking stupid.

ME: As long as you aren’t touching yourself, either. Fair is fair.

UNKNOWN: Fine, baby. I’ll save all of my cum for the next time I see you.

ME: Gross.

UNKNOWN: There you go lying to me again.

ME: And you’re too much of a coward to do anything about it.

UNKNOWN: Was my cum in your hair not enough for you?

UNKNOWN: Want me to stick my cock in your mouth the next time you’re asleep and snap a pretty little picture for you?

UNKNOWN: Want me to fuck you awake next time, a mask over my face, terrifying you while I finally take what’s mine?

I cover my face, heat crawling up my neck. I hate him and his nasty words. But more than that, I hate that I’m sopping wet and horny enough to hump a pillow.

I’m not exactly into masked men, or at least, I didn’t think I was. But that one memory, of that one night, with that one masked man, lives rent-free in my mind, and my spank bank,forever.Being woken up, terrified, and taken sounds horrible. To most people.

But fuck am I turned on.The pool of arousal between my legs is proof of that. Proof I can’t run away from, no matter how hard I try. Not realizing how long I’ve been unresponsive, my phone buzzes again, dragging my attention back.

UNKNOWN: You’re either finger-banging MY pussy right now or that pretty little head of yours is overanalyzing every word. Neither option is a good one for you.

Anger courses through me at his controlling words. He will not tell me when I can and cannot masturbate. Fuck him and his fucking demands. I hate him and this stupid game.

ME: Are you ugly? Are you old and fat? Why do I need to be asleep? Will I hate you if I see your face?

Even though it is stupid, I feel powerful and strong as the text leaves my hands.

ME: You have a small dick, huh?

ME: That’s why you’re a coward and can’t fuck me when I can see you.

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