Page 60 of For Fillies and Monsters

Not bothering to grab a shirt, I stumble to my truck and jump inside. I have no idea where I will go, but I fire up the engine anyway. Once I’m on the main road, I open up the burner phone and send her a text, my artwork included.

TWENTY-FIVE

STETSON

April 26th, 2024

There’scum in my hair for the second time—a punishment, no doubt. Much like the first time, I’m filled with a confusing mix of disgust, terror, and something else I refuse to examine too closely. He seems to be getting bolder, angrier, more controlling, and dominating. It’s terrifying, except I’m only really terrified of hownot terrifiedI am.

I was born into a world where monsters were real, playing the role of people I should trust and worship, and experienced more pain by their hands than kindness. I think that’s how I got my wires crossed; where I developed a taste for the pain and punishments.

I’m not ignorant—I know I should be afraid. But I just can’t seem to muster the kind offreak outthat a normal person would; not when I’ve been through so much worse. My default setting is to lean into pain and violence, instead of shying away from it, and I could hate that about myself. But I also recognize that because of that trait, I’ve survived in a life where others would have not.

And that has to be worth something.I have to be worth something.

I stare into the bleak darkness blanketing my small room. Not sure if it is night still, or early morning, based on the sheer silence around me. And the truth is, I’m too scared to roll over and grab my phone to see. Cum sticks to the side of my face, still warm from where he painted me with it.

That is, until I hear it buzz.

Only moments ago, I awoke from a dead sleep, unsure of why, other than my heart was racing and my instincts were blaring like a siren in my sleep-slugged brain. Now that I’ve had enough time to digest my current situation, and no doubt a mouthful of cum, based on the salty taste coating my mouth, I realize it’s because he was here.

I missed him by mere minutes. He may even still be in my house, wandering around, snooping farther into my life, or checking in on Gus downstairs.

Gus!

I bolt up, my head scrambling with the sudden movement, and I viciously wipe at the side of my face with my t-shirt. Scrubbing and gagging, I try to remove the evidence of him from my skin.

I have to check on Gus. I have to make sure my stalker hasn’t hurt him. I grab my phone, not worried about the messages, as I silently make my way to the window to see if I can see a vehicle or shadow lurking outside. Moonlight paints over the fields and roof of the barn, gleaming like a silver streak across a black canvas. My eyes strain, but I don’t see any movement or vehicles. Gus’s truck isn’t even here.

Where the fuck did he go?

I gave him a lift back from the hospital where he refused to have his knuckles looked over or cleaned, much to my dismay. I begged him, rather nagged him probably, and he only grunted and stormed to the truck to wait for me. The nurses looked atme with pity in their eyes as I raced after him, my irritation flaming back to life.

Fuck me for caring, right?

The entire drive home was painfully awkward, Dale’s normally easy presence doing nothing to help alleviate the overwhelming tension boiling between Gus and me. He ignored me, not that I made many attempts at talking to him. I was pissed and turned on, and the combination was confusing as fuck. That, and the face he made, which looked like he might snap my neck if I said a single word more to him, made me decide remaining silent was the best thing I could do.

But because of that, now I have no idea where he went.

What if the stalker killed him and took his truck to hide the body?

That thought has me bolting for the door and scrambling down the stairs. I don’t fucking care who hears me. I run toward Gus’s room and notice the door is swung wide open. I don’t bother announcing my arrival. He’s either gone or dead at this point. The room is empty, the bed still made as if it hasn’t been touched yet tonight. His clothes are still in a bag on the floor.

So, he hasn’t left for good, at least not by his own free will.

He didn’t run from the cops, did he? Maybe he’s already on the run and tonight will blow his cover.Fuck, fuck, fuck!My heart pounds like a drum, loud and out of rhythm. Hands shaking, I lift my phone and open the chain of messages I purposefully ignored until this moment, feeling more desperately alone than I have in years.

If Gus ran, if he left, as irrational as it would seem,I. Will. Be. Devastated.

UNKNOWN: I don’t lie, ever. So when I say you are mine, You. Are. Mine.

UNKNOWN: *Picture Attachment*

I gasp; the picture and message are only proof of what I already know. Except seeing it, and simply knowing it, are two different things. And as much as my stalker turns me on, he does nothing for me in comparison to Gus.

If he hurt Gus…

I reread the message over and over until the words feel burned into my brain, and my body begins to tremble. I have to call Gus. I have to see if he answers. Sure, it might seem desperate and unhinged, but right now, I’m beyond those things. There are no words to describe the panic clawing through my body as I stare at his empty bed and the threatening text of a stalker.

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