Page 17 of Lucky Shot

“You got it, cara mia, this will just remain between us.” He pecks my forehead, and pushes me toward his flashy red BMW.

The next day, when I went to school, all anyone could talk about was how Chad Everest was in intensive care. Every one of his fingers, and both his wrists, had been broken. One of his shoulders was dislocated, and all his front teeth had been knocked out, by some assailant still on the loose. He suffered a punctured lung, and his femur was shattered. He was found in an alleyway, bleeding and beaten, and left for dead. I knew who had attacked him, but I kept silent. The knowledge that Nicolo Amato punished someone so severely, for hurting me, left a warmth inside of me, and I held on tight to it.

I’m pulled out of the memory, and a shiver races down my spine. I almost wish I could call Nicolo right now and tell him that I’m scared, and someone is hunting me. It’s stupid and insane of me because of all the shit he’s done to me, and I know if he found me, he wouldn’t hesitate to drag me back to Chicago, and force me to be his wife.

I force myself to focus on the situation at hand. I couldn’t answer any of the police officer’s questions about what happened to Dwayne, and decided to keep silent about the bloody note that I withdrew from his fingers, and stashed in my pocket. I can’t afford them taking me in for questioning, or looking into my background, or why anyone would want to hurt Dwayne because of me. The truth is, I’ve replayed the whole scene numerous times in my mind, and nothing was out of the ordinary. I didn’t see anyone stab him, or slip that note in his hand. I never saw my hoodie stalker at all, not before, during, or even after.

My eyes return to the crumbled note on my coffee table, and it causes my heart rate to increase, and my chest to feel like it’s being squeezed into a vice. Maybe I should pack up and run again. If I took off for somewhere else under the cover of night, would he follow me? Would I be safe? I don’t have definite answers to any of those questions. For all I know, I could run, and he’ll follow me, and see it as some sort of betrayal or, worse, a game of cat and mouse. I don’t know if this psycho wants to actually hurt me, and that’s part of what frightens me the most.

Once again, the thought that perhaps this is one of my subscribers flows through my mind, and has me dashing for my laptop. I pull up my internal dashboard forBehind the Lens, and check for any messages from Lorna, or any of the other cam workers. Maybe I’m not the only one being stalked. It could be someone with a fetish, or an axe to grind. I would think that Lorna would send out a warning message, if she found out one of us was being targeted. I release the breath I was holding, as I only find a reminder about my scheduled shoot with Chad.Goddamnit, on top of everything else, I still have to deal with that.My fingers hover over the keyboard as I contemplate if I should say something. What the hell would I even say?Hey, Lorna, sorry, some creep is following me around, leaving me notes and dead birds on my car, and oh, yeah, today he stabbed a clingy guy I had a terrible date with, in a coffee shop filled with people, but no one saw a thing, and I have no idea what he even looks like.I sound absolutely insane. If she wasn’t going to fire me before I send that message, she will right after, and I wouldn’t even blame her.

My head pounds viciously from the aftereffects of my hangover, and all the stress of the morning, and my lack of proper sleep, are wearing me down. Everything is catching up with me, and I am one moment away from a complete meltdown. Why does my life have to be such a shitshow? One moment of freedom was all I wanted. To live my life as I see fit, and make my own choices, like anyone else gets to, and it has led me here. I’m once again a frightened girl, feeling trapped and without choices.

I look around my tiny apartment, with my thrift store bargain furniture, eclectic, colorful posters and tapestries on the blue and green painted walls, and the vibrant handmade accent rag rug, that I bought from an artisan at a local fair. This little one-bedroom space might not seem like much, in comparison to the massive, extravagant mansion I lived in back in Chicago. It lacks the sophistication, refinement, and lavishness that I grew up with, and it’s why I love it so much. I chose every single item in this space, bought them with my own hard-earned money, and was ecstatic that it was mine, and reflected who I am, and want to be. Now, it could all be taken away.

My gaze catches on the screen, to all the messages I have from subscribers. One in particular has sent me over seven messages in the last couple of hours.What. The. Fuck.I click on his subscriber name, and almost lose my grip on the laptop, catching it at the last moment, before it goes crashing to the floor.

User: Strokemyshillelagh

Beautiful, please talk to me.

User: Strokemyshillelagh

I would do anything for you. There’s a connection here between us, álainn, and I know you feel it too. Please don’t run from me or shut me out now.

User: Strokemyshillelagh

Can I please see you? Nothing sexual. I just want to make sure you’re okay.

User: Strokemyshillelagh

Please tell me you’re okay.

User: Strokemyshillelagh

Álainn, I know you’re feeling embarrassed right now, but you shouldn’t. I want nothing more than to be with you. Please just message me back, so that I know that you are alright.

User: Strokemyshillelagh

Can we please have a private chat? Please. I promise you don’t have to do anything. We will just talk, and there will be no pressure.

User: Strokemyshillelagh

Please tell me you haven’t asked anyone else. Please, don’t. I want to do this with you.

I don’t know what to think about all his messages and pleading. If I wasn’t on a live chat with him when the dead bird and note were being placed on my car, I would think the hoodie guy was him. A smarter woman would see this as an escalation of stalkerish behavior, and immediately block him. Me, I’m sitting here with my fingers shaking, and poised above the keyboard, my body filled with tension, and the driving need to hear his voice again. I click to open his last message and reply, even though the little voice at the back of my mind is calling me all kinds of scathing names right now.

User: Ladypoison

Hey, sorry, I wasn’t feeling great, and to be honest, I was really embarrassed I asked you in the first place. I’ve never done anything like that before. Can we just forget that I did, and move forward from here? I enjoy our chats and would rather that my mistake not impact that.

It’s almost like he’s sitting around waiting for my reply. It’s virtually instantaneous how quickly he responds, and that should worry me. Alarm bells should be going off in my mind right now, and they are, but I am choosing to ignore them, even in my current predicament with an unhinged stalker on the loose. For some reason, I can’t explain, I just don’t think it’s him. Is that incredibly naive and irresponsible of me?A hundred million percent.Am I going to listen to the voice of reason, that is telling me to have contact with none of these guys right now?Probably not.

User: Strokemyshillelagh

Can we have a live chat right now? I will pay for the hour. I just want to see your face.

I bite down on my bottom lip as I read his message again and again. Technically, I can’t have a live chat with him from here anyway. All that has to be done on theBehind the Lensproperty, using their servers, and there is no way I am leaving my apartment right now. I’m stupid and a bit reckless, but not utterly insane. I can, however, message him back, but I just don’t know if I should.

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