Page 8 of Arseni

I was ready to break things off for good, but the night he took me home after our date only glued me to his chivalrous side.

Hehad been inside.The man tormenting me for the past seven years had destroyed my living room, leaving only my mother’s flowery doodle mercifully unbroken.Like even in his rage, he knew that would be the thing that ruined his delusional chances at winning my love for good.

As soon as I’d stepped inside, I screamed in terror.Not from what he’d done but from the possibility that he might still be there.Austin ran in after me, ready to be the knight to come to my aid.He grabbed a golf club from his car and went searching the house.When he was finished, he held me while I cried on the couch.Then the words flowed.

At that point, it had been six years that I’d gone without telling a soul about the horror I lived.That night, I told Austin everything but the beginning of the story.And I’ve regretted it ever since.

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Whatever it is, it isn’tnothing,” Austin counters.

I lift my hands while opening my mouth, letting out a sigh before speaking.“There were some cigarette butts on my back patio.I don’t even know that they were his.I don’t think he smokes.”

“How would you know?”Austin shifts in his chair like he’s flustered.

I pause for a moment while I think through my response.“Because I’ve never seen him leave cigarettes behind before.It could’ve been anyone.”

“It was him, and you’re staying with me tonight.”Austin raises from his chair like it’s settled.Like I’m just supposed to push aside my imaginary work and follow him like the helpless woman I am.

He doesn’t get it.He’s so wrapped up in himself and has been too nurtured his entire life to see the danger he puts himself in when he assumes I need a savior.My tormentor only trashed my house that night because he knew I was on a date.Itenragedhim.What does Austin think would happen if we were followed to his home?Does he think the psycho would just snap his fingers and curse me, vowing to come again when I wasn’t in the company of such esteemed masculine protection?

Give me a fucking break.

“Austin.”I sigh.“I appreciate?—”

“This is not up for discussion.”He shakes his head.“I’m not going to wake up and see your photo on the news after he pushes things further than vandalism.Icareabout you, Margot.”

“I know.”I nod.“And you know what?As soon as I leave here, I’m going to the police station to make another report.”

“I’ll drive you,” he insists.

I show my palms in defeat.“Sure.Just give me another hour to finish up.”

Austin hesitates for a few moments, like he isn’t sure it could be that easy.Finally, he stands like he’s satisfied and tells me to come by his office when I’m finished.

As soon as he’s gone, I let out a sigh of relief.I massage my temples, a genuine headache coming on, then go back to my email.

There’s one fromhim, hiding behind the [email protected], but when I skim it, I don’t spot anything unusual.Just his daily ramble.He mentions looking forward to seeing me at ‘the drop’ in a few days, and there’s an invite to have Thanksgiving with him next week, but nothing about being at my house.If he was there, he must not care for me to know.

My lips pursing, I hit reply andalmostbegin typing.I want to remind him of our deal.I want to threaten to block him again, withhold the money he blackmails from me, refuse to play his games.

He’s supposed to stay away from my house.Hepromisedhe’d stay away.Maybe it’s outrageous to hold the words of a lunatic to a high standard, but I’ve wanted to scream at him for so long, it’s tempting to unleash the resentment I feel now.It would only be the second time.

Five years or so ago, I expressed my hatred for him by yelling into my backyard one night, my newly purchased gun jerking around each time I swiveled.I felt like I was going mad hearing the light taps on my windows, finding flowers left for me on my porch.I’d blocked twenty different phone numbers and seventeen different email accounts at that point.

He responded by roasting a cat over the bird bath in my backyard.I didn’t let Molly—my calico companion—outside for a month.And from then on, I’ve endured his messages without open complaint.

My eyes closing, I pull my hand from the mouse and sigh.

This never ends.It neverfuckingends.

I rub my eyelids before blinking through blurred vision.Then I delete his message and carry on.

I find three new emails regarding the tutoring services I give to the undergrad physics majors at UNLV.Two are from girls I’ve tutored in the past, and one is from a student named Taylor.

I try to tell from the writing if Taylor is male or female but give up after only a minute and type their name into Facebook.Several Taylor Peters pop up, but only one is enrolled at the University of Nevada.I click on the boy’s image and study his handsome features before typing up my email.

Hi Taylor,

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