Page 54 of Freestyle
The thought of the pink pony with its eyes gouged out flashes in my mind, sending a chill down my spine. It’s a grotesque image, one that seems to embody the twisted nature of Alberto’s obsession. I can’t shake the feeling that this was a message, a warning of some sort.
I don’t call the police.
Ithink about it more than once. My fingers even brush the edge of my phone, lingering there like touching it might be enough to summon safety. But I don’t do it.
Because what would I even say?
That Alberto left me a note? That he used a nickname no one else would know? That I think a mutilated toy in my pocket means something?
No bruises. No forced entry. Just paper, ink, and fear curling in my stomach like smoke.
And what if they don’t believe me? Why would they?I have an juvenile record, for fuck’s sake. Stealing that car was one of the worst mistakes in my life and now when I need the police the most, I’ll just be reminded that I’m a juvie.
What if calling him out makes things worse?What if the very act of speaking his name out loud draws him closer, reminds him I’m still here, still looking over my shoulder?
I’ve seen what he’s capable of. The way he smiles when he lies, the way he makes other people think you’re the unstable one.That was always the trick, wasn’t it?
So instead I breathe in the lavender of my air freshener, trying to press myself into the present. I try to believe that the closed door means protection and not a cage.
I don’t call the police.
But I hide the note and the pony like it’s evidence, and I move through the room like he’s already here, like the walls might whisper if I listen hard enough.
I remember when I first got that pony, how it was meant to be a fun, lighthearted addition to my collection. Now, it feels like a dark omen. The juxtaposition of innocence and horror is unsettling.
What if he has more planned? What if he’s already taken things too far?The note, the pony—everything feels like pieces of a puzzle I can’t quite put together. He always said I was his and maybe he still believes that.
I glance at the door, half-expecting it to burst open at any moment. The tension in my chest tightens as I think about the possible consequences of confronting Alberto.Would he lash out? Would he come after me?
The last I heard, he was in a mental institution after what he did during my time in foster care at his parents’ house.
Nine years old…
I sit on my bed, the thin mattress sagging beneath me, and stare at the peeling wallpaper in the foster home. It’s another dreary day, the kind that makes the walls feel even more confining. I can hear the distant sounds of other kids playing, but I feel like I’m in a bubble, separate from everything. That’s when I see Alberto,his dark hair damp from the rain, a grin spreading across his face as he approaches me.
“Hey, Rowboat! Come outside!” he calls, his voice bright and inviting. I can’t help but smile back. There’s something about him that draws me in, something that makes the world feel a little less heavy, even with the weird games we play. At least I finally have a friend.
As I approach him, he takes my hand and leads me outside. The air is crisp and cool, the scent of rain still fresh. I take a deep breath, letting the calm wash over me.
In front of us, a large box sits on the ground. It has colorful wrapping paper and a bow on top. Alberto picks it up and hands it to me.
“Open it,” he says, his eyes twinkling.
I tear off the paper, revealing a wooden box underneath. When I open the lid, I gasp. Inside is a row of small ponies, each with a different colored mane and tail. They are beautiful.
“Do you like them?” Alberto asks, a grin spreading across his face.
I nod, a smile breaking through my tears.
“I’m glad.” He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead, his lips lingering. “We can play with them now if you want?” He has a weird smile on his face again, but I want to play with them badly, so I agree.
Albie’s smile gets bigger, and his eyes light up. He looks... happy.
But then, things take a turn. Alberto’s laughter fades, and I see something shift in his expression. He steps closer, his demeanor suddenly intense.
“I’ve decided you have to earn the right to be my friend now. You have to make sure we’re alone before we play. We can’t be friends at school or where anyone can see us, or they’ll be jealous. We can only be friends at this house. Do you understand, Rowboat? If you don’t follow these rules, we can’t be friends anymore.”
My little heart squeezes. “But... why?”
