Page 54 of Only for Him
Age. Height. Weight. Virginity.
But no names.
Never names.
Because monsters don’t care to know their victim names. To know their names would make them real. Make them someone instead of something.
Rosa is right. Iamrisking everything we’ve been doing. But the risk is worth it. It has to be.
I let my breath ease as she starts walking away.
When she reaches the door, she pauses, and turns back to look at me from the shadows.
“The flowers are very pretty,” she says, nodding at the petals on the desk. “But any man can give her flowers.”
I wait.
“Your detective wants something else,” Rosa says. “Something that speaks to her heart.”
16
GISELLE
I waketo the clatter of garbage trucks taking out last night’s sins. My brain is slow to start, and my eyes remain gummy. I’m in my pajamas: a T-shirt from a band I haven’t listened to since high school and boy shorts.
I don’t remember going to bed, which is odd. The last thing I remember is…
My eyes suddenly fly open.
Fuck.Fuck!
Last night was a dream, right? It had to have been. That didn’t actually happen, did it?
A dream?scoffs the voice in my head.You sure you don’t mean a nightmare?
Sure, whatever. A nightmare, then. Whatever it was, it wasn’t real. It can’t have been real. There’s no way I’d let that happen, no way my stalker can make me come that hard from grinding on his leg.
But it wasn’t just the grinding, was it?
He removed the firing pin from my gun. Like he’d planned out everything down to the last little fucking psychotic detail. He held me by my neck while his blue eyes drilled into mine. And the smell of spices that rolled from his body down into my nostrils until it took root to awaken my darkest desires.
Until I admitted that I can’t control myself around him.
My heart thuds heavily behind my ribs. Panic blooms in my chest even as I lie to myself, over and over, that it was a dream. I just need to find a way to prove it.
There’s no sign of intrusion in my room. And of course there won’t be. He’s far too careful for that. But knowing him, he’s bound to leave me more fucked-up little messages.
That’s what psychopaths do
Then, I see it: my pistol, its firing pin removed once again and glinting traitorously in the morning light.
Air burns up my throat from my empty stomach, and I fight the shudder rushing through my body.
Not a dream.
He was here. Without permission. Violating me.
No, I correct myself. Not violating me. It’s only violation if Ididn’twant it.
