Page 109 of His To Erase
A few weeks ago, Frank was just fine with our little exchange. He didn’t complain about our friendship or try to pursue me. Now he’s wanting to play house, dropping emeralds and acting like this is the part where I just give in and say yes.
The worst part is, it’s working on some level because I keep showing up and I keep wondering if maybe this is better than feeling alone, and looking over my shoulder all the time.
Maybe some unhinged, masochistic corner of my brain thinks that’s justice.
My phone buzzes—again—dragging me back before I spiral straight back into hell.
Unknown Number: You looked this good the first time too.
What the fuck? My hand shakes as I type back.
Me: Who the fuck are you?
I hit send before I can stop myself. Seconds pass before there’s another buzz.
Unknown Number: You’ll remember. And when you do…
The message burns on the screen, and something inside me recoils. I type so fast, my fingers are shaking.
Me: Tell me who you are, or crawl back into whatever sad little sewer you slithered out of. I’m not scared of creeps who play dress-up with burner phones. And if you think I’m the same girl you remember, try me.
Unknown Number: Do you remember the look on his face when he handed you over?
Me: You’re disgusting. You don’t know shit about me.
Unknown Number: I know enough to be the reason you keep looking over your shoulder.
I almost hurl my phone across the room. Instead, I grip it tighter. “You want to scare me?” I mutter, clenching my teeth. “Pick a different girl.”
Me: I’m not scared of you. I have a boyfriend.
I almost laugh as I type it, because it couldn’t be further from the truth. But my brain conjures Steven’s face anyway.
I picture his tattooed arms, and that voice that sounds like violence.
If anyone could make a potential stalker second-guess themselves—it’s him.
Me: He’s not exactly the understanding type. So if you come near me again, you better pray he doesn’t find you first.
I hit send and just when I think I’ve finally scared this guy away, I get another message.
Unknown Number: Cute. Pretend all you want. You’ll remember who you belong to soon enough.
My jaw locks, and my pulse is thudding hard enough to drown out any leverage I thought I had. I read the message again. Every letter drags across my skin like it remembers where I’ve bled.
My thumb hovers above the screen, twitching to fire something back—something venom-laced, but I don’t, because if I answer, I give them exactly what they want.
I lock the screen, sliding the phone into my clutch like I didn’t just imagine hurling it through the goddamn mirror, and take one slow breath through my nose.I’m fine.
A shadow flickers near the hallway, and then Frank appears.
“Everything alright?” he asks, stepping closer.
I paste on a smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Peachy,” I say.
He reaches for my hand and I let him guide me out of the booth. I’m a live wire, ready to snap because someone out there knows more than they should.
If Frank thinks this night ends with me folded neatly into his world—he’s about to know what disappointment tastes like.
