Page 28 of Sweet Venom
Everywhere.
At first, it was a feeling of being shadowed. At work, in the neighborhood, but also during my college summer classes.
You’d think he’d have summer training or something better to do with his time.
But then I realized he wasn’t doing the stalking himself. About a week ago, I spotted a tall, buff guy near my place—a pseudo stalker of sorts.
That guy comes into HAVEN every day and walks me home.
I mean, notwalkme, but sort of walks a safe distance behind me. The other day, he punched a drunk guy who tried to come close to me.
His name is Mario, which I only know because Laura has been talking—and flirting—with him. She thinks he’s become a regular because of her, and I don’t want to shatter her illusions.
Still, even though the whole thing has made me deeply uncomfortable, I’m glad I haven’t had to see Jude. That man terrifies me. Not only because of his vendetta or his ability to beat people to a pulp without blinking, or his violent streak on the ice I keep hearing about, but something far more distressing.
He has a curious ability to see through the chunks of my soul that I thought I’d expertly wrapped up.
And last night, he did something that probably contributed to the nightmare.
He got into the apartment.
I know because of the last entry in my journal, where I mentioned that maybe I could convince Dahlia to move away from here or even possibly leave on my own since I don’t havethe heart to make her lose the scholarship she worked her ass off for.
Unlike her, I don’t care much about mine and would consider dropping out of college altogether and continuing to work part-time and take odd jobs here and there.
Last night, after Dahlia and I binged some Netflix and she went to sleep, I opened my journal to write an entry.
That’s when I saw it.
A sticky note with neat print handwriting.
Abandon any useless thoughts about escaping me. Don’t act stupid and force me to show you what I’m truly capable of.
My body trembled so hard upon seeing that.
He came into my home.
Was it the first time?
Or maybe the first time he’s made himself noticeable?
But why now of all times?
His unpredictable actions are messing with my head so badly, I looked around the apartment, searching for his ghost, terrified that Dahlia would see anything amiss, or worse, get involved.
Because Jude is right. I have no clue what rich, privileged, and violent people like him are truly capable of.
And I don’t want to find out.
Later that night,I’m back at work after spending the afternoon embroidering one of Dahlia’s shirts while listening to an audiobook.
“The usual.” Mario’s gruff words reach me from the other side of the counter.
Laura rushes to serve him his Guinness, grinning whilehe talks steadily. He’s older than me by a few years, maybe late twenties?
I think I need to warn Laura about him, but when I alluded to the fact that he might be untrustworthy the other day, she gave me a weird look.
So I keep those thoughts to myself.
