Page 18 of Werewolf Heart

“S-Sara. Sara Ramos.”

“Alright, Sara. We’re almost finished. Now I just need your address.”

Sara blocks out the loud buzzing, Tom’s crude words, and tells the emergency dispatcher her full address, this time without stumbling on her words.

“Okay, the police are on their way. They’re on their way, Sara. You’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” she sighs.

“Don’t let him inside your home. Lock your doors, and stay inside. The police will be there shortly, alright? You’re going to be okay, Sara.”

She can’t stop staring at Tom. She can’t stop wishing he’d just drop dead, right there, have a fucking heart attack and die on the cold ground alone. Her finger presses on the speaker on its own. Her mouth trembles as she says, “Leave me alone, Tom!”

“So you are home,” he drawls, anger momentarily ceased. “Why did you dash off so fast, uh? Had a date to get to? Is little Robert there?”

“Sara,” the emergency dispatcher says. “Sara, don’t talk to him. Just wait for the police to arrive, alright?”

“God, you haven’t changed,” Tom sneers. “Just open the door, Sara! I just want to talk to you. Stop being so fucking sensitive and talk to me. I want to finish our conversation from last night. That’s all I want. Why are you acting like I’m a creep, uh? Why are you being so unreasonable? Just open the fucking door!”

I hope you drop dead, she thinks, fury rising.

“I called the police,” Sara tells him. “Leave right now and they won’t throw your ass in jail.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smirks. “What are they gonna arrest me for, uh? I’ve done fuck all to you!”

If the pot was boiling before, it’s erupting now, anger and resentment spilling all over the stove. Sara can’t contain her rage any longer.

“Yeah, Tom?” She snaps. “How about all the thousands of calls and texts to my phone, uh? How about your persistent stalking and harassment? How about the record of me going to the hospital for a sprained wrist? While we were dating. Remember that? You haven’t done fuck all to me? Fuck you! You’ve done every possible thing to ruin my life—you piece of shit! Keep fucking up and I’ll have enough to file a restraining order!”

He looks shocked at her words. Hell, he even looks surprised. At her courage or the rupture of his perfect image she’ll never know. She won’t be asking any follow up questions. Sara just wants him gone!

“Can’t you see this is what you do?” He asks, voice too quiet. “You take things out of context. You build up a whole world that’s not real. I just wanted to talk to you. To fix things. And look what you made up in your own little head. A twisted fantasy about me being a stalker. You need help, Sara.”

The young woman wishes to scream at him. She wishes somebody would cut off his tongue so he could speak no more lies. Instead, Sara smiles, and tells him this, “I wonder what your family will think when you’re behind bars. I wonder what your sweet little mummy will do once she realises she raised a degenerate like you. Do you think she’ll keep in contact? Probably not, uh? I mean, she cut off your brother for cheating on his wife. You think you’re special, Tom? You think mummy will forgive all your sins? You’re the delusional one if you believe you’re going to come out of this with your reputation intact.”

Tom was always a mummy’s boy. He worked harder for her approval than he ever did in treating Sara right. This would ruin him. She’s not ashamed to say the thought pleases her very much.

“You—” He sneers, almost foaming at the mouth. “You lying— You’re a lying fucking cunt—”

Sara doesn’t catch the rest of the sentence. For a second, she feels relieved. She thinks he’s finally fuck off and left her be. Then her eyes catch the disruption on the small screen. Someone grabbed Tom. Someone threw him on the ground. She can’t see who it is, but she’s sure it’s Robert.

Oh God, he’s going to kill him.

“Sara?” The woman on the phone is still there. “Sara, is everything alright?”

“I need to go downstairs,” she says, abnormally calm. “I need to fix this.”

“What? Don't—”

Sara hangs up. Grabs her keys and hurries down the stairs. What awaits her at the end of that long run is a frantic mess on the ground—Robert beating Tom to a bloody pulp. The sight turns her stomach into knots.

“Rob, stop!” She shouts, but he doesn’t. He just keeps going and going. “You need to stop!”

He ignores her. She believes he might actually kill Tom on the stop.

Oh God, no!

She grabs his arm, pushes him back, screams, “Stop, Rob! I said fucking stop!”

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