Page 21 of Driving My Obsession

I didn’t ask for any of this.

When I stand up, my eyes catch on my reflection and I struggle to breathe. Rows of bruises line my neck on one side, and a single mark stands out on the other. I place my hand over it. Fingers. A thumb. I’ve been strangled, and I have no recollection of it. And that’s the scariest part.

I go back to my room and rush to put on my discarded pajama pants so I can conceal the parts of myself that feel too vulnerable and exposed. That’s when I spot the dried blood lingering within the creases of my thighs. Each new discovery leads me further toward insanity as I uncover just how violently I’ve been attacked. Because I can’t remember any of it, it feels like this happened to someone else. But then I feel the pain. See the bruises. Run my fingers over blood. Pull an acorn frommyfucking body. And I can’t deny the truth. This happened to me, and someone wants to hurt me, possibly even kill me.

As I pull my pants into place to cover what I no longer want to look at, my eyes are drawn to the strewn clothes inside my closet. When I look closer, I realize these aren’t my clothes. These arepiecesof my clothes—more specifically, the outfits I wear at work. I kneel beside the pile and lift the tattered rags. They’ve been ripped to shreds. Glancing at what remains on the racks, I see that none of my everyday wear has been touched.

Then I see it. Hanging from my bedroom mirror, obscuring my face when I stand, is my leotard from my last production. It’s a slap in the face. After everything else this psychopath has done to me, it wasn’t enough. He had to do more. He had to remind me I will never be more than what I am.

I drop to the bed before I can collapse, then put my head in my hands. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. Hasn’t enough bad shit happened to me without an unhinged stalker adding to it?

Tears stream down my face, but I raise my eyes to the doorway as a thought crosses my mind. I’ve been too upset to consider it, but now the alarm bells scream in my ears and rival the sound of my heartbeat.

What if he’s still here?

I creep toward the door, looking around my room for a weapon and settling on a broom tucked beside the dresser. I’m not sure how well this flimsy thing will protect me if I find him, but Ineedto know if he’s still haunting my home after violating me. I swing the broom against my shoulder and step through the doorway.

The lights are still on in the living room, and the brightness unsettles me because it’s another reminder of the break in my nightly routine. I always turn off all the lights before bed. I can’t afford the power bill otherwise, and I prefer to let the sunshine do all the work during the day. Sunlight doesn’t cost a thing.

Swallowing my unease, I tighten my grip on the broom handle and do my best to clear the house the way I see cops do it on fucking television. I swing the broom around each corner and expect to connect with a body each time. By the time I reach the kitchen, I’m confident I’m alone.

My shoulders fall and a war of emotions rages in my chest. On one hand, I wish he’d been lurking somewhere in my trailer so I could finally put a face to the monster under the bed. I’m also disappointed I can’t take a stab at him. On the other hand, I’m relieved as fuck. Sometimes it’s better to keep away from the monster and leave it a mystery.

Maybe you already know who it is.

That thought is the most unsettling of all. I’ve likely seen this person, and they sure as fuck know enough about me. They even made a point of leaving my final costume hanging on my bedroom door. And they knew about that costume because they searched my history online and pasted my past all over the club’s dressing room. How did they gain access to the back room at the club? How did no one see him pasting the pictures everywhere?

My blood freezes in my veins.

Jake.

It all makes sense. He has more of a reason to carry such a vicious vendetta against me than anyone else I know. I’ve turned him down on a nightly basis for months, and his fragile ego probably couldn’t take it anymore. He probably stopped trying to sleep with me after his foiled assault attempt the other night because he planned to do much worse to me when the time was right. And who else could get into the private rooms to video the lap dance that ended up seared into my mother’s brain? Fucking Jake.

I can’t stay here. If I can’t go to the police, I have to get the fuck out of town before my stalker comes back. I sure as fuck can’t go to work tonight. Even if my muscles didn’t feel like pudding, I don’t want to be anywhere near the creep who’s trying to ruin my life. I don’t even want to be in the same city.

I return to my room and toss the broom to the ground as I step onto the worn carpet. I reach beneath my mattress and pull out the money I’ve been saving for months. The money that was supposed to go to my future and will now have to go toward a momentary escape from my stalker. I have to return eventually, but what do I have to return to? If Jake has taken things this far, I can’t return to the club tonight. Maybe not ever. There are other places I can dance, but I have no way to get there. Buses don’t run that far out of this city. It’s heartbreaking. No, it’s worse than heartbreak. This whole situation has done so much more than hurt me. It has destroyed me. Handing over my hard-earned money to escape my deranged stalker is the last straw.

I’ll have to figure this shit out later. Once I’ve gotten to safety.

I pack a bag and stuff the money inside, then grab my phone from the coffee table in the living room. When the screen comes to life, I’m greeted by the volatile text messages from my mom. Which means he looked at my phone. Heenjoyedreading what he’s done to me. Sick fucking psychopath. He’s probably so proud of himself.

My stomach tightens and threatens to send me back to the bathroom for another vomit session, but I don’t have time for this. The bottle of vodka glares at me from the kitchen island. I’d normally take a swig to quiet my nerves, but I’m almost positive that’s how my stalker drugged me. I storm toward the offending vessel of unconsciousness and pour it down the sink. My hand longs to smash the bottle and vent some of my pent up frustration, but I don’t want to clean up a mess when I come back.

Speaking of cleaning up messes, I need to let Jake know I won’t be in for a few days. If my suspicions prove incorrect, I’ll still need a job when I return. Actually, who am I fucking kidding? Even if I find proof that Jake has been sabotaging me at every turn, I’ll have to continue working for him. If I want to keep dancing, if I want to continue pursuing my passion, if I want to reach for a dream that seems to be slipping further from my fingertips with every day that passes...I don’t have a choice.

I send a message saying I need to visit a sick aunt in Florida. I don’t have an aunt, in Florida or otherwise, but I can’t tell him where I actually plan to go. Without knowing how much he knows about my past, I don’t want to give anything away. He doesn’t need another bullet for the gun he’s aimed at my skull.

With shaking hands, I search for the first bus back to Wisconsin. Just seeing the name of my home state brings back a flood of memories. Most are good, which is the saddest part. My eyes nearly bulge out of my head when I see how much a ticket will cost, and that’s just one way. A round trip will eat a significant hole in my savings. As my thumb hovers over the button to confirm an immediate reservation for the first ride out of town, I rack my brain for any other way to get to Wisconsin. But I have no friends. If I call my family, they’ll tell me to pay for a ride with my dirty money. Even if I tell them the dire circumstances, I’ll be met with, “You wouldn’t have had this problem if you’d just gone to medical school.” I can think of no other option...until one slithers to the front of my mind.

I close the browser on my phone and type out a text message to the only person who might be willing to help me. It’s a Hail Mary play, but it’s all I have left. What else do I have to lose? Before I can talk myself out of it, I hit send, lock my front door, and grab a butcher knife from the knife block. I don’t know how long it might take to get a reply and the sun is already starting to set, so I’ll need to be safe while I wait. My stalker could return at any moment. If he does, I’ll be ready. He won’t get the jump on me again.

ChapterFourteen

Ambrose

The crowd sings my praises as the ref raises my hand, declaring me the victor in the first fight of the night. I don’t usually like being the opening act, but it’s the only way Darby will allow me to fight twice in one night, breaking the one-fight rule he imposes on everyone else. And I needed two bouts tonight. Pummeling someone’s face keeps my mind off that fucking girl.

Since I sank into her last night, it’s all I’ve thought about. I long to get inside her again, but I need to pace myself. The next time I fuck her will be the last time. There’ll be no going back for either of us after that. We’ll get the release we deserve. I’ll dish out my ultimate revenge, then I’ll free her from her tragic life. Like putting down a deer that’s still breathing after its entrails have been strewn across a desolate highway, it’s the humane thing to do at this point.

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